Chapter 01
I never know when I'll be called back, so I tend to wear my suit under my normal clothes all the time. It's black and skin-tight, and the round devices, or "caps", on each joint can easily be hidden beneath a hoodie and jeans. The suit's fabric looks like leather, but it feels like cotton. It's actually a lot more comfortable than any other clothes I own, not to mention the abilities I gain once the devices start to work. When adrenaline pumps through my veins, a blue fluid in each cap starts to glow, my muscles grow and suddenly I'm capable of doing the impossible. I wish I could say I was invincible, but many victims who were wearing their suits when they died have proven this isn't the case.
No one ever asks me about my boots, or the stiff collar around my neck, or my gloves, which are the only pieces of my armour I'm unable to cover. No one really seems to pay attention to anything I do. Honestly, though, I prefer it that way.
And even if someone were to ask, what would I tell them? "Hi, my name is Santana. I died."
Not likely.
When the call happens I'm always alone. Gantz doesn't want to draw attention. I feel a tingle in my palms and the backside of my knees and my ears start to ring. The first time it happened I thought I was finally getting rid of this life (or life was getting rid of me, depending on which side you're on). I covered my ears with my palms and sunk to my knees in pain. I was such a weakling.
But after two years I've come to almost love the sound.
Out in the real world, I'm nobody. When I'm with Gantz at least I have a purpose, even if it's just temporarily. For someone who's never had any guidance before, clear orders are a welcome change. I know that Gantz doesn't actually care about me, but no one else ever has, so whatever. At least Gantz doesn't pretend to. Gantz never promises me anything.
Then the transmission begins. I'm being scanned from head to toe and it takes a couple of seconds before my whole body gets to my destination. I don't feel anything, but it's definitely weird having your feet in one room and your head in another. If I were any other teenager I'd probably freak out.
I can move freely while being transported, and when I kneel down, I can touch the wooden floor of Gantz' room while staring at my own apartment's carpet. It's such a weird feeling that I do it as often as possible. My gloved fingers will feel the little cracks in the wooden laminate while my eyes are fixed on the blue fabric on my own living room. It drives my poor brain crazy.
Before the transmission is complete, I stand up straight and grip my holstered gun, because I never know who will be in the room with me. A new day brings a new team, brings new challenges, brings a new chance to be entertained, to be killed, or to be set free. Atarashii asa ga kita.1 A new morning has come.
Then I stand up and smirk when I see Gantz in front of me. The black orb is almost as tall as I am, and it's fascinating and threatening at the same time. Its surface is completely blank, but I know it won't stay this way. A new mission is about to begin and I start to feel light-headed. I'm definitely the competitive type and the atmosphere of the room works as a trigger. Once I'm there I'm ready to go. I can't wait for the game to start. I can't wait to face my enemy. My blood pumps faster through my veins, full of oxygen and I bounce a little on my toes.
Usually my competition is already there, but sometimes I'm lucky enough to witness their arrival. Those are the rare cases in which I can lean back against one wall, pull the hood over my face, and pretend to be invisible. Those people, sent freshly here from the real world, act exactly like the people out there: they ignore me. Death doesn't teach you anything. It doesn't even change you.
Their loss.
If I were a true reaper I might be able to count the souls that Gantz keeps sending me, but only the orb keeps track. "Gantz," I'll sometimes say, "show me those who've died," and their pictures appear on the sphere in a checkerboard pattern. Many of them I know, others I know I should know but only vaguely remember. And only two people on there actually mean something to me.
Looking at the dead helps me get my feet back on the ground when I'm becoming big-headed. I'm strong, but not invincible. It wouldn't take much, just one missed shot or one wrong step and I'd join the others on the display. I know there's a spot reserved for me at the bottom right, but I'm not planning on taking it. I come back alive from each mission because I'm too stubborn to die. There's something about the orb mocking me with that empty spot at the bottom right, that makes my blood boil. I'm not a loser. I'll show you.
The people Gantz summons are supposed to help me fight, but since they rarely do, I consider them obstacles at best, competition at worst. Whenever one of them kills a fiend, that's a fiend I don't get to kill, and points I don't receive.
Not that any one of them ever stood a chance against me.
When I arrive this time there's already a small group of people in the room. They're praying. I don't quite understand why, but people often pray when they see Gantz. As if an empty apartment with a giant black orb could seriously be some kind of limbo. I'm only eighteen and even I know better. Hell and heaven, they don't exist. And not everyone who dies reaches Gantz. Otherwise this place would always be crowded. Otherwise my dad would be in the database. But they still pray and desperately try hold on to what they've learned in life. I'm sure they've always been good Christians.
Right now there're only three people besides me in here. There's a blonde guy with a huge mouth who looks kind of goofy, but also kind of cute. He's kneeling next to an elderly woman, who's hugging what seems to be her grandson. They mumble random verses of the Bible, asking for answers and guidance.
I roll my eyes and take a few steps back to sit down against a wall. If that's my team there's no doubt I'll be the only one coming back. What a bummer, though. I'm in a good mood today so if anyone were to ask me about the gigantic black ball in the middle of the otherwise empty apartment I'd probably even tell them to wear their suits and prepare for battle. I'd tell them that they're not entirely dead yet, and that there's a chance for them to go back home. I might even show them how to use the weapons they'll be provided with soon.
But, of course, no one asks and I won't be volunteering my hard earned knowledge. I'm just a regular teenage girl. What do I know about anything?
Right?
As I let my back slide down against cold stone, my hood almost completely covers my face and I see another transmission starting. It's three people this time and only one of them is a girl. Brown hair and a set of dainty hands appear first, then feet and a torso. She's the first one to arrive and as soon as she's complete she pulls her skirt up and starts to cry, "Leave me alone!" She doesn't seem to have noticed where she is yet or what happened.
Then two tall guys follow and I recognize their kind immediately: They're bad. Not as bad as I am, but they've done bad things, too. Their leather jackets make them look like they're part of some gang and the look on their faces means trouble without a doubt. I look them over, half appraisingly, half amused. They're strong enough to stand a chance in the game, but I know for sure they'll gamble away all their luck by refusing to obey the rules. You can trick the police and talk yourself out of almost any trial, but there's no arguing with Gantz. Also, I sort of doubt these tough douche bags will put on something that basically looks like a black giant condom. What a waste.
The girl has stopped crying and realization flashes across her face. She uses the second she's arrived early to crawl away from the two guys, who are obviously threatening her. I'm a little curious what happened to the three of them, but not curious enough to ask. She's a little smaller than I am and her eyes are big and brown, but not as dark as mine.
She uses these eyes to seek help, and for some reason I can't explain at all, she thinks she's found it in me. When her arms clutch at my torso I try to push her away, but fail. She's whispering in my ear: "Please help me." and I can't shrug her off. Before I know what's going on I'm suddenly involved, because now the two guys approach me with a smirk.
"We're not dead."
"Awesome."
"So where were we?"
I can't believe them. Dead perverts are my favourite kind by far.
I feel eyes on me from across the room. "Great," I groan. Attention was the last thing I wanted. "Please help me," the girl repeats. And then, as if she'd read somewhere that people will be more likely to help if you make it personal, she adds: "I'm Rachel."
She won't let go so I get up. Not to help her, that's for sure, just to be able to turn my back. But once I'm up Rachel hides behind me, and the two guys get the idea that they have to get through me to get to her.
"Not a problem," one of them sneers. "Two girls will make it even more fun."
I hear the child in the elderly woman's arms whimper and the blonde guy is staring at me in shock. If he had any balls he'd already have come to help me. Instead he just sits there, giant mouth agape, waiting for a miracle to happen.
This sucks. Not only do I find myself the centre of attention, but apparently everybody now thinks I'm actually protecting the girl, which I'm totally not. She's fisting the fabric of my hoodie and has buried her face into my neck as she sobs. And then one of the guys touches my shoulder in an attempt to push me out of the way.
Big mistake.
I really don't care about Rachel. I don't care about if they rape her right in front of me and I certainly don't care about the stares from across the room. Let them all die, for all I care. I'd kill them myself if I was allowed to.
But no one touches Santana Lopez without permission.
"Keep your paws off me, pedo." I hiss through my teeth, which earns me a grin.
The look on his face changes from amusement to shock and finally to pain as I take his hand from my shoulder and squeeze. My suit goes to work, and as I grow stronger my grip tightens. It forces the guy to his knees as I hear a finger break, and he yelps and starts to wince. Is this the same guy who was about to attack a girl half his age and half his size? I can't believe people sometimes.
This thought urges me on even more. I want to wipe the rest of the grin off his face and show him how weak he is. I want him to beg me to kill him because that's what he would have done to me. So I crack a second finger and smirk at him with empty eyes. His friend doesn't come to help. Instead the little coward has taken a few steps back and is obviously looking for an exit. Too bad this room doesn't have any of those. There's no escape. These people - they're mine.
And I belong to Gantz.
The guy whose hand I've crushed is crying when I finally let him go. He got the message, but it's not like I'll have to deal with him for much longer anyway. Especially with two broken fingers he won't last long, and now that I know his "friend" isn't on his team, he's really got no one. Sucks to be him.
I almost want to applaud them on their awesome teamwork.
Rachel finally lets go of my hoodie and I turn around and shoot her a look that says, "I hate you," because I do. Instead she just lowers her head and whispers: "Thank you."
But she, too, apparently got the message and backs off, taking a few steps backwards before joining the blonde guy. I scowl, sit back down, and ignore all the looks everyone shoots me. My good mood is gone, and if someone were to ask me about Gantz now, I wouldn't tell them a thing.
1 This is a Gantz reference. "Atarashii asa ga kita" roughly translates as "A new morning has come". It's the first line of a song that's Gantz plays before every mission. Apparently it's also a song from a radio morning show in Japan.
