Chapter 09

When I come home I find the apartment as clean as it's ever been before. I'm not exactly a neat person and am capable of creating a huge mess with the little stuff I own. Who has time to clean when there could be aliens to kill any minute?

Well, Rachel, apparently.

"Rachel!" I yell and realize it's the first time I've called her by her name.

She emerges from the bathroom. "Hey, I was just scrubbing your toilet," she says with a proud smile on her face. The image of her kneeling in front of the porcelain bowl with her suit on is ridiculous enough to almost forget about the fact that she's been going through my things.

"You shouldn't be wasting your time on shit like that," I snap at her, ignoring the pun. "We could be called back anytime and you're a weakling. If you're planning on surviving another mission you should do something about that," I shake my head. "We," I mumble. "Ugh."

"Well, you're welcome," she replies in a tone that's icy enough to make my blood boil. "You're somewhat of a slob, Santana, and if you don't enjoy having me as company you certainly won't be too happy once you have to share your bed with rats." Her nostrils are as wide as they were in the room with Gantz and I play along, giving her the reaction she expects: "That's another thing", I simply comment, "Go buy yourself a mattress and some clothes."

She huffs, of course, and I smirk, pleased with myself for reminding her that we're not friends. The moment doesn't last long, though, because there's a knock on my door. It's especially remarkable, because before today no one but Rachel had ever knocked on my door.

But before I even get the chance to ignore the sound, Rachel answers the door. "What can I do for you?" I hear her ask.

I groan and as I push her aside I see the blonde girl from earlier. Her eyes find mine immediately and I look back, unable to break the contact. Suddenly Rachel doesn't bother me anymore.

"Come in," I hear myself say.

She steps inside and takes a look around. "Nice place," she says and it doesn't sound sarcastic. Out of the corner of my eye I can see Rachel beam.

"I followed you after school. Sorry about that."

"That's ok." What's wrong with me?

"I wanted to thank you for helping me earlier," she continues, and although it's obvious that's not really why she's here, I nod.

For a few long moments she stands awkwardly in the middle of the room and none of us says a word. Then she eyes up Rachel, but before I can even wonder what's going on she speaks again:

"Do you have a computer? I'd like to show you something."

I notice Rachel frown at me as I boot up my laptop and let a complete stranger use it, but she doesn't interject. The blonde girl stands right next to me now and for a few seconds I feel uneasy. Then she looks at me with her hypnotizing stare and says: "I'm sorry. I haven't even introduced myself, yet. I'm Brittany." She smiles and turns her head back to the screen.

Here's the thing: I'm kind of proud of my ability to read people. I never had much of a life, so instead I became an observer. People are easy to understand. But Brittany? She's an exception. When she looks at me, my heart stops and I feel like I'm drowning. Part of me wonders if she's some sort of mythical creature who's luring me into a false sense of security and will kill me when I least expect it. Part of me doesn't care.

Her arm brushes mine and an electric jolt rushes through me and settles in my stomach. Suddenly I'm hot; sweating, actually. She smiles at me and I almost forget my name.

"Santana," I blurt out, partly to remind myself.

She nods and says: "Hi Santana," and I think I've just died again.

"And you are?" It takes a couple of seconds before I realize Brittany's not talking to me this time. She's looking at Rachel and smiles so sweetly it makes me a little jealous. "I'm Rachel and if you'd excuse my curiosity, would you mind to explain how exactly you two know each other?" Then she shoots me a look as if I'm supposed to do or say something, but I really don't feel like talking to Rachel so instead I just turn my head to Brittany again. "We met at school today," she says and opens my Internet browser, apparently oblivious to Rachel's challenging tone.

"Look." She turns to me as she points at the screen and it's only then that I realize I've been staring at her the entire time. I can't will my eyes off of her, though, because her blue eyes are still holding mine. I'm terrified and mesmerized at the same time and it's so awkward and so strange and entirely new but I can't find it within myself to stop.

"Oh my god!"

Rachel's annoying voice screams directly into my ear and rips me back into reality. I follow her gaze and when I peek at the screen in front of me I freeze.

"Isn't that..?" I'm just quick enough to ram my elbow into Rachel's rib cage to make her shut up. She gasps in pain, but I ignore her, because what Brittany's showing me is a webpage dedicated to a mysterious black ball called Gantz.

"What am I looking at?" I ask, trying to sound casual as I pull my hoodie higher in an attempt to cover my neck. But Brittany just hooks her fingers in my collar, pulls it back down, smirks and looks back at the screen.

"They call it Gantz. Here."

And she clicks through the menu, revealing information only insiders can have. There's a page with a list of different kinds of aliens, detailed descriptions and all, a list of the weapons we use and even some quotes from the black ball. The title of the page is simple: "Your lives have ended".

The rest is mostly wild speculation about what Gantz is and who built the black ball. There's a section where people can comment anonymously, but none of them seem to know anything. Most of them agree that Gantz is some kind of government project, made to train soldiers. One theory about the aliens being an illusion and that we're actually murdering real people, freaks me out a little. I decide to shake this thought off and pretend I never read about it.

I'm not sure what happens if I talk about Gantz to others, but I'm absolutely not going to try my luck. The possible punishment is definitely not worth taking the risk. As intriguing as this website is I can't let Brittany know that I know a thing. Our suits… they could pass as some weird role-playing costumes.

Right?

Shit.

"There's an 'about' section," Brittany finally says and the sweat on my forehead and palms feels hot and sticky. I can barely breathe.

"It says 'Quinn'. That's all. No last name, no address."

Quinn.

"Gantz," I'll sometimes say, "show me those who've died," and their pictures appear on the sphere in a checkerboard pattern. But only two people on there actually mean something to me.

There's Nishi.

And there's Quinn.

Quinn Fabray.

My first and only friend.

My first kiss.

My first regret.

"You don't happen to know this Quinn girl, do you?" Brittany asks while tapping her chin with her index finger, her teasing smirk still adorning her face.

Shit.

"No." I shake my head, but Rachel's trademark huff to my left proves that I'm not very convincing.

I clench my fists a little tighter to keep them from shaking and try to ignore her. It doesn't work.

For some reason, though, Brittany refrains from calling me out on my strange behavior. Instead she continues: "So I guess you don't know anything about this, either?"

At first I have a hard time understanding what I'm even looking at, but as I read through the page Brittany has highlighted phrases like "let's do it together", "remember that it's voluntary" and "Gantz is waiting" catch my attention and suddenly my eyeballs are threatening to bulge out of my head. Not even the blonde hair tickling my arm can distract me now.

It's a suicide pact.

Rachel crosses her arms and looks away in discomfort. "That's so sad," she whispers and I agree with her for once.

My eyes are still glued to the screen when Brittany speaks again: "I've been tracking people from this site, trying to find out anything about Gantz, but I haven't figured anything out yet. I was able to find some of the people who posted on here, but they always disappear before I can reach them. I'm convinced that it has something to do with this." She points at the screen and continues: "Suicide rates haven't gone up in the past five years, not by an amount that I'd consider significant so I assume this page and the pact haven't had any effect on those numbers. Also the number of people who disappear doesn't seem relevant enough for any newspaper to carry a story. I had to do all the investigations myself and by that I mean I had to personally talk to a lot of people whose relatives and friends had disappeared."

So apparently she's really done her homework.

"And why does that matter to you?" I snap at her and mean it. Somehow it suddenly feels like she's invading my privacy. Gantz is my life, not hers. It has to remain a secret. With Gantz I obey the rules, I play along and in return I'm left alone.

But Brittany objects to all of that: "Aren't you curious?" she asks and her eyes drill holes through me.

"We're not," Rachel finally responds. I'm grateful and pissed off at the same time. Why does she get to talk to Brittany now?

"Actually, we'd prefer not being confronted with such horrid topics. Suicide? Aliens? Weapons? No. I'm not curious at all."

Brittany just smiles her sweet smile and nods before getting up. "Ok," she says. "I'll leave you alone then." A part of me wants to grab her arm and tell her everything. It's her stare. Her eyes and her hair and her smile keep me trapped. I want to follow her right out the door and wherever else she's going. Fortunately I manage to shake this thought from my head as I lead her out.

She turns around one more time.

"Santana," she starts and just her saying my name is almost enough for me to forget everything. "Do you believe in fate?"

I look at her and suddenly something familiar rings inside of me. Like a voice trying to tell me something important, but I can't make out the words, not all of them. I look at her again and something warm tugs at my insides and kicks something loose from my memory:

"You have to make a choice."

"No. I don't." I finally say.

Brittany looks a little disappointed, but quickly recovers.

"Well," she replies, "that's really too bad, because…" she pauses for a few seconds and chews on her lower lip. "I think that fate believes in you."

"Oh yea?"

She nods, obviously happy with herself.

"I think that if we're drawn to something… or someone… we shouldn't stand in our own way. Fighting such a connection is like fighting your own instincts. Nothing good can ever come out of that. That's why I'm investigating."

I listen closely to what she's saying, but remain silent.

My world isn't based on instinct. It's based on rules.

Not even Brittany's smile as she turns to walk out can change that.