~ Day One ~

A Dissonant Overture

You took all that I want,

Memories are brimming, and I hope you know,

I am bleeding eternally,

For you…

"Hey there."

Celia looked up from her laptop, startled. Engrossed in her work, she hadn't noticed the man approaching her until he spoke. Even after noticing him, she found herself at a loss for words; she had arranged a meeting with a prospective buyer, but the man that stood before her looked rather different from what she had come to expect. Most of her would-be customers met her dressed in simple t-shirts and jeans. The more slovenly of them would arrive wearing sweats, or even gym clothing. None of them had ever arrived dressed in formal business attire, as the man standing before her was.

"Is this a bad time?" the man asked apologetically, when she continued to stare with her jaw agape.

"Huh? Oh! No, it's fine," Celia stuttered hastily. "Are you Tempest?"

"Tempest?" the man asked, taken aback.

Celia blushed, realizing her mistake at once. "It's a screenname… not mine, someone else's… someone that I'm here to meet… he wouldn't give me his real name…" she tried to explain, growing more flustered with each word.

The man only chuckled in a disarming manner. "Ah. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt, I was only wondering… never mind. I'll just be on my way, then. Good luck."

For some inexplicable reason, Celia suddenly found that she wasn't quite ready for the unexpected conversation to end, despite how embarrassing it had been for her so far. "Wait," she blurted.

The man turned back obediently, meeting her gaze. His piercing, dark amber eyes were pleasantly wide and shone with a curious, almost playful spark; Celia couldn't help but feel as if the man was somehow peering straight through her.

"You weren't – aren't – interrupting anything important. I'm just here to meet a customer. Well, someone I hope will be a customer, anyways," Celia clarified, trying to find her composure. "I arrange these meetings online, but I'm never sure if my clients will actually show up, or whether the sale will go through. Anyways, what were you wondering about?"

The man shrugged and smiled. "I caught a glimpse of what you were drawing from the doorway," he said. "I thought it looked pretty neat, and was hoping to get a better look at it. If you're willing, of course."

"Well, it's not really… I mean, it isn't actually finished," Celia stammered. In her moment of distraction, she couldn't even remember what it was she had been drawing and had to look down at her laptop's monitor just to remind herself. "But uh… if you want to see it, I don't mind," she said. She indicated the seat beside her, then began clumsily fumbling with her laptop.

"Really? Thank you," the man said. "Though, would you mind if I grabbed my drink first?"

"Go for it," Celia said.

"And since I'm taking up your time here, would you be willing to let me buy you one, too? Maybe an iced tea or something?" the man went on smoothly.

"I already have…" Celia began, indicating the cup beside her, though she stopped abruptly when the strange man's words finally registered. "An iced tea? In Starbucks? How did you know I don't drink coffee?" she asked suspiciously.

"You haven't touched your drip coffee yet, and it must have gone cold by now. I figured you only bought it to be polite."

Suddenly afraid, Celia found herself instinctively scanning the coffee shop, ensuring that there were other customers nearby. "How long have you…" she began again, in an accusing tone. And once again, she found herself unable to finish her sentence, for she caught a glimpse of her coffee cup, lying on the far side of the table with her timestamped receipt lying face-up on the lid.

"How long have I been here?" the man guessed. "About two minutes, I'd say."

Celia shook her head, feeling incredibly silly. "So, what's this supposed to be? The Sherlock Holmes routine for picking up girls at the local coffee shop?" she asked, laughing to cover her embarrassment.

"Is that a thing?" the man asked, frowning thoughtfully.

"I have no idea. I just made it up," Celia admitted. To her relief, the man laughed, too, and took no offense.

"Sorry if I gave you a scare," he apologized again. "Anyways, I can see that I've made you quite uncomfortable. Let's just forget the whole thing, then."

"No, it's alright," Celia said quickly. "Really, I'm fine," she added, when the man looked unconvinced.

The man nodded, then held out his hand. "Faith."

"Faith?" Celia echoed.

"That's my name," he explained. "Faith Hollow. I know, it's an odd name for a guy."

Celia smiled. "Hey, I'm the girl who's here waiting for someone who calls himself 'Tempest', remember? Anyways, I'm Celia," she introduced herself.

"Nice to meet you. Now if you'll excuse me for a moment," Faith said, before moving to join the line in front of the store's lone register.

A brief chill roused Celia from her slumber. Then, as she did every morning, she curled herself up more tightly, not yet ready to come awake. When she did, she noticed almost immediately that something was wrong. The chill around her seemed deeper than usual, especially for the summer season, and her bed felt uncomfortably hard beneath her. She fumbled about without opening her eyes and quickly discovered that her homemade quilt was nowhere within reach, either.

She awoke then with a yawn, and to her surprise, she wasn't on her bed at all. Instead, she was lying upon the carpeted floor of a large, unfamiliar room. There were several other people in the room with her, none of whom she recognized. The room was sparsely furnished, with several large couches that looked fairly new and a pair of polished mahogany coffee tables laden with newspapers and magazines.

"Where am I?" Celia muttered, forcing herself into a sitting position.

A middle-aged woman sitting on the couch nearby overheard her, but only shook her head sorrowfully and looked away.

Confused, Celia looked to the others in the room and quickly saw that everyone else with her seemed similarly grave. Some of them were milling about idly, while others, like the middle-aged woman, were seated on the couches. Many more were seated on the ground, leaning against one of the couches or the walls. Only one wall was completely deserted. A single large, tinted window stretched across it, allowing a mote of sunlight in, but leaving the room only dimly lit.

Celia stood and curiously made her way across the room to stand by the window. She immediately recognized the sprawl of buildings below, as well as the other towers around them, including the Space Needle. "Are we in an office building?" she mumbled to herself, glancing towards the room's only door. "How did I end up here?" She shut her eyes tightly, and, ignoring the unpleasant throbbing feeling in her head, tried her best to remember what had happened.

"I woke up early, then fell asleep again," she recounted softly. "Karen woke me up the second time. I came here to Seattle, hoping to see Faith again. Karen came with me. We got off the bus together, and…" She felt a lump rise in her throat as she remembered spotting her friend racing towards her. "He… he shot me!" she exclaimed in horror.

Suddenly remembering that she wasn't alone, Celia clapped her hands over her mouth and turned apologetically to the others in the room. A few of them looked at her sympathetically, but most of the others simply ignored her.

"Why?" Celia whispered, uncomprehending. "And how did I end up here?" She unconsciously reached behind her back as she remembered the sharp sting she had felt in her final moments. Then, recalling that Faith had been standing in front of her, she reached beneath the front of her shirt, too. It proved to be a wasted effort, for she found neither a bullet wound, nor any scarring at all.

"You're not injured."

Celia nearly jumped, startled by the sound of the first voice she had hear asides from her own since waking up. She turned to see a blond-haired man, who looked maybe a year or two older than she was, standing beside her and gazing out of the same window.

"Don't worry. I was pretty surprised, too, when I woke up here after the fire feeling right as rain," the man said. "Graham Smith," he introduced, when he saw her questioning look.

"Umm… I'm Celia. Celia Winter," Celia replied. "Graham, where are we?"

Graham sighed. "You'll see soon enough. Unless we get that clown again. If so, I'll fill you in after."

"Clown?" Celia echoed in confusion.

"You'll know him when you see…" Graham began, but the room's lone door suddenly slammed open.

In stepped perhaps the strangest person Celia had ever seen in her life. He was dressed fully in black, and only barely taller than she was. He seemed unhealthily skinny, with each muscle along his slender, exposed forearms sharply defined. He looked to be of Japanese heritage, though his skin had been tanned unnaturally dark. His eyes bore an almost maniacal look, further emphasized by his lightened hair, red bandana, and black baseball cap.

"Rise and shine, zeroes!" he said, shouting into a black microphone adorned with spiky, jet black wings. Though the microphone didn't seem to be functioning, the man simply spoke forcefully enough for his voice to echo loudly throughout the room. "Time for you worthless fractals to prove your formulas recursive!"

"Here we go again," Graham sighed.

Celia looked at the stranger in black, wondering if perhaps she had simply stepped into another dream. From a dream into a dream, perhaps? Or perhaps it was a dream thrice over now, and she had yet to leave her house, or even her bed.

"Not that the answer remains unknown to me," the strange man went on gloatingly. "Your solutions were defined so long ago I could see them from nine trillion, four hundred and sixty billion, seven hundred and thirty million, four hundred and seventy two thousand, five hundred and eighty meters away!"

Celia gaped at the eccentric man. Then she turned pleadingly to Graham. "Is… is this guy for real?" she asked uncomfortably, keeping her voice low so that she wouldn't be overheard.

"I'm afraid so," Graham answered somberly.

"Now, there is a little variable in your favor this time. Your nanogram of a Game Master might be magnitudes greater than all of you put together, but he still weighs close to nothing," the man in black went on. "If you follow the right algorithms, you might just prove yourself to be more than an integer waiting to be derived."

"Minamimoto," a serene voice interrupted.

The man in black, apparently Minamimoto, turned towards the doorway, scowling as another man entered the room.

The newcomer was stunningly handsome in a rather effeminate way. His finely chiseled features seemed unnaturally delicate. Framed by his long, lustrous golden hair, there was an unusual glow about him that seemed to set everyone at ease… everyone except for Minamimoto, who seemed to be on the verge of an explosion.

"You have no place in this function, Ariel," Minamimoto warned threateningly.

"I'm afraid I must disagree," the newcomer answered politely, but firmly. "Seeing as you have been so strenuously overworked of late, the Composer has asked me to relieve you of this particular duty."

"The Conductor briefs the Players! It's a key theorem integral to my…"

"He said you would say that," the beautiful blond-haired man said with a smile. "He also asked me to remind you that it was you who once insisted that tradition was garbage. Now, I must tend to my labors. If you have any further complaints, you may lodge them with our superior upon his return."

Minamimoto's eyes flashed angrily, and for a second, he looked to be on the verge of leaping across the room and strangling the blond with his bare hands. Instead, he turned and stormed away, barking something incomprehensible in what sounded like Japanese, slamming the door shut behind him.

"Hmm… sadly, that went just about as well as I could have hoped," the man Minamimoto had called Ariel mused.

"Not to sound insensitive," a short and rather chubby bald man interrupted. "But what the hell is going on here?"

The blond-haired man looked at the speaker, then surveyed the rest of his audience, eyeing each person in the room in turn. "Allow me to apologize on my colleague's behalf," he began. "My name is Michael Ariel. I am here, on the behalf of the Composer, to extend an invitation to each of you to join us in the Reapers' Game."

"Reapers'… Game?" Celia murmured. She looked around, and was somewhat relieved to see that most of the others with her had had the same reaction. Of those near her, only Graham looked as if he had any inkling as to what was happening, but he did little more than roll his eyes.

"And that means what, exactly?" the bald man demanded impatiently.

"It means that you, and by that, I mean each of you in this room, has met with an untimely fate," Michael answered calmly. "I realize that many of you may still be confused regarding your final moments. Regretfully, I do not have the luxury of helping you through such confusion, and can only offer you two paths by which you may move forward."

"We're… we're dead!?" Celia gasped loudly, and again, a quick glance around the room told her that she was not alone in that sentiment. "But… how?" she asked, wondering how she could be dead, and yet feel not just alive, but perfectly healthy.

Michael's eyes found her, and he smiled sorrowfully. "Miss Celia Winter, I presume?" he asked. Then, apparently misunderstanding her question, he moved to one of the coffee tables nearby and selected one of the newspapers. He offered it to her and patted her comfortingly on the shoulder. "This may enlighten you. I am sorry."

Celia accepted the newspaper, but before she could begin reading, she saw that several of the others in the room were now watching her, sympathy in their eyes. A few others wore looks of revulsion as they glanced at someone sitting against the far wall.

"Mysterious shooter remains unidentified," Celia read aloud quietly. A sickening knot formed in her stomach, and her hands began to shake uncontrollably. Unable to read on, she tore her eyes from the newspaper, forcing herself to pay attention to Michael instead, who was just beginning to speak once more.

"As I mentioned earlier, you are each faced with a decision to make, with two options available to you," Michael said. "You may prefer to accept your fate and move on. If that is the case, you will be erased painlessly. What happens then, I cannot tell you. I can only recommend that you hold firmly to your beliefs, if you are the faithful sort."

"Are you telling us we have another choice?" A brunette teenager interrupted. "Other than staying dead?"

"Indeed you do, Miss Laura Christianson," Michael said, inclining his head in a slight bow. "Should you feel that you have more to live for still, you may attempt to prove it to us here in the Underground. Survive the Reapers' Game, and you may be rewarded with a second chance at life."

Michael's shocking claim was met by absolute silence and the rapt attention of almost every person in the room.

"The Reapers' Game itself is quite simple. Once the Game begins, you must choose another Player to be your partner. Should your partner be erased, you will suffer the same fate, and vice versa," Michael explained. "You will remain in the Underground for seven days. Each day, you will be issued a mission. As will be made abundantly clear in short order, it will be in your best interest to complete these missions quickly and without unnecessary delay."

"And what happens if we lose this game of yours?" the bald man who had spoken earlier asked defiantly.

"You will be erased," Michael answered simply. "In truth, you have very little to lose here. The Reapers' Game does carry an entry fee, should you choose to play. For this purpose, the Composer has personally reviewed your thoughts, selecting and taking from each of you what he believes you value most. But worry not; as a rule, your entry fee will cannot be something taken from the Realground – the world of the living, that is. Additionally, should you survive the week without your entry fee, it will be returned to you when the Game ends."

"Do we get to know what our entry fee is?" the middle-aged woman sitting on the couch asked.

"You do not. You will not know what your fee is until after the Game is over, assuming you survive," Michael replied. "The terms, and your choices, have been outlined to you. Consider your decision carefully. You have five minutes to think, after which I will need each of your answers."

As soon as Michael had finished speaking, Celia retreated to the corner of the room. She leaned against the wall, staring listlessly through the window, vaguely wondering whether someone looking up at her could have seen her even if the window had not been tinted. Lost in her thoughts, she barely heard the soft buzz of conversation that began filling the room.

"Interesting. You seem to be feeling far less anger than I would have expected. Less anger, and more… sorrow. Sorrow and disappointment," Michael remarked, unexpectedly joining her.

His words cut deeply, but somehow, Celia could not find it in herself to be angry with the mysterious man. His presence felt oddly familiar, and soothing, in a way. "My friend shot me," Celia whispered, warm tears sliding down her cheek. "I… I don't even know why. I don't know if I want to know why, or how I should feel, or…" She swallowed. "I feel like I don't know anything anymore."

Michael looked at her oddly. Then his expression shone with sudden understanding. "Miss Winter, your friend didn't shoot you. You weren't shot at all."

Celia looked at Michael in confusion. Then she looked down at the newspaper still clenched in her hands, only to find that she could no longer read it through her moistened eyes.

"May I?" Michael asked politely, tugging at the corner of the newspaper. Celia nodded and surrendered the paper to him, and he began to read it quietly aloud. "The missing gunman from Tuesday's fatal shooting on Harrison Street remains at large. Police have been unable to identify the suspect due to contradicting eyewitness reports. 'It's not too unusual,' claims Detective Burton of the Seattle Police Department, who has been assigned to the case. 'Such brutality can be traumatizing, and leave many witnesses unsure as to exactly what they saw. Furthermore, given the circumstances, even those who may have gotten a clear view of the rogue gunman might prefer to remain silent. A few witnesses have even hailed the gunman as a hero of sorts, even while they claim to be unable to place his appearance.'"

"A hero?" Celia murmured, now entirely lost.

"The suspect's victim has been identified as 19-year-old Blake Daniels, a Seattle native and a recent dropout from Washington State University. Eyewitnesses claim that before he was shot, Daniels ran down a young woman, identified as 23-year-old Celia Winter, before stabbing her in the back with a hunting knife. Furthermore, many witnesses claim that the unidentified gunman shouted a warning to Winter and her friend, Karen O'Brien. When questioned, O'Brien claimed not to recognize the gunman, and was unable to offer a detailed recounting of his appearance," Michael read on.

Celia blinked in confusion. Then, as the truth set in, she swallowed uncomfortably. "Blake Daniels…" she whispered, recognizing the name.

"The police have yet to determine why you were attacked, but maybe you already know," Michael said. "If not, you are always welcome to ask him."

Celia's gaze wandered automatically to a smallish man sitting against the wall, for she remembered the dirty looks the others in the room had shot that way when Michael had spoken her name aloud. She immediately recognized the young man sitting there, with his russet brown hair, gangly limbs, and pasty, blotchy complexion.

When Blake saw her looking his way, he turned away quickly, pointedly refusing to meet her gaze.

But Celia's thoughts didn't dwell on Blake for long. It wasn't anger that she felt now, but guilt. She remembered Faith holding onto her, begging her to stay alive. She remembered the feeling of betrayal and revulsion, and the urge she had felt to pull away from him, or to push him as far from her as possible. Was that the last look she had given him, then? A look of utter loathing for her friend, for the man who had gone as far as he humanly could to save her life?

"Have you made your decision?" Michael asked, cutting her thoughts short.

Celia trembled, her misery striking her more acutely than ever. She wanted to believe Faith had understood, to believe she hadn't hurt her friend. She wondered what madness she had found, to believe for even a second that Faith would have wanted to hurt her. "Even… even if I make it back… how can I face him?" she whispered, though she hardly expected Michael to be able to answer.

But Michael did have an answer for her. Rather, he answered her question with another question. "Can you throw away your only chance to try?"

"You know, it doesn't really surprise me that you don't drink the coffee here," Faith said, returning with two cups of iced tea.

"Oh? Why is that?" Celia asked.

"I've had their coffee exactly once. I'm not entirely sure why anyone would try it a second time," Faith grinned, handing her one of the two drinks.

Celia laughed. "I wouldn't know. I'm not much of a coffee drinker, really," she admitted. "But… have you actually had their tea before? It really isn't anything special, either."

"Not yet, but there has to be something nice on their menu, right?" Faith pointed out optimistically. He took a long sip from his straw, then gave his cup a disappointed look. "Something nice somewhere else on the menu," he amended. "I suppose I'll just have to keep looking."

"And that's why I always just order a plain drip coffee," Celia giggled. "It's cheap, I'm not about to drink it anyways, and this way, I don't have to feel bad about taking up one of their seats and using their Wi-Fi."

"Fair enough," Faith conceded.

"Here, you wanted to see what I was drawing, right?" Celia said, fumbling with her laptop again until it was angled towards her new friend. "This is just the backdrop. It's going to be a picture of Thor, hence, all the lightning."

"Thor? You mean the Norse god?" Faith asked.

"Nah. Thor the movie character slash comic book hero," Celia corrected. "History buffs usually don't commission artworks of their favorite mythological characters, but movie fans do so all the time." When she saw that her new friend was still studying the simple image intently, she began fidgeting anxiously. "What do you think?"

"I'm… surprised," Faith said, pausing for a moment to phrase his thoughts. "This is only meant to be a background? It's quite elaborate. It looks like you drew and shaded each of these waves and each streak of lightning individually."

"I did," Celia admitted readily. "I use my drawing pad to do it by hand. It's my favorite part, since I can always try something a little bit different. See, people usually ask me to draw the same characters again and again. Even when they do ask for someone new, most of the time it's someone who looks like someone else I've drawn before. It starts feeling stale, after a while."

"I guess I can see that," Faith conceded.

"Give me a second," Celia said, reaching for her keyboard. "Here's a drawing that I finished last week." She flipped the image to one of a strange, mechanical-looking woman hovering in midair beside a large metallic sphere, with a sprawling metropolis in the background.

"Another movie character?" Faith asked curiously.

"No, this one's from a computer game," Celia answered. "I can't quite remember her name. Orion, I think? Something like that, anyways. She's from League of Legends."

"Well, she certainly looks unique," Faith remarked. "It looks like she's flying, without wings or anything of the sort. Is that what the ball is for?"

"I have no idea," Celia admitted. "When I looked up the official artwork, there was always a ball of some sort floating nearby, so I thought I'd include one. Some of them showed her hovering, so… well… a few artistic liberties later and this is what you get."

"Someone commissioned this piece, then?" Faith guessed. "How much do you get paid for drawing one of these? If you don't mind me asking, that is."

Celia's face fell. "I didn't get paid anything for this one," she said. "The guy I drew it for, Blake, flipped out. He said there was something wrong with her skin."

Faith seemed puzzled. "Her skin? She's a robot, isn't she?" he asked uncertainly.

"That's what I thought," Celia said. "And that guy wouldn't calm down enough to explain what was wrong. When I saw how upset he was, I figured there was no sense in arguing. I tried to apologize, but he just shouted a bunch, stormed out in a huff, then sent me a bunch of angry e-mails afterwards."

"Talk about anger management issues," Faith said, shaking his head. "Well, if it makes you feel any better, I think it looks quite nice."

"It does. Thanks," Celia said, smiling.

"I should probably be going. The guys back at the office are probably expecting me," Faith said, peering at his phone. He rose to leave. "It was nice meeting you, Celia."

"It was nice meeting you, too," Celia replied. "Hey, is your office nearby?"

"It's fairly close," Faith answered. "It's within walking distance, anyways."

"Well, I come by here quite often to meet with my clients," Celia said. "Would you… I mean, if you're interested in seeing more of my drawings, you could drop by any time I'm here."

"I'll do that," Faith nodded. "See you later."

The next time Celia awoke, she did so without the slightest hint of drowsiness. In fact, she could hardly remember falling asleep at all. One moment, she had given that mysterious, white-suited man her answer. The next, she had been lost in her memories, at least until she had been roused by the blaring traffic horns and the rumbling of countless automobiles.

"I thought he said something about going underground," Celia groaned, standing and stretching out her limbs, which felt stiff from her lying on the sidewalk. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw someone walking straight towards her. She stepped aside only just in time. "Hey, watch where you're going!" she protested.

But the pedestrian kept walking as if he hadn't heard her, and then someone else stepped straight through her.

Now thoroughly weirded out, Celia moved to the inner edge of the sidewalk, watching as countless people went by, seemingly without noticing her. "They're not really here," she realized. "Or maybe I'm not. Was 'underground' a metaphor, then? Maybe these Reapers are trying to show me just enough of the world to drive me crazy, or something."

Celia stood there pondering her situation for several minutes, until her phone jingled. "They gave me back my phone?" she mused. When she reached into her pocket, she found not only her phone, but her wallet, too.

Unfortunately, she couldn't think of much use for money in a world where no one could see her, and her phone didn't seem to be receiving any signal. Despite that, her phone had somehow received a text message from an unknown number.

Reach the Space Needle. You have 60 minutes. Fail, and face erasure.

- The Reapers

"Reapers, huh?" Celia mused. She looked up to the nearest street sign. "The Space Needle is less than a ten minute walk from here," she realized. "If this is what Michael meant by missions, then this might not be so bad after all."

Even as she finished speaking her thoughts aloud, she felt a sting across the palm of her right hand.

"Ow!" she exclaimed. She held up her hand, gasping as elegant silver numbers spread across her palm. She watched, fascinated, as the numbers began to change before her eyes, counting down by seconds from sixty minutes. "Well, this is… unusual," she said, trying to push away the sense of growing unease that accompanied the timer's appearance.

Wondering what else the white-suited man had left her with, Celia reached into her other pocket, and her fingers brushed across two smooth, cold metal discs. She extracted them curiously, for they felt too large and too light to be coins.

They were not coins, but pins. One depicted a bright silver snowflake on a soft gray background, while the other depicted a sleek stylus much like the one she usually used for drawing, set against a pleasant shade of dark green. "I wonder what these are for," Celia said thoughtfully. She first pinned the stylus pin to her shirt, but when it did nothing, save for making her feel exceedingly silly, she took it off. Reluctantly, she tried the other one as well.

A loud chorus of voices assailed her suddenly, and Celia recoiled in shock, shrinking against the building she was standing beside.

"What the heck!?" she exclaimed, fumbling to remove the pin. She had only just unclipped it, though, when the noise was reduced to mere whispers. She looked around her for the source of the noise, her eyes settling on a nearby man, who wore a miserable expression as he walked his small, mangy-looking dog.

"Yeah, yeah. Bark at everyone who passes, why don't you? Seriously, you're fifteen years old. Dogs aren't supposed to live this long, are they? Well, I'm not sure how much it really matters. When you finally bite the dust, Diane will probably just go full weepy-girlfriend mode on me for a couple months, then find you a more annoying replacement. Ugh! Why do I torture myself like this?"

Celia stared at the man, uncomprehending. It was definitely that man's voice, for the voice had grown louder as he approached, softening as he moved past. On the other hand, the man's lips had never once moved throughout his monologue.

Experimentally, Celia looked away, focusing instead on a middle-aged business man. That man's voice seemed to replace the voice she had been hearing.

"Why is it always me who's stuck working with a bunch of idiots? That Johnson's head is so far lost in his code, it's like he doesn't know what a deadline is. Is it really that complicated? It's a line, and if we cross it, our careers are dead. It's that fucking simple! But no, he's always bitching about this, and bitching about that, and when all is said and done, I'm the one left trying to plead my team's case before the bigwigs!"

Having heard enough, Celia tore the pin off in a hurry. She felt a bit dizzy, as if the weight of everything that had happened since her death had fallen upon her all at once, accentuated by the sheer strangeness of the world around her.

"Relax," she instructed herself firmly, trying to stifle her panic. "Breathe. Relaxing includes breathing." She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Then she took another, and a third. "Okay. I'm dead, but not really. I got stabbed by some socially inept nutcase with deeply-rooted emotional issues, and if Karen ever gets wind of this, she'll never stop saying 'I told you so.'"

A slight smile tugged at Celia's lips. As always, simply thinking of her best friend made her feel slightly better.

"Better make sure she never finds out," Celia murmured. "In the meantime, I'm still here. What am I, a ghost? I can hear other people's thoughts, too. Or maybe it's the pin. Or maybe I'm going crazy. Maybe all of the above. God, I hope I don't run into Faith right now. I really, really don't need to know what he's thinking right now."

She drew in another deep breath, and this time, she held it for a few seconds before exhaling.

"Okay then. Focus, Celia," she urged herself. "That man in the white suit, Michael, said it would be in our best interest to finish these missions, right?" She peered at her phone again, focusing particularly on the rather grim warning at the end. "Well, I suppose that's our runner-up for understatement of the year, right behind him telling me that I was feeling sad and disappointed."

She read her mission again, worried that perhaps she may have misread it the first time.

"So, to the Space Needle, then. That seems easy enough." She glanced at her palm, feeling a twinge of guilt when she saw that her timer was already down to fifty minutes. She winced. Ten minutes already gone, and she had done little more than stand there playing with pins and talking to herself.

Reasoning that Michael must have left her with the two pins for a reason, Celia pinned both over her chest and began walking. Before long, the persistent buzzing of people's thoughts receded until it was hardly noticeable.

Not long after, the Space Needle came into view. "Forty-two minutes left. See? Plenty of time!" Celia said to herself, with as much cheer as she could muster. She crossed the last intersection, waiting for the light to turn even though she suspected cars couldn't hit her anyways.

When she crossed at last, she walked straight into what felt like a wall of glass. She tumbled backwards, landing painfully on her rear. Dazed, she looked up, only to find that the way still looked clear. After getting to her feet, she reached out tentatively with one hand, pressing it against a smooth, invisible surface of some sort.

"Do you want me to go another way, then?" Celia asked aloud, frustrated. "How am I supposed to know which way?" She looked around her, wondering if perhaps she could find someone else from their little briefing, possibly another Player in similar straits.

Instead, she locked eyes with a slender Japanese man with pale skin, blue jeans, and a bright red hoodie. "Hey, you! Can you see me?" she called.

The man jolted, then looked away in a hurry.

"That's a yes if I've ever heard one," Celia said, refusing to be discouraged. She marched over to the man in the red hoodie. "Hey, are you a Player, too? Or are you part of the Game? C'mon, please don't ignore me…"

"Su…sumimasen!" the man stammered. "Boku wa eigo ga wakarimasen!"

Celia stared at the Japanese man blankly. Then she sighed. "You don't speak English," she guessed. "Just my luck."

"Hello, Celia."

Upon hearing her name spoken aloud, Celia spun around in delight. "Graham!" she exclaimed, immediately recognizing the blond who had spoken to her during the briefing. Graham wasn't alone, either; an athletic man with a ruffled mane of mahogany-brown hair accompanied the blond.

"This is my partner, Jason," Graham introduced.

"Celia? You're that girl who got stabbed for no reason at all, aren't you?" Jason greeted. "I'm sorry to hear about it."

At first, Celia was surprised to hear him speaking so casually of someone being murdered in the streets. Then she remembered that Graham and Jason were Players, too, and realized that they, too, must have met premature and likely gruesome ends. "I'm sure there's a reason… I just doubt it's a good one," Celia mumbled. "What about you? How did you end up here?"

"We're grad students over at the U," Graham explained.

"We were up late working in the lab. Something went wrong. Might have been us, might've been something someone else did," Jason said morosely. "Whatever the cause, it turned a bit… explosive. Maybe if it had been during the day, someone could have gotten us to the hospital in time, but as it was…" he finished with a sigh.

"That's awful," Celia cringed. "This… this is a little weird. You know, talking to people about how they died."

"Isn't it?" Jason chuckled. "Then again, that's where conversations ought to start, don't you think? Finding some common ground?"

"That common ground is six feet up from us," Graham added morbidly, rolling his eyes. "I wonder if that's why they call this place the Underground."

Graham's grim words left Celia feeling quite uncomfortable. Not wanting to talk about death any longer, she tried to change the subject. "Did you two get the same mission? To reach the Space Needle?"

"Sure did," Graham confirmed.

"There's like an invisible wall here or something," Celia said. As if to prove her point, she reached out to touch the barrier once more. "Do you two have any idea how we're supposed to get past it? I'm pretty sure the guy in the red hoodie knows, but he doesn't seem to speak English."

All three of them turned to the Japanese man in the red hoodie, who seemed to be studying the three of them. When he saw the Players looking his way, he looked away again.

"Well, if we can't communicate with him, he's not much use to us," Graham said with a shrug. He reached out and past the point where Celia had been stopped. "Doesn't seem like there's a wall now, though. C'mon, Jason." He and Jason stepped straight through where the barrier had been, seemingly without any trouble.

Celia tried to follow them, but again, she found herself stopped. "Okay, this is stupid," she protested. "How come you two can walk straight through, but I can't?"

"Remember what Michael said about choosing a partner? Maybe you have to have a partner to get through," Graham guessed.

"Oh… right," Celia said, racking her mind furiously, trying to remember everything the mysterious, beautiful blond man had told them.

"You've still got plenty of time," Jason said. "You should walk around a bit, and see if you can find another Player who's still looking for a partner."

"Good idea. Thanks," Celia said absently. She waved farewell to the two of them and watched as they proceeded towards the base of their towering destination.

Celia wandered aimlessly through the ever-moving throng, looking back and forth, hoping to catch sight of another Player doing the same. "I should've chosen a more memorable outfit this morning," she thought aloud. "Or that morning, I suppose. Or… are these even the clothes I was wearing when I died?" She stared down at her plain, dark green shirt and her rosy brown skirt. "Yeah, I think they are."

Realizing that she was only wasting her limited time, Celia turned her attention back to the crowd once more. Before she could resume her search, a mysterious, monotonous drone rang out abruptly and seemed to fill the air around her. At first, Celia thought it was her snowflake pin again, but this time, the strange buzzing didn't form any discernible words, or even syllables.

Then she heard a howling noise, akin to that of a wolf. When no one around her seemed to have noticed the commotion, Celia grew nervous. She looked towards the noise, and spotted an unusual flicker on the other side of a nearby crowd of pedestrians. Without consciously thinking about it, she began moving away, though she kept looking back nervously.

Then a violet blur burst through the crowd, coming to a rest before her. It resembled a life-sized, graffiti drawing of a husky, drawn in thick, bold lines with empty space between them. It looked weirdly two-dimensional, as if it had been cut from paper. Unfortunately, unlike graffiti art, the creature looked very much alive.

And unlike the huskies people generally kept as pets, the creature looked feral. It inched closer to Celia with its jaw wide open and a ravenous look in its glowing red eyes, trembling in anticipation.

Celia began backing away, waving at the creature in an attempt to shoo it away. "Down, boy! Down!" she ordered, her voice cracking feebly halfway through. The creature stalked closer still, taking no note of her protests.

Realizing she couldn't outrun her attacker and unsure of what else she could do, Celia looked down at her two pins. As her attention honed in on the snowflake pin, she heard a comforting voice, seemingly coming from nowhere and everywhere at once.

"Trance Hound. These agile and ferocious Noise canines favor headlong tackles. They frequently travel in packs."

It was Michael's voice, Celia knew. Feeling newly hopeful, she began searching around her for any sign of the white-suited man, but he was nowhere to be seen.

The creature howled again, drawing Celia's attention back to it. Then the beast crouched, its ears lying flat against its head, before springing forward viciously. With a shriek, Celia dove aside and into the middle of the street, scraping her knees painfully against the asphalt.

Ignoring the stinging cuts, Celia pulled herself to her feet and ran. Afraid to look back, she continued sprinting as fast as she could, trying to ignore the constant barking behind her as it grew steadily louder.

Something heavy slammed into her from behind, knocking her off her feet. She fell forward, face first, catching herself only just in time and scraping up her palms in the process. Then something sharp tore into her right shoulder. She screamed and flailed wildly as a burning sensation coursed through her entire arm and along her back.

Her thrashing had dislodged her attacker, at least. The hound soared over her, landing lightly on all fours. It turned and growled again, the jet-black lines comprising its jaw stained crimson and dripping with blood.

Celia's felt her right arm going numb, and she barely had the strength to rise once more, let alone the will to try. She shot the approaching creature a defeated look, for she knew she could not hope to escape it.

Something then whistled through the air, and Celia looked up in time to see an arrow soaring past her, embedding itself neatly in the hound's eye.

The creature wailed in pain, then became translucent. Two women then raced past Celia, and like the creature they battled, they, too, appeared to be insubstantial. One of the two, a lithe brunette teen, gestured with her hand, presenting a small, metallic object. A silver hued compound bow appeared at her side, firing another gold-fletched arrow at the hound.

Celia gasped as the hound somehow split itself in two, but the other two women seemed to be more than prepared. Each turned their attention to one of the hounds. The brunette sent a third arrow into one of them, while her partner, a black-haired Korean woman who looked to be in her mid-thirties, conjured a throwing knife out of thin air, flipping it neatly into the other hound's flank.

The hound cried out again and disappeared. Once it was gone, the two women seemed to become solid once more. "Hey! Celia, right? Are you okay?" the brunette asked, running to Celia's side and offering her a hand.

"I… I think so," Celia said gratefully. "Thank you, umm…"

"Laura," the brunette offered. "Laura Christianson. And this is my partner, Mrs. Lee."

"Just call me Vivian," the Korean woman interrupted. She seemed fixated on Celia's torn and bleeding shoulder, her expression tinged with sympathy. "Here. Try this," she said, offering Celia another pin, one depicting the caduceus.

"What is it?" Celia asked, making no move for it.

"It's a pin. Mrs. Lee – I mean, Vivian, I don't think it'll help her," Laura said, shaking her head mournfully. "Our pins didn't start working until we partnered up, remember? Other than the Player pins."

"Player pin?" Celia echoed. She looked down at her own two pins. "You mean the one with the snowflake?"

"That's the one," Laura confirmed. "Vivian and I ran into one of the Reapers earlier, who told us a bit more about the Game. Every Player gets one of those snowflake pins, but it won't help you much against the Noise."

"That dog that was chasing you was a Noise," Vivian explained kindly, when she saw Celia's blank look. "Your other pins are supposed to help you against them, but mine didn't work until I forged a pact with Laura here."

"What do they do?" Celia asked. She began reaching for her stylus pin, but her arm blazed with agony as she did, cutting her motion short.

"They all seem to be different," Laura answered. "I only got one, which somehow brings me the bow I use while hunting with my dad."

"This one mends wounds," Vivian said, presenting the caduceus pin again. "I have another that creates a knife for me to throw."

"So, one of the Reapers told you about the pins and the Noise? Like, one of the Reapers who sent us our mission?" Celia asked.

"That's what he called himself," Vivian said, wrinkling her nose. "He looked like a pretty ordinary guy, honestly, only he had a pair of spiky black wings. It looked almost like a shoddy Halloween costume."

"Well, does that mean they're trying to help us, at least?" Celia reasoned hopefully.

Laura laughed scornfully. "If only. The moment he finished answering our questions, he told us that his job was to erase us. Then he called up half a dozen of those Noise creatures." She shook her head disappointedly. "Turns out the only people who know what's going on in this messed up afterlife are the people trying to off us a second time. It's bullshit," she complained.

"We don't have time to stand here whining," Vivian scolded her gently. "We only have half an hour left." She turned to Celia. "Celia, you should head down that way," she suggested, gesturing in the direction opposite of the Space Needle. "On our way here, we passed several other Players who were still looking for partners."

"Okay. Thanks again," Celia said tiredly.

"Good luck!" Laura called, before she and Vivian set off towards the Space Needle.

Left alone once more and with no better options than the one Laura and Vivian had offered, Celia reluctantly began walking in the opposite direction, painfully aware that each step was carrying her farther away from her destination.

Celia continued on slowly, growing disheartened as she crossed block after block without any sign of the other Players Laura and Vivian had mentioned. He arm continued to throb painfully, and the timer on her palm, somehow unblemished despite the jagged cuts she had sustained, continued to tick down. "This was a terrible mistake," she whispered miserably, unable to keep herself from thinking of the countless fables and myths regaling the consequences of trying to cheat death. "Maybe it's not worth fighting, after all…"

A familiar howl split the air. Recognizing the sound, Celia gave a resigned sigh. "Not that I could fight, even if I wanted to," she thought aloud. She turned and looked in the direction of the sound, knowing and accepting what was to come.

Sure enough, there was another Noise, identical to the first violet, hound-like creature Celia had encountered, sprinting in her direction with astounding speed.

"Faith… I'm sorry," Celia whispered, tightly closing her eyes.

"You fucking retard! Quit running and forge a pact with me! I'm trying to save both our lives here!"

Celia's eyes snapped open, for the voice seemed vaguely familiar. To her surprise, the Noise she had spotted wasn't after her at all. Instead, it was nipping at the heels of a familiar, short, bald man who Celia immediately recognized as another Player.

As Celia watched, the bald man turned and shouted back to someone who, oddly enough, was running in pursuit of the Noise. "To hell with you, kid!"

"Quick, over here!" Celia cried, waving to the bald man. The bald man saw her, and a look of immense relief crossed his face.

Then his relief became horror, and he let out a strangled cry as the pursuing Trance Hound pounced upon him. Celia found herself unable to watch as the man's cries grew hoarser, then stopped entirely.

The Noise let out a triumphant howl, and finally, Celia looked up. The bald man was nowhere in sight, and the hound had turned to face its pursuer, a small, gangly youth with russet brown hair. Stunned, Celia stood perfectly still as she laid eyes upon her murderer.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Blake groaned, noticing Celia, but deliberately refusing to meet her gaze. He turned and fled the other way, but Celia knew he that the teen could not escape. She knew that she was about to watch her murderer die a second death, and that this time, it would be a horrible, gruesome death.

She swallowed, understanding what she had to do. Even though she had never been a particularly vindictive person, the mere thought of making her murderer her partner repulsed her. Unfortunately, her hopes of finding a partner were growing slimmer with each passing second.

"Blake! Forge a pact with me!" she cried, echoing his earlier words to the bald man.

Blake stared at her incredulously.

"Do it!" Celia ordered. "Do it now, or we're both going to die here!"

The Noise pounced at Blake, who turned sharply. The gangly youth narrowly slipped past the deadly creature, then barreled towards Celia.

As he approached, Celia felt a murky presence calling to her. There was a flash of light. Then it was done, she knew, though she knew not how she knew.

Trusting in Laura and Vivian's words, Celia took her stylus pin in her left hand and moved to stand at Blake's side. But Blake disappeared entirely, as did everyone else on the street, leaving her to facing the Noise alone in the empty intersection. "What!?" Celia gasped.

The Noise pounced, giving Celia only a split second to react. She slashed her left arm forward, unsure of how to use the pin, but wanting nothing more than to keep the hound at bay.

A large black stylus appeared before her, and with a quick swipe, it drew a brick wall before her that immediately became solid. The Trance Hound gave a pained yelp as it slammed headfirst into the wall.

"Did I do that?" Celia whispered, awed.

The lines forming the wall immediately began to fade and blur. A few short seconds later, it disappeared, revealing the disheveled Noise standing behind it. The hound growled, then surged forward again.

Remembering how Blake had avoided the hound's charge, Celia rushed to the side. She gestured frantically with her pin, while desperately trying to think of something that could scare the hound off. "Fire," she whispered unconsciously, imagining a forest's denizens fleeing as a blazing wildfire swept through the thickly tangled trees.

The stylus Celia had summoned flew behind her, swirling wildly, leaving a trail of red in the wake of its tip. She felt a rush of wind, too, as behind her, the Noise missed its pounce.

Celia spun, mentally guiding her stylus to strike at the creature. The red lines burst into vivid flames, and the illuminated stylus stabbed fiercely at the hound. The wounded Noise squealed in agony as the flames took hold of its fur. A moment later, the creature stopped thrashing and collapsed limply. The lines shaping it began to dissolve into a black-and-white mess that resembled static.

Then the Noise was simply gone, and Blake reappeared by Celia's side, panting for breath.

Celia stared at Blake, unsure of what to say.

Blake looked up and matched her stare with a sullen look of his own, and like her, he said nothing.

Finally, when the silence began to feel unbearably suffocating, Celia forced herself to speak. They were partners now, after all, and given her recent lack of luck, the process was probably irreversible. "Hello, Blake," she said.

Blake rolled his eyes and looked away.

"We should hurry," Celia went on, holding up her palm. The timer indicated that only fifteen minutes remained. "If we run, we can still make it in time."

Again, Blake said nothing.

Celia scowled. "Fine. You stay here then, if you want," she said, losing her patience. She started to run, ignoring her right arm's painful protests as it swung beside her. After traveling two blocks, she looked behind her, and saw that Blake was indeed following her, albeit with a reluctant look on his face. Shaking her head in exasperation, she continued on without another word.

When Celia neared where she remembered the invisible wall to be, she slowed, searching for the Japanese man in the red hoodie. Their eyes met for a brief second, then the man looked away again.

Celia looked down at her palm. "Five minutes left… this had better work," she muttered to herself.

"What had better work?" Blake asked, the first words he had spoken to her since their battle with the Noise.

"There was a wall here earlier. It let Graham and his partner through, but not me. Graham guessed that only someone with a partner could get through," Celia explained impassively. In truth, she wanted nothing more than to scream at her new partner, but they simply didn't have the time for it.

"Oh yeah, that makes sense," Blake sneered. "An invisible wall that somehow knows if you have a partner? Get real!" He strolled on through, crossing without trouble just as Graham and Jason had.

Celia took a deep breath and followed, and to her relief, she passed through unobstructed, too. She glanced back at the man in the red hoodie, and let out a startled gasp. The man had started walking away, and a pair of distinctive, jet-black wings adorned his back. The wings faded from sight, and a moment later, it was as if they had never been there at all. "So… he was a Reaper, too," Celia whispered.

With only four minutes left on their timer, Celia set her countless questions aside, and began marching towards the Space Needle at a brisk rate. She caught up to Blake quickly, staring at her timer all the while. When they approached the tower's front door, the timer faded away without a trace.

Most of the other Players who had made it were scattered across the nearby lawn, but Graham and Jason were waiting at the doorway. Graham waved at Celia when he saw her, but when he saw Blake, his eyes went wide with shock. "You partnered yourself with him?" he gasped.

Blake's eyes flashed, but before he could launch himself into an angry retort, Celia spoke up.

"Yeah. I needed a partner, and so did he. We're all in this together now, right?" she said reasonably, doing her best to hide her own anger. She wasn't entirely certain what challenges laid ahead of them, but she did know that she couldn't face them while simultaneously struggling with her own partner. Though it didn't make the thought of teaming up with her murderer any more inviting, she knew she had to try.

But Blake was determined to make it as difficult as possible, it seemed. "Says you," he spat.

"Why, you little…" Jason hissed. He stepped forward and seized Blake by the collar of his shirt. "Apologize to her, you ungrateful son of a…"

"Make me!" Blake scoffed, throwing a feeble punch at Jason.

Jason leaned away from the blow, then hurled Blake backward against the ground.

"Jason!" Celia interrupted. "It's alright," she insisted, when he turned to look at her. "Let me talk to him."

Jason took a deep breath and stepped away. "Yeah, I suppose you're right," he said, glaring at Blake. "I suppose you're stuck with the little psychopath now." He stalked away angrily, with Graham following close behind, the latter pausing only to shoot Celia and apologetic look.

Once alone, Celia rounded upon her new partner, her composure finally slipping. "What's your problem, Blake?" she demanded.

"Oh, I don't know," Blake drawled. "Could it be the fact that your fucking boyfriend shot me?"

Celia stared at him, speechless.

"Or maybe it's because you found one of the cushiest jobs in the universe, and you couldn't even get that right," Blake sneered. "If you had just done your fucking job, neither of us would be here right now!"

"Let me get this straight," Celia said, trying her best to keep her indignation from boiling over. "Are you trying to saying it's my fault that you stabbed me in the back, right in the middle of the street, and got yourself shot for it?"

"Call it whatever you want, you autistic bitch," Blake said indifferently, looking away.

It took every ounce of self-restraint Celia had to keep herself from leaping forward and strangling her partner then and there. Even with the knowledge that such an act would lead to her own death, the temptation was nearly irresistible.

She looked away, unable to stand the sight of the insufferable teen any longer. "Fine," she said shortly. "I'm sorry. I messed up, and that got us both into this mess. Now we're stuck with each other. I know it isn't fair, but if we want to make it out alive, we'll have to work together. Will you help me, please?" She did her best to keep any hint of sarcasm out of her voice, but was quite certain that she had failed dismally.

"Whatever," Blake muttered, looking away once more.

"Thank you," Celia said stiffly. Then, unable to hold in her frustration any longer, she stormed away quickly, marching around the corner so that she could be alone.

"I don't know if I can do this, Faith," Celia whispered, her face buried in her arms. Her wounded shoulder continued to sting, but in her broken state, she hardly noticed the pain. "I don't… just… I can't…" Unable to string her thoughts coherently, she dissolved into sobs, tears falling freely to mix with the grime and blood on her arms.

She cried as she hadn't cried in years, for any seeds of hope Michael had given her refused to sprout, and simply laid before her mind's eye, cold and dead.

Then she imagined others approaching her. Not just Faith, but her father, and Karen, too. They stood there, just out of reach, as if they could not go to her but were waiting for her to go to them instead. She thought she could hear Karen and her father calling to her, begging her to return to them.

Then she heard Faith's voice again, clearly as she had in her final moments.

"It's going to be alright. I promise, C. Everything's going to be alright."

With that thought hanging at the forefront of her mind, Celia roughly wiped her tears away with her sleeve. "Alright. I believe you. I'm not going to give up," she promised wearily. "I'll keep trying. Just… wait for me."

The world steadily grew darker as she spoke to herself, and feeling terribly exhausted, Celia put her face down once more, resting her head against her arms until sleep claimed her.

I can't believe this isn't a dream,

My lucent orb is fading bright,

I can't believe it was a dream,

So hard to reignite myself...

Author's Note:

Lyrics taken from Hybrid.

"Sumimasen, boku wa eigo ga wakarimasen" roughly means "Sorry, I don't understand English."