~ Day Four ~
Harmonic Interlude
Until the time is up,
I can't give up on you,
Before the time is up,
I'll leave all my regrets,
Between the lines of lies,
I am lost again,
Until this time is up,
I'll never give this up…
Celia looked up reflexively when she heard the coffee shop's door open. When a pair of older women walked through, chatting animatedly with each other, the young artist returned to her work, trying to ignore the twinge of disappointment she felt. She knew she was being silly; while she had seen her friend more frequently of late, his now four-day absence wasn't all that unusual.
"He must be busy with work," Celia told herself in a soft whisper. Busy, just like she herself should have been, she thought as she stared at her current, half-drawn project. She had received a rather unusual request the night before, not for an ordinary drawing, digital or otherwise, but for a pattern to be sewn onto a dress. Intrigued, she had accepted the request right away, despite having never done anything quite like it before.
Reminding herself that she had promised to finish the pattern within three days, Celia returned to her work. Five minutes later, she was so thoroughly engrossed in her labors that she didn't even notice when the door swung open again.
"You seem busy today," Faith remarked.
Celia nearly jumped out of her seat at the sound of his voice. "Good morning, Faith," she said, trying to sound nonchalant.
"Morning," Faith said. He peered over Celia's shoulder curiously. "What're you working on?"
"It's supposed to be a dress. I don't know if I got the proportions quite right, but that can wait until the pattern's mostly finished, I think," Celia said.
"A dress? I didn't know you were a seamstress, too," Faith said, surprised.
"I'm not. I'm designing this pattern for someone else," Celia explained.
"Oh?" Faith asked.
"Yeah. I was kind of surprised when I saw the request, too," Celia said, reaching for her keyboard and opening her chat log from the night before. "It seemed sincere enough, but I think the requestor is foreign. Her English isn't very good."
Faith skimmed through the messages curiously. "Huh. Yeah, English isn't her native language."
"How do you know?" Celia asked.
"I'm pretty sure I know who this is from," Faith admitted. "I mentioned your work to an old acquaintance of mine. She's a seamstress who does most of her work by hand. She usually uses her best friend's designs."
"Oh. That makes sense. She did mention something about her usual designer being busy," Celia said.
"Ah. That must be it. The other day, she was gushing about a new design she found online to everyone who would listen. It reminded me a bit of some of your work, so I sent her a link to your blog," Faith said. "I didn't expect her to actually come to you for a design, though."
"Well, I'm glad she did. This is a lot of fun," Celia said enthusiastically. "And it's nice to do something completely different, for once. So, what have you been up to recently?"
"Just work, really," Faith said. "This week's been a bit crazy, and today was definitely the worst of it. I'm just glad it's Friday. I meant to swing by yesterday and see if you were here, but I just couldn't find the time." As he spoke, he glanced down at his phone. "Honestly, I shouldn't even really be here now. You wouldn't believe how much paperwork I have waiting for me back at the office."
Celia studied her friend closely. It was hard to tell at first, for Faith looked pretty much the same way he always did, but there was an air of weariness about him that made him seem more withdrawn than usual.
"Something wrong?" Faith asked, concerned.
Celia shook her head quickly. "It's nothing," she said. "So are you heading back, then? I found something the other night I wanted to show you, but if you're busy…"
"Well, I'm already here. I don't think another few minutes would make much of a difference. In for a penny, in for a pound, right?" Faith said, grinning.
When Celia next noticed the time, she was shocked to see that an hour had already gone by. She shifted guiltily in her seat, knowing that she should say something to her seemingly oblivious friend.
"What is it?" Faith asked, noticing her discomfort.
"I just saw how late it was," Celia admitted reluctantly. "Sorry… I didn't mean to keep you so long."
At her words, Faith checked his phone, then laughed. "Time really flies, doesn't it?" he said, sounding unconcerned.
"Yeah, it does," Celia agreed. "Say, have you eaten already? If not, would you like to get lunch with me before heading back?" she offered. "There's a nice deli nearby, or we could go to this sushi restaurant I've been meaning to try."
"That sounds lovely, but I really shouldn't," Faith said. "Maybe next time?"
"Oh, right," Celia said, trying not to sound too disappointed.
As always, Faith seemed to see right through her. He smiled gently. "I really would love to go with you, but my partner's getting back tonight, and I need to get my paperwork sorted out before then."
"Yeah, I understand," Celia said.
"Hmm… you know what? I'll probably be stuck in the office until pretty late, but if you don't mind waiting, how about letting me take you out for dinner tonight instead?" Faith offered. "It'll be nice to unwind a bit before the weekend, you know?"
Celia suddenly found herself thoroughly tongue-tied. "I… uh… well…" she stammered.
Faith drew a pen from his pockets and began scribbling on a napkin. "Here. You have a few hours to decide; I'll probably be working until eight, at the earliest. If you're interested, just shoot me a text. I can pick you up, too, if you need a ride."
"A-Alright," Celia said. "I'll see you later, then."
"See you later," Faith agreed.
When Celia awoke, she saw that she had been the first to wake, for a change. Blake was snoozing peacefully on the pavement a few feet away from her. A short distance further, four others who Celia didn't recognize were sprawled out on the ground, similarly asleep.
Celia immediately went for her phone, only to find that the previous day's mission remained her most recent message. Deciding that there was no need to wake the other Players yet, she began surveying her surroundings. They weren't in the same place as before, but the Space Needle could still be seen a short distance away, towering over its surroundings. "That's the Seattle Center," she mused quietly to herself, recognizing one of the nearby buildings. "That means we started out… north, I think?"
Unfortunately, there was little she could do with that information, especially when the mission hadn't arrived yet. With nothing better to do, Celia seated herself on the steps leading up to the Seattle Center. Inevitably, her thoughts drifted back to her surprising conversation with Blake the day before.
Strangely, she couldn't quite remember falling asleep, or much of anything that had happened after Blake's promise to help her through the Reapers' Game. She vaguely remembered trying her best to sound agreeable, despite her mounting annoyance. She also remembered seeing Blake's grateful and determined half-smile, and feeling her hopes renewed. The rest seemed to be an empty, meaningless blur leading into her surreal memories.
Then Celia thought further back, to the conversation she and Blake had had regarding Graham and Jason. At the time, she hadn't been overly concerned about the other two Players, but now she began to worry. Could Graham and Jason really be Reapers? If so, what were they after? None of the Reapers they had met so far had been shy at all about what they were after. "Maybe they aren't Reapers, after all," she muttered.
She was still pondering the matter when her phone alerted her to an incoming text. Five other text tones played at the same time, one from each of the other sleeping Players nearby.
Silence the Key. You have 300 minutes. Fail, and face erasure.
- The Reapers
"Silence the key," Celia read aloud quietly, as if she hoped that hearing the words aloud would make their meaning clear.
Another of the Players – a stocky, dark-haired man with long sideburns, a poorly-groomed mustache, and a jagged scar on his cheek – had also just finished reading the mission. "Another riddle. One hell of a rude awakening, if you ask me," he groaned in disgust. "Right up there with waking up naked next to someone you don't remember, and finding a raccoon on your head in the middle of the night, I'd say."
"That raccoon story sounds awfully specific," Celia remarked lightly.
The other Player chuckled and traced his scar with his index finger. "Nice little memento, isn't it? Name's Tom, by the way."
"Nice to meet you, Tom. I'm Celia," Celia replied.
"Ah. You're that girl who got stabbed in the middle of the street, right?" Tom asked, shaking his head. "Terrible story, that." He looked at his phone again. "So, this mission of ours… what do you think?"
"I have no idea," Celia admitted. "I guess we could start looking around for a talking key or something."
Tom turned to one of the other Players, an older man with graying hair. "Oy, Paul! Mission's here!"
The man Tom had called Paul came awake with a start, reaching groggily for his phone. The other three Players nearby, including Blake, had also awakened.
"Five hours this time," one of them commented.
"That doesn't bode well for us," Blake said. "The Reapers have been pretty stingy with the time limits so far; even on the second day, we had barely more than half an hour left when we completed our mission."
"Sounds like it's going to be a long day," Tom agreed. "Keys don't usually make much noise, so I guess we'll know our objective when we find it, but where the hell are we supposed to begin?"
"Key might be someone's nickname," Paul suggested, speaking up at last.
"That could be it," Celia said thoughtfully. "On the first day, there was an invisible barrier of some sort keeping me away from the Space Needle. One of the Reapers let me and my partner through once we formed a pact. Maybe he's the key that the riddle is talking about."
"He?" Tom frowned. "I remember that barrier, but the Reaper guarding it was definitely a gal. What was her name again, Paul? Sarah?"
"Selena, I think," Paul replied.
"Selena? You saw Selena by the barrier on the first day?" Celia asked, puzzled. "Oh! I guess we must have been approaching from different directions, and ran into different Reapers," she reasoned.
"That might be it," Tom agreed.
"So we still have no idea who or what we're looking for," another Player, whose name Celia didn't know, grumbled.
"It's a start, at least," Celia said bracingly. "Maybe if we can find one of the Reapers, he or she'd be willing to clear things up for us a bit."
"But if the mission is talking about a Reaper, how exactly are we supposed to silence him? Do we try to erase him?" Tom asked doubtfully.
"One step at a time," Paul suggested. "I'm sure it'll become clear eventually."
Meanwhile, Blake had strayed from the others. He stood silently about half a block away, and seemed to be lost in thought.
"Excuse me," Celia said, extricating herself from the conversation and moving to her partner's side. "Good morning, Blake."
"Morning," Blake replied.
"Something on your mind?" Celia prodded, when Blake didn't say anything else.
"Noise, he said. Keys don't usually make much noise," Blake said, echoing Tom's earlier words.
"He? You mean Tom?" Celia asked. "He's a Player, just like us. I don't think he knows anything more than we do."
"That's not what I mean," Blake said, shaking his head. "Silence means to make something quiet, right? Or to put it another way, it means getting rid of all the noise."
"Oh, I see!" Celia said, catching on.
"If I'm right, then the Key isn't a person or an actual key. It's a place," Blake continued. "Is there a Key Street around here somewhere?"
Celia's eyes lit up. "No, but the KeyArena is just a few blocks down from here," she said excitedly.
"The what?" Blake asked, frowning.
"The KeyArena. You know, that big arena where they hold basketball games and concerts?" Celia prompted.
Blake stared at her blankly. "Never heard of it," he admitted.
"Really? I thought you were a local," Celia said.
"I am, but I don't get out much," Blake said. "It definitely fits, though. I just hope I'm right about the Noise. If they're holding a concert there today, I don't see how we can hope to make them be quiet."
"Especially when they can't even see us," Celia agreed. "Let's tell the others, then we can head over and take a look."
Blake looked at the other four Players doubtfully, but quickly relented. "Yeah. This arena sounds pretty big. We might not be able to clear it out in time, even with the Reapers giving us five hours."
Celia led the way towards one of the larger streets nearby, hoping that the way to the arena would be clearer from there. Surprisingly, the road there was teeming with people of all ages, mostly walking in the same general direction. At first, the wild throng did not appear to be much of an obstacle to the Players, who could walk through unimpeded. However, it didn't take long for Celia and Blake to lose the other Players in the chaos.
"Is this place always this crowded?" Blake said, nearly shouting to be heard over the constant chattering.
"I don't think so?" Celia said, sounding unsure.
Celia had spoken too softly, though, and Blake's face screwed up in confusion as he strained to hear her. "What!?" he hollered.
Celia only shook her head, silently praying that Blake's guess was right. Erasing Noise, she could handle; convincing a few thousand pedestrians to be silent, not so much.
Afraid that sooner or later, she and Blake would be separated, too, Celia decided it best to move away from the crowd. "This way!" she instructed loudly, leading Blake towards the side of the road.
Once they were clear of the other pedestrians, Blake turned back with a frown. "Where are the others?" he asked.
"No idea," Celia admitted. "They know where we're going, though." In spite of her words, she, too, began scanning the crowd in search of any familiar faces. Instead, her eyes settled upon a decorated sign. "Blake, look over there," she said.
"Bite of Seattle. Seattle's Annual Food Festival. July 18th to July 20th," Blake read aloud.
"Today's the 20th," Celia said. "That explains why there's so many people here today."
"That sign says it's being held in the Seattle Center. That's not the KeyArena you were talking about, is it?" Blake asked pleadingly.
"No, the Seattle Center goes around the arena, I think," Celia said. "But I think they're something else going on today, too. Look over there, up on that light post." She pointed up towards a banner depicting a fierce, spectral-looking woman with pale blue skin. "It looks like there might be a convention of some sort happening nearby," she guessed.
"She looks familiar," Blake said thoughtfully.
"Really? Is she a character from that game you play?" Celia asked hopefully, wondering if it would give them an advantage to know more about the event happening in the arena.
"You mean League? Nah, she's definitely not a League champ," Blake said, shaking his head. "I'm sure I've seen her before somewhere, though."
"Oh well," Celia said, mildly disappointed. "Let's keep going. Maybe it'll make more sense when we reach the arena."
The two of them set off once more, moving parallel to the packed streets. However, they hadn't gone too much farther when Blake, who had started pulling ahead of Celia, stopped abruptly as if he had walked straight into a wall. He fell backwards, landing painfully on his rear, and looked up in astonishment. "What the hell?" he cried angrily.
Celia advanced cautiously, holding up her hand in search of the unseen barrier. Sure enough, she found herself stopped, her hand pressing against some smooth, invisible surface. "It's just like the wall I ran into on the first day," she said. "I told you about it, but you didn't believe me. Remember?"
"Thought you were making that shit up," Blake grumbled. "So, now what?"
Celia began looking around for any sign of the Reapers. "Now we search for whichever Reaper is keeping…" she started saying, trailing off when she spotted a familiar, slender Japanese man in a red hoodie. "Oh, no."
"Is that the one?" Blake asked.
Celia nodded numbly. "I ran into him on the first day, too, but he doesn't…"
But Blake had already started towards the Reaper, without listening. "Hey, you. Drop the barrier," he demanded.
The Reaper, predictably, answered in rapid Japanese.
Blake stared at the Reaper blankly, then turned to Celia.
"Don't look at me. I don't know any Japanese," Celia said, shrugging.
"Really? You look sort of Japanese," Blake said.
"My mother was Japanese," Celia admitted. "But she always spoke to me in English."
"And you never learned any Japanese yourself?" Blake asked, disappointed. "None at all?"
"I grew up in Canada," Celia said stiffly. "I know some French. How many languages do you know?"
"Yeah, okay, I get it," Blake said hastily, avoiding her question. He turned back to the Reaper. "So the guy who's keeping us out doesn't speak our language. Perfect. Just fucking perfect."
"You'll have to forgive Tenho. I'm pretty sure the boss sent him out here as a joke."
Celia and Blake turned to find another man striding towards them. He, too, wore a hoodie, but his was black, and he also wore a red scarf which obscured most of his face. His voice was muffled, but he spoke with an unmistakable Japanese accent. A pair of spiky black wings protruded from his back, marking him clearly as another Reaper.
"We'll forgive him if he lets us through this damned… whatever the hell this is," Blake said, gesturing towards the invisible wall in frustration.
"Oh, we can't do that," the newcomer said. "You want past this wall? Then we've got a little challenge for you."
"What sort of challenge?" Celia asked cautiously.
"Doesn't really matter," Blake interrupted. "Bring it on, Reaper."
The Reaper in the black hoodie nodded, and began mumbling to himself quietly. "Now… how does this go again?"
"Hurry it up. We haven't got all day," Blake demanded impatiently.
"Ah! That's right. Here we go, then," the Reaper declared. "Like a bolt from the blue, it's time for the Reaper Review! And away we go! Question 1! What event is happening in the Seattle Center today?"
Blake stared at the Reaper incredulously. "Is this supposed to be some sort of joke?"
"The Bite of Seattle," Celia answered quickly, remembering the sign from earlier.
"Interesting. Question 2! Which Reaper is dangerously obsessed with board games?"
"How are we supposed to know that!?" Blake fumed.
"Wilson," Celia replied. "He's the Reaper we faced on the second day, remember? The one Michael called the Game Master?" she explained, when Blake rounded on her in surprise.
"Wilson, eh?" the Reaper remarked lightly. "On to question 3!" He paused, though, and began scanning their surroundings, as if searching for something.
"You don't have a third question, do you?" Blake asked dryly.
"Of course I do! Just… uh… one second… over there!" the Reaper said, pointing towards the Space Needle. "What is that tower called?"
"That's the best you could do?" Blake groaned. "You Reapers already sent us there for our first mission, you idiot!"
"H-Hey! I'm not from around here. Cut me some slack, dude!" the Reaper protested.
"That tower is the Space Needle," Celia answered patiently. "What's your next question?"
The Reaper shook his head. "That's it. There's only three questions. Okay… the results are in! Reaper Review, Lesson 1! Survey says… you pass! So pass on through. But! Though you may forget the Review, rest assured, it remembers you."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Celia asked curiously.
"Who cares? These two are the lamest Reapers ever," Blake grumbled. He began angrily marching onward, only to stumble headfirst into the wall once more. "Damn it! What the hell do you want from us now!?"
"S-Sorry! One second," the Reaper in the black hoodie stuttered, as his companion in the red hoodie laughed. The two exchanged a few words in Japanese. "Okay, you can go through now. Sorry about that."
Blake glared at the Reaper suspiciously, so it was Celia who went first this time, stepping tentatively through where the wall had been. "Let's go, Blake," she urged, when she found the wall gone.
Blake remained where he stood for a moment longer, glowering at the two Japanese Reapers, before marching after his partner in a huff.
As Celia and Blake approached the arena's main entrance, the streets grew busier still. The pedestrian traffic there was more hectic than before, too, with people going both towards and away from the arena. Most were wearing official-looking lanyards and violet badges.
None of the other four Players they had met earlier that morning were anywhere to be seen, but Laura and Vivian were there, standing by a large sign.
"Celia!" Laura called when she saw Celia and Blake approach. She gestured animatedly at the pair, beckoning them towards her.
"Good morning, Laura, Vivian," Celia greeted. "How're you two doing?"
"Pretty good," Laura said.
"But it's already been almost an hour, and we haven't gotten anywhere with our mission," Vivian noted worriedly.
"An hour?" Celia said with a jolt. She looked down at her palm, and saw that it now read four hours and five minutes.
"Getting through these crowds takes far longer than you'd think, given that we're incorporeal," Vivian remarked.
"Vivian thought that the key in the riddle had to be referring to the arena, so we just followed the crowds here," Laura explained. "I guess you two must have had the same idea, huh?"
"This seems to be a dead end, though," Vivian said unhappily.
"Is it, now?" Blake asked smugly.
"There were thousands of people lining up to get inside this morning. If we're actually supposed to make them be quiet, we're all screwed," Laura said in an irritated tone.
Her partner wasn't as easily annoyed, thankfully. "What're you thinking, Blake?" Vivian asked patiently.
"The word silence could be part of the riddle, too," Blake explained. "I think we're supposed to find and erase all the Noise here."
Laura rolled her eyes. "Do you think we're complete idiots or something? We thought of that already," she informed Blake snidely.
"Then what's the problem? Did you already search the entire arena?" Blake asked.
"The problem is that erasing all the Noise seems just as unreasonable as convincing everyone in the arena to be silent," Vivian explained. "Take a look."
Celia and Blake turned and eyed the teeming throng in front of the building. When she didn't find anything of interest, Celia turned to the large sign instead, which was the same color as the badges many of the nearby people were wearing. "The International 2014," she read quietly aloud.
"I'm looking. What am I looking at?" Blake asked, frustrated.
"Use your Player pins," Laura instructed impatiently.
Celia did as Laura suggested, focusing on her snowflake-adorned pin. When she saw what Laura and Vivian had been referring to, she let out a small gasp.
"What is it?" Blake asked curiously.
"Do as she says, Blake. Focus on your pin and look again," Celia said.
With a sigh, Blake reached into his pocket for his Player pin. "Holy shit!" he exclaimed.
"See? There has to be thousands of them, at least. Maybe tens of thousands, even," Laura said.
Celia nodded in agreement, quickly realizing that Laura wasn't exaggerating. Noise were simply everywhere, in various shapes and forms including many that she didn't recognize. She spotted Trance Hounds wandering aimlessly and following the oblivious pedestrians of the Realground and Electro Finches swooping in and out of the crowds. Then there were dolphin-like Noise swimming through the ground with their dorsal fins protruding, deer-like Noise prancing about in a surprisingly natural and carefree manner, and even a large feline Noise resembling a mountain lion, resting idly on the grass.
"We're definitely not erasing all of them," Celia agreed aloud. "But… why aren't they attacking us?"
"Don't look the gift horse in the mouth, I'd say," Vivian suggested halfheartedly.
"Yeah, no. I'm not going anywhere near that many docile Noise without knowing why they're docile," Blake declared.
"It's because they aren't ours," a dark-skinned man said, abruptly joining their conversation.
"Ours?" Celia echoed.
"He's a Reaper," Blake guessed.
"That I am," the man admitted freely. A pair of black wings appeared behind him, flexing ominously. "I'm Dennis, by the way."
"What are you doing here?" Laura demanded suspiciously, apparently every bit as mistrusting of the Reaper as Blake.
"I'm a Support Reaper. My wall was cleared, so I really don't have anything better to do," Dennis shrugged. "Unfortunately, I'm still stuck here until you Players finish the mission, so I thought I'd come take a look at how things were going."
"Dennis, you said these Noise weren't yours," Celia said. "What does that mean?"
"Noise are normally pretty peaceful towards people in the Underground. They're only supposed to attack Players who lack partners," Dennis explained. "Well, unless you attack them first."
"Bullshit," Blake said derisively. "Noise have been hassling us ever since this game began."
"That's because those Noise were obeying Reapers," Dennis calmly explained. "Mostly it's just the Harriers, but those of us playing Support get some Noise to play with once in a while, too."
"So if these Noise aren't fighting for the Reapers, why are they here?" Celia asked, trying to keep the conversation on track. "What are they, anyways?"
Dennis scratched his chin thoughtfully. "I'm probably not the right guy to ask," he admitted readily. "I'm pretty new at this myself, see? I'll try to explain, though. Noise are like… leftovers. They're made of Soul, just like you and me."
"Soul? So they're dead people?" Blake asked dubiously.
"Not quite. Well, maybe," Dennis said. "Soul is what makes us who we are. Those who die and then get erased break down, and their Soul begins to… lose definition. What's left can then become Noise. From what I hear, Noise exist somewhere between the Underground and the Realground; they take shape here, but are drawn towards the negative emotions of living people, feeding those emotions in turn and making themselves stronger."
"Why are there so many Noise here, then?" Celia asked, eyeing the jubilant crowd. "These people seem pretty excited."
"Anytime there's a large event like this, there'll be Noise, too," Dennis replied. "When so many people are crowded together, some of them are bound to be tired or stressed out. Some of them are going to argue with each other. Even if there are a hundred excited and happy people for every sad and dejected one, the Noise will seek out that one person. Then they'll make those emotions worse, and spread. It's contagious, in a way. That's where you come in."
"Us?" Laura gasped.
"But you just claimed that Noise is inevitable," Vivian pointed out. "If that's true, how can we stop it?"
"I don't think you can," Dennis admitted. "And I don't think the Game Master expects you too, either. He probably only wants you to reduce the Noise around this place to a more normal and bearable level."
"So, we're just erasing Noise randomly until the Game Master is satisfied? That doesn't seem particularly fair," Blake griped.
"Who said the Reaper's Game was meant to be fair?" Dennis laughed.
"Fine," Blake conceded. "But how do we know you're telling us the truth? How do we know you aren't really a Harrier, wasting our time so that we'll fail the mission?"
"Uh… hello, Support Reaper here," Dennis replied sarcastically. "The sooner you guys finish, the sooner I can go home and back to watching Netflix. We don't get signal while we're in the Underground on duty, you know."
"And why should we believe anything you say?" Laura asked, sharing Blake's doubts.
Dennis sighed. "Even if I was secretly a Harrier and lying to you, what would be the point?" he asked. "Harriers are only credited for Players erased by their Noise. I have nothing to gain from you guys running out of time, and if these were my Noise, they wouldn't be wandering around idly now, would they?"
"I think he's telling the truth," Celia cut in, before Blake and Laura could question him further.
"Thank you, Miss…" Dennis began.
"Celia," Celia volunteered.
"Thank you, Celia," Dennis said. "Look, I know I'm kind of rooting for the wrong side here, but I'm trying to help you guys. Really."
Celia nodded. "Sure. Thank you, Dennis."
Dennis gave her an odd look, as if he wasn't sure if she was being sarcastic or not. Then he finally nodded. "Good luck," he said, before turning and strolling away.
"So, now what?" Laura asked when the Reaper was no longer in earshot.
"Now we get to work, I suppose," Vivian offered.
Celia scanned the hordes of Noise again with her Player pin. "Yeah," she agreed with a resigned sigh. "We'd better get started."
As the nearby Noise vanished and Blake reappeared beside her, Celia did her best to appear optimistic. "Six more down. That makes thirty exactly."
"With no end in sight," Blake said grimly. "This isn't working, Celia."
"Sure it is," Celia said bracingly. "How many of them could there really be?"
In answer, Blake clutched his Player pin and looked around. "I count at least eighty, which is quite fascinating considering there were around seventy before we started our last battle."
Celia activated her own Player pin, and to her dismay, Blake was right; another pack of Trance Hounds had wandered into their vicinity, more than replacing those that had just been erased. A Grunge Wyvern had arrived, too, perching itself nonchalantly atop of a nearby booth. The vendor inside continued selling his funnel cakes, but seemed to grow more stressed and frustrated with each passing second. "He looks like he's about to snap," Celia muttered to herself.
"Who?" Blake asked curiously.
"Never mind," Celia said quickly. Given Dennis's warning about negativity attracting Noise, the distressed vendor was certainly a problem. Unfortunately, he was also only one of dozens of people who seemed annoyed, tired, or angry.
Blake stared distastefully at the nearest Noise, an Electro Finch resting atop a nearby pole. The Noise only stared back at him blankly, tilting its head curiously. "We need another plan," Blake said. "We're already down to only three hours."
"We'll start erasing them faster, then," Celia promised determinedly. "We could still erase hundreds of them before we're out of time."
"Yeah. Too bad there would be thousands left to erase," Blake reminded her grimly. "At the rate we're going, there'll be more Noise then than when we first started."
"It's not like the Noise are just appearing out of thin air. They have to be coming from somewhere," Celia argued. Even as the words left her mouth, a pair of large, ursine Noise materialized a short distance away. Celia and Blake both stared at the closer Mosh Grizzly in silence for several seconds.
"You were saying?" Blake asked sardonically, finally breaking the silence.
"Okay, we need another plan," Celia relented. "So, what now?"
When Blake didn't answer, Celia noticed that he was staring intently at the nearby funnel cake vendor. An argument had broken out between the vendor and one of his customers. Some of the others in the line seemed put off by the dispute, and hastily excused themselves. Many more watched the heated discussion with interest.
"The Noise are drawn towards negativity," Blake said, repeating Dennis's earlier warning. He directed his Player pin at the vendor, as if hoping that would make it easier to pry into the angry man's thoughts.
"That man was likely already stressed out from being so busy, and for working in that cramped little booth on such a hot day," Celia observed.
"Then the Noise got to him and made it worse," Blake agreed. "Sounds like he made a rude, off-hand comment to a poor tipper. Hence the argument."
"The Noise might have gotten to his customers, too," Celia guessed. "Now their argument is upsetting even more people, creating more Noise."
"We can't keep fighting the Noise head-on," Blake realized. "We have to stop the Noise at their source."
"But how?" Celia asked. "We can't even talk to these people. How can we keep them from arguing? Besides, this argument can't be the source of all this Noise. Look! Those people are already sorting it out on their own!" She and Blake watched as the vendor's assistant pulled aside, apologizing profusely to the offended customer. The customer looked ready to keep arguing, but her husband stepped in, too. A pair of Trance Hounds curiously followed the couple as they left, but soon, the confectioners' booth resumed its business as if nothing had happened.
"So the Noise didn't come from. It spread to them," Blake said thoughtfully.
"It might spread further, too," Celia added worriedly. "That couple left for now, but they were still upset. Some of the Noise are following them now. They might get into another argument later, with each other or someone else."
Blake looked back to the KeyArena. "Silence the Key," he said, repeating their mission aloud. "The Noise is definitely concentrated around the arena, right? That must be the source we're looking for. Something's happening inside and making these people short-tempered and bitter with each other."
"Let's go back and take a look," Celia suggested. Blake nodded in agreement, and the two of them raced back to the arena's entrance.
When Celia and Blake returned, they found that the entrance plaza had only grown more crowded in their absence. The Noise population, too, seemed to grow denser as they approached the arena. However, there didn't seem to any disputes in the Realground similar to what they had witnessed back at the confectioners' booth.
"Most of the people chatting with each other seem pretty happy," Celia noted curiously.
"Where could all this Noise be coming from, then?" Blake asked, frustrated.
Celia didn't have an answer for him, and instead approached one of the nearby groups, hoping to listen in.
"I can't believe they managed to throw that," one man was saying.
"I know, right? That was so stupid. They had that game won," another said.
"Did you see how slow they were in that last fight? My grandmother can play better than that," one said scornfully.
Celia listened to their banter for several seconds longer before giving up. "I have no idea what they're talking about," she admitted to Blake.
Blake frowned, but said nothing.
"There might be a basketball game going on, I guess. They still hold college basketball games here, after all, and those guys mentioned something about throwing something. And a game of some sort," Celia went on. "But it didn't really sound like they were talking about basketball, either."
"They're not talking about basketball," Blake said in tone of certainty. "There was a sign out near the entrance, right? Come on. I need to see it."
Blake set off without another word, leaving Celia no choice but to chase after him.
"I knew it," Blake declared, when Celia finally caught up to him in front of the large sign she had noticed earlier.
"Knew what?" Celia asked.
"The International 2014," Blake said, pointing at the sign. "This isn't a convention. It's a tournament."
"A tournament?" Celia asked curiously. Then her eyes widened with understanding. "A gaming tournament? For that game that you play?" She turned and eyed the crowds in awe. "You're telling me all these people are here to watch people play a video game?"
"This isn't for League," Blake said sourly. "It's another game like it, only stupider. The company who made the game throws a shit ton of money at it. It made the news last year with its three million dollar prize pool."
Celia gaped at him. "Three million dollars?" she asked, shocked.
"Stupid, right?" Blake grinned. "Some people were claiming that this year would be even bigger. Over ten million, some said."
"Ten million?" Celia asked, her voice suddenly little more than a high-pitched squeak.
"Like I said, stupid," Blake said derisively. "People have been trying to make these games more like real sports for a while, with teams, sponsors, contracts, and big tournaments. Stuff like that."
"I… I guess that makes sense," Celia admitted.
"The scene's been coming along pretty well, growing nicely and all that," Blake said. "But then you get a company like this. They can't even come up with a good game, let alone run it well. Instead, they put together huge tournaments like this, thinking that if they throw enough cash at it, everything will work out."
Taken aback by the sudden venom in Blake's tone, Celia chose her next words carefully. "It seems to be working for them," Celia noted. "You said this game is like the one you play, right? You know, for something similar to something you like, you really seem to hate it."
"Of course I do," Blake said irritably. "The game is just dumb. It's like League, where the whole point is to kill the enemy buildings… but this game lets you kill your own buildings just to keep your opponents from killing them."
Not quite understanding, Celia only stared at him blankly.
"You get soldiers to help you, too. Minions, we call them. In this game, you can kill your own minions too. And your own teammates," Blake rambled on. "There's really no rules about positions, either. It's like if you were playing soccer, your opponent could choose to have their whole team be goalies."
"Okay, I get the idea," Celia cut him off hastily, having heard more than enough. She surveyed the crowd speculatively. "But however bad this game might be, the people here like it, right? That's why they're here, after all. So if everyone's here to watch their favorite game being played, they should be happy and excited… which most of them are. So, where's all the Noise coming from?"
"From those that aren't happy and excited, I guess," Blake said. He indicated a few individuals sitting alone on the steps or leaning against the walls, as well as a group sitting at the base of the large supporting column holding up the plaza's overhang. "Plus, I bet you anything some of those guys chatting with each other will start fighting before long."
"Really? Why?" Celia asked. Even as she spoke, she spotted one youth angrily storming away from his friends.
"Well, for one, it really is like a sport to these people," Blake said. "Everyone wants to see their team win, but in the end, you're going to have a lot of losers and only one winner.
Celia shrugged noncommittally. It made sense, but it sounded to her like a terribly unhealthy attitude to have.
"Then again, it's often personal," Blake explained. "In a team game, when one person screws up, his whole team pays for that mistake. The people here watching probably play the game themselves, too. When you first start a game like this, you usually want to play with your friends. Then it becomes obvious that some are better than others, and the ones who suck are just bringing everyone else down."
"But it's just a game, isn't it?" Celia asked, not understanding. "Unless you're playing in one of these tournament things yourself, you're just playing to have fun, aren't you? Losing a game shouldn't be that big of a deal."
"Losing isn't fun," Blake answered simply. "Besides, the game ranks you on how well you play, so that you can tell if you're getting better or not. Cost your friends a few games, their rankings go down, and they want nothing to do with you anymore."
Celia grimaced. It didn't make much sense to her that people would value a simple ranking so highly, but there was a trace of bitterness in Blake's tone, and she began to suspect that her partner was speaking from firsthand experience.
"Games like this have a tendency to make people hate one another," Blake said dully. "I guess, if you take a step back from it all, it does seem pretty stupid. Still, I guess that's just the way it is."
"But we have to fix this. That's our mission," Celia reminded him. "Either they're drawing Noise to them or they're creating more Noise. Then the Noise makes it easier for them to get upset with each other, and that brings even more Noise. We have to find some way to stop some of these arguments."
"But how? They can't see or hear us," Blake protested.
"We could try going inside. Maybe there's a snowflake insignia on the arena," Celia suggested.
Blake shook his head, rejecting that idea immediately. "See the badges? There's security guards at the door scanning them. You can't get in without one. Either they can't see us and we'd be no better off inside than we are out here, or they'll throw us straight back outside."
"And I doubt you could simply talk them free of the clutches of Noise, anyways," a serene voice interrupted them.
Celia and Blake turned to find Michael standing beside them.
"Emotions can be tricky," Michael explained. "They are so deeply rooted that most individuals cannot easily distinguish the negative ones from the positive ones. Trying to help someone else reframe their feelings is even more daunting."
"This whole mission is just bullshit, then," Blake complained.
"It is a rather difficult one," Michael admitted. "I'm sure the Game Master will be reasonably forgiving when it comes to evaluating the results. Nevertheless, I will speak with him after the day is over."
"But that would be too late for us," Celia protested. "What are we supposed to do now?"
"Players, like Noise, have a strong presence in the Underground," Michael explained. "You can assert that presence through your Player pin. By doing so, you can imprint a thought in someone in the Realground."
"Imprint a thought?" Celia asked curiously. "What does that mean?"
"You can force someone to think of something," Michael explained.
"We can control people's minds?" Blake gasped.
"Probably not," Michael said, shaking his head. "An imprint powerful enough to truly dominate someone's consciousness lies far beyond the scope of a typical Player's abilities. However, even a weak imprint, such as a single word, phrase, or sentiment, may be enough to nudge a living individual's thoughts towards a course more to your liking."
"So we can use our pins to try to make people think more positive," Celia said thoughtfully. "That might be enough to chase some of the Noise away, or at least stop the Noise from coming back."
"Indeed," Michael confirmed. Before he could say anything further, though, a generic text tone rang from his pocket. Surprised, he reached for his phone. A shadow flickered across his normally serene expression as he carefully read the message he had received. "I'm afraid I must be off. Good luck to you, Miss Winter. You too, Mr. Daniels."
"But…" Blake began to protest.
Michael only shook his head and disappeared in a blinding flash of light. Only a single, large white feather remained where he had been standing, drifting lazily down towards the ground.
"Fucking Reapers," Blake grumbled.
"I… I don't think Michael's a Reaper, Blake," Celia said hesitantly, staring at the feather.
"What is he, then?" Blake demanded grumpily.
Celia didn't answer aloud, but Michael's serene demeanor and the unusually elegant feather both spoke of something just as otherworldly as the Reapers, but far less menacing. "Let's give this imprinting thing a try," she finally suggested, forcing herself to focus on their mission.
"I guess we might as well," Blake conceded.
Deciding that it didn't really matter where they began, Celia approached the nearest person, a pale young man sitting at the side of the road and wearing a dejected expression.
"You or me?" Celia asked, fumbling with her Player pin.
"Go for it," Blake said.
Celia nodded and focused on her pin, fishing for her target's thoughts.
"Some trip this turned out to be. Hundreds of euros spent and gone, and I'm stuck sharing a room with five others, including that one guy who's apparently never heard of a shower. The food here is expensive and terrible and I can't even get any cool souvenirs since the line at the shop is hours long. To top things off, I'm not even going to get to see my team play! What kind of stupid-ass format eliminates half the teams before the main event even begins, anyways?"
Celia tore herself away from the man's internal monologue, feeling dizzy and lost.
"What's his problem, then?" Blake asked.
"Just about everything, from the sounds of it," Celia murmured. "He's European, I think. He spent a lot of money on his trip, and hates it here. Also, it sounds like the team he wanted to watch isn't actually playing?"
"What kind of idiot goes across the world to watch his team play without first checking if his team's actually playing?" Blake asked skeptically.
"I don't know. He said something about a format? Why don't you scan him, Blake? You'll probably understand him better," Celia suggested.
Blake nodded. "Alright." He closed his eyes and seemed to fall into a state of deep concentration.
"America, fuck yeah!" the pale man suddenly blurted aloud, seemingly against his will.
"There we go," Blake said opening his eyes and wearing a satisfied expression.
Celia stared at him in horror. "What… what did you just do?" she asked.
"Well this guy's unhappy here, right? That Reaper, or non-Reaper, whatever he is, said we could inspire phrases and sentiments," Blake reasoned.
"And that's what you decided upon?" Celia asked incredulously. "Blake, that phrase is usually a joke making fun of American stereotypes!"
"It doesn't have to be used ironically," Blake said defensively.
"Maybe not, but…" Celia began.
"More like fuck America," the pale man suddenly cried loudly, hopping angrily to his feet.
"Excuse me?" another passerby, a large and burly man, interrupted in a dangerous tone.
"You heard me," the pale man said bitterly. "No wonder the rest of the world…"
Desperately, Celia reached out with her own pin. "Stop!" she cried aloud, just in case thinking the word wouldn't be enough.
To her surprise, the European man froze, and look as if he was unsure as to what to say.
"Just apologize to him," Celia whispered pleadingly. "I know you're having a bad week, but you don't make your vacation worse."
To her relief, the European man obliged her unheard suggestion. "Sorry, mate. I've been having a rough week."
Celia then directed her attention towards the other man, who appeared to be a local, judging by his Seattle Seahawks t-shirt. "He's a visitor here. You should try to make him feel welcome," she instructed, now feeling slightly more confident.
"I see," the larger man said, his anger slipping away. "You aren't from around here, are you?"
"No. I'm just here on vacation. It hasn't turned out quite the way I thought it would," the European man admitted.
"Ah. The food festival isn't quite what you expected, huh?" the American man asked, now wearing a knowing smile.
"W-Well… no," the European man admitted.
"I can't blame you for that. It's mostly overpriced junk food with some overpriced normal food sprinkled throughout," the American man said with a laugh. "For a food festival, the food really isn't very good. Well, except down at the Alley. Some of the best restaurants in town turn out for that. I'm heading down there to meet with a friend right now, actually. Say, why don't you come with me?"
The European man glanced back at the arena, a yearning look in his eyes.
"Go with him," Celia urged quietly, focusing on her Player pin again. "Your favorite team isn't playing, anyways. Go enjoy your vacation. You can always watch your team play some other day."
"I… sure, I'll come. If you don't mind, that is," the European man said hesitantly.
With that, the two men set off together. Some Noise trailed after them, but many more simply disappeared, and a few more turned away, looking bored.
"Okay, that was pretty cool," Blake conceded. "That seemed like a lot more than a sentiment or a phrase, though. That was like a full-fledged Jedi mind trick from Star Wars."
"That wasn't a mind trick," Celia said wearily. "He was frustrated and disappointed, but he came here to have a good time, after all. He just needed to be reminded of that."
"Maybe, but those imprints were still quite impressive."
Celia and Blake turned to find Graham standing behind them. Jason was standing nearby, too, his Player pin in hand as he focused on someone in the Realground.
"Hello, Graham," Celia greeted.
"Hey there," Graham said. "Jason and I have been going around the arena, showing people how to imprint with their Player pins, but I guess you two have already figured it out."
"Michael came by and explained it to us," Celia said.
"Ah, that would do it," Graham nodded.
"And how did you and Jason figure it out, exactly?" Blake asked suspiciously.
"One of the Reapers taught us. A curious fellow in a black hoodie, who wears a red scarf over most of us his face," Graham replied. "Still, I've never seen any imprints quite as complicated as the ones you just used, Celia. Anytime I try to get more than a few words across, my intent gets completely garbled. You're a natural."
"Alright, I think I broke up the argument those kids were having," Jason interrupted suddenly, joining them. "Maybe not completely, but some of the Noise went away at least. I'd call that a win."
"Good enough," Graham agreed.
"I still can't believe how worked up these people get over a game," Jason grumbled.
"I know. If they want to get worked up over something, it should be something serious, like football. Right, Jason?" Graham added slyly.
"Oh shut up," Jason laughed. "Football's a real sport, unlike this crap." At his words, Blake's eyes flashed menacingly.
Celia instinctively reached for her Player pin, wondering if imprints could work on other Players, and whether she could possibly dissuade another argument. "Please don't," she whispered, forgetting that partner could simply hear her.
Blake gave her an odd look.
"Sorry, Celia. You can't imprint thoughts upon other Players," Graham said pleasantly, understanding her intent at once.
Thankfully, Blake didn't seem upset. "Don't worry. I'm not going to start anything," he reassured Celia, though he paused to shoot Jason another angry glare.
"Thank you," Celia said, before turning back to Graham. "Graham, does that mean the other Players are around here, too?"
"Several of them, at least," Graham replied. "They're all doing the same thing we are, now."
"We've run into sixteen Players now, counting you and Blake," Jason said. Then he began looking around, counting up the nearby Noise. "There's still have an awful lot of Noise nearby, though. I don't know if we'll be able to drive all of them away before we're out of time."
"We were told that the Game Master probably doesn't expect us to erase all the Noise," Celia said.
"Well, that's good to hear," Graham said, nonplussed. "That's no reason to start slacking now, though. Let's get back to work, Jason."
"Right," Jason agreed.
"See you two around," Graham said, before he and Jason moved towards the nearest concentration of Noise.
"We should be going, too. Wouldn't want to get in their way, after all," Blake said.
Celia quickly agreed, seizing the opportunity to separate Blake and Jason. She and Blake walked a fair distance away, following the crowds around the arena, then began homing in on the Noise once more.
Celia stepped away from her latest target, a teen who looked to be about Blake's age. Her brief glimpse into the boy's thoughts had told her everything she needed to know. "You were right, Blake," she said. "He's just like you, isn't he?"
Blake looked at her strangely.
"Didn't you scan him?" Celia asked.
"I did," Blake said. "It sounds like his best friend stopped playing with him because he was terrible. I told you, it happens all the time."
"Instead of watching the games with his friends, he's here by himself. No wonder he's upset," Celia said. "Why don't you try to cheer him up a little? Imprint something on him that'll make him feel better or something."
"Like what?" Blake asked helplessly.
Celia sighed. "Fine. I'll try it, then," she said, focusing on her own Player pin.
The teen sat up. "Maybe I should just go home," he said to himself. "It's not like I'm watching the games anyways. But… go home, and then what? Play by myself, and lose a bunch of games so that everyone else can make fun of you later? Or not. Come on, Drew, the others aren't even talking to you anymore."
"Drew, huh?" Celia frowned. Then she tried again.
"I guess I could find something else to do," Drew said listlessly. "I still have my old guitar in the closet, I think. I wonder if I still remember how to play. I haven't touched it since Carl and I started…" He swallowed uncomfortably and glanced towards the arena, unable to complete the thought aloud.
"Great. His one other hobby is the one he shared with the friend who's not talking to him anymore," Celia sighed.
Blake winced uncomfortably. "Yeah. Kind of sucks, doesn't it?" he said.
"Blake, you mentioned this earlier. This kid's exact story, pretty much," Celia said. "You've been through something like it yourself, haven't you? You have to have some idea of what could make him feel better."
"I don't," Blake said. "Look, Celia. I… I have been through something like this, yes. But it isn't what you think."
"What is it, then?" Celia asked.
"My friends didn't push me away," Blake admitted. "I pushed them away myself. I had always been kind of a joke to them. I was the kid who'd spend hours studying, and still get the worst passing grades possible. I was terrible with sports, too. In fact, I wasn't really good at anything. Whenever we hung out and did stuff together, no matter what we did, I was awful at it. They never really said anything about it, but it always felt like they were laughing at me between themselves. Then we started playing League, and it was the first time I was actually good at something. It was the first time they were the ones making mistakes, and I got to be the one helping them."
"It sounds like you were having a good time. Why would you push them away, then?" Celia asked, confused.
"I enjoyed it at first," Blake said. "But then I began to feel like they were dragging me down. I thought I could go pro. Here was the first thing I'd ever been good at. I wanted to compete with the best, and have others look up to me for once. I wanted to shut my dad up, after all the time he spent harping on how I couldn't even hold onto a minimum wage job. I started taking the game more and more seriously; hell, I even dropped out of school so I'd have more time to play. But my friends didn't care at all, about the game or about what I was trying to do. They'd hop online and play while drunk or stoned, even. I lost my temper with them, and said a few things I probably shouldn't have. That was the end of that."
"I guess you could have been more careful with your words, but it doesn't sound like your friends were entirely blameless, either," Celia said. "It's hard enough to chase after dreams already. Good friends should be standing by you and trying to help."
"It wasn't their fault," Blake said, shaking his head. "It's not like they were making fun of me or telling me to give it up. They just kept living their lives their own way, and when it clashed with what I wanted to do, I decided I didn't need them anymore. It was mutual, at first: we shut each other out. Later, they tried to reach out to me, and I wouldn't hear any of it. For all I know, they were only trying to apologize. You know what the worst part was, though? The worst of it was, I had only been deluding myself all along. I'm awful at the game. I was only better than my friends because they were even more awful, because none of them cared about getting better. I was never going to amount to anything."
At first, Celia wasn't sure what to say. She still wasn't quite comfortable with her partner being honest with her. In fact, she wasn't even quite over her dislike of him. At the same time, Blake looked so thoroughly dejected and miserable that she found it hard to say anything harsh, however deserved it might be. "Well, at least it's not too late," she finally said. "We can still survive this game. Then you can go back and apologize to them, right? Maybe they'll forgive you."
"They shouldn't forgive me," Blake said, shaking his head. He looked at Drew, who had laid back down, closing his eyes. "I think I know what to tell him now. My friends had the right idea; it's time to move on."
Blake raised his Player pin, but Celia stopped him. "Let me, please," she requested.
"Alright. He's all yours," Blake agreed.
Celia took a deep breath, then began focusing on her Player pin. "Drew, everyone make mistakes from time to time. Maybe you hurt your friend. Maybe he hurt you. None of that matters now. If he needs some space, give him the space he needs, and hope he comes around some day. Until then, don't worry what he, or anyone else, thinks. Just live your own life," she urged aloud, wondering how much of her intent could actually be conveyed through the imprint.
Drew didn't react, and it took Celia a moment to understand that the boy had fallen asleep. Still, her words had had their desired effect, for all of the Noise nearby had disappeared entirely.
"Graham's right," Blake said with a laugh. "You really are good at that."
"Yeah, well, he's also right about me being unable to imprint any thoughts on you," Celia said. "I guess I can only hope that you'll decide to listen to me."
"That's not one of my friends you were just talking to. Even if you could reach any of them, I don't really deserve another chance," Blake said, shaking his head. "I don't even deserve this chance to play the Reapers' Game. I'm only going through with it because you never deserved to be sent here."
"But I'm here anyways, right? I don't think the world we live in really cares about what people do and don't deserve," Celia pointed out. "What good is it to keep lamenting your mistakes? If you regret what you did to your friends, then once we're back in the real world, you should go apologize to them. They might forgive you, or they might refuse to talk to you. Either way, that's just the way it is, isn't it? You have to stop pitying yourself, Blake. Learn from your mistakes, then take your own advice and move on."
"Might I offer you a more realistic alternative?" a silky voice interrupted. "You may be better off savoring what time you have left."
Celia and Blake turned to find a familiar, severe-looking Reaper with vaguely wolfish features approaching them.
"Hello, Bradley," Celia said warily.
"Ah! You remembered me! How kind of you," Bradley laughed. "I was denied my feast once, but it seems you've saved yourself for me, pretty one."
"Back off, Reaper," Blake warned, drawing his pins.
"Sorry. No can do," Bradley drawled. "Erasing you Players is kind of my job, see? Especially you, Miss Winter."
"Especially… me?" Celia asked, bewildered.
"Oh? Didn't you know? The Conductor's taken a special interest in you. Funny, really. You must be a rather special woman to have caught that madman's attention," Bradley teased. "Bad luck for you and your partner, I guess."
"What does the Conductor have against her?" Blake demanded angrily.
"I'm afraid I have no idea. Above my paygrade," Bradley said, with mock regret. "I can only hope she proves an exceptionally delicious morsel, as I've saved all my Noise today just for her. We'll find out in a minute, won't we?"
A pair of smaller Noise sigils appeared around the Reaper, and then a larger one appeared overhead. Two Trance Hounds burst from each of the smaller sigils, and a dolphin-shaped Noise, larger than the others of its kind Celia and Blake had seen before, leapt from the larger sigil, plunging into the lawn so that only its dorsal fin remained above ground. "Behold, the great hunter of the sea. Lovely creature, isn't he? I only wish I could offer this noble beast a pack," Bradley said regretfully.
Then the cocky Reaper vanished, as did everyone from the Realground, and Celia and Blake each found themselves alone with the Noise.
"Orcinus Canor. This vicious predatory Noise swims easily through any surface as if it were made of water. Its acrobatic leaps are as deadly as they are graceful, and it can consume other Noise, strengthening itself."
Just as Michael's voice finished describing the larger Noise, the creature leapt up into the air, showing off its sleek black-and-white patterns and its tattoo-like fins.
"A killer whale," Celia realized in horror, watching as Orcinus crashed down atop the nearest Trance Hound, devouring it whole. The smaller Noise emitted a pitiful squeak before disappearing from sight.
The larger Noise then bulged and swelled, and Celia knew she could not allow it to consume the other three Trance Hounds as well. She lifted her Lightning Rook pin, swiftly blasting the nearest hound away. She turned towards a second as her stylus jabbed down at the third.
Her second bolt of lightning struck Orcinus instead, for it had reached her second target first. Even as the third hound went up in flames, torn apart by Celia's blazing stylus, the dolphin-like Noise seemed to grow even larger. Its dorsal fin quivered and straightened, then surged forward towards Celia.
Celia fired off a third bolt while calling her stylus in front of her to create a barrier. A brick wall appeared just as the lightning shot past.
The Noise's fin tore through the wall, sending bricks flying every way. Panicking, Celia leapt aside, dropping her pin in the process. She tripped, falling to the ground with a pained yelp.
Behind her, the Noise turned agilely and straightened itself, preparing to charge again.
Battling the same Noise in the other zone, Blake didn't waste his time scanning the Noise as Celia had done. He fired off a quick salvo of magical projectiles, battering Orcinus immediately.
Then one of the four Trance Hounds disappeared, and the killer whale Noise seemed to grow larger.
"Erasing the little ones makes the large one even bigger," Blake muttered grimly, quickly jumping to an errant conclusion. He switched pins and invoked a different psych, calling forth silvery-blue shackles to pin his most dangerous opponent.
The chains held at first, but when a second Trance Hound disappeared, Blake took in a sharp breath, preparing to dive away if the deadly Noise grew large enough to break the chains.
When Orcinus remained the same size, Blake realized his initial guess was wrong. The two Trance Hounds pounced at him, and this time, he didn't hesitate to blast one away, while using a different pin to whisk himself away from the other. When he looked back, he found that all the hounds were gone.
But this time, Orcinus did swell, and Blake's conjured chains shattered uselessly. "Damn it," Blake swore. He readied himself, waiting for the Noise to strike. Orcinus leapt from the water, doing an elegant flip before descending towards Blake.
Then Blake was gone, teleporting himself away as soon as the dolphin-like Noise was committed to its course. He spun around, blasting wildly with his magical lances and conjuring a massive axe to chop down at his foe. Both attacks hit their mark, and Orcinus shook momentarily.
"We can do this all day," Blake whispered, silently hoping that his partner would be able to keep up with their deadly foe, too.
With her Lightning Rook lying uselessly on the ground nearly five feet away, Celia knew she only had time for one quick drawing. Unfortunately, she found that she could only think of killer whales and lightning bolts.
Orcinus closed in, leaping up and opening its maw wide. As she found herself staring down the Noise's gullet, Celia found herself wishing she was somewhere else. Anywhere else, for that matter.
Celia's stylus turned to point directly towards her, and a bolt of lightning erupted from it. She flinched, but it didn't seem to hurt at all. Instead, she felt strangely light and airy, as if a great weight had been lifted. Instinctively, she tried leaping out of the way.
She was too late, and tried to scream as she found herself leaping straight at the Noise.
Orcinus bit down hard, his teeth going straight through its victim.
Yet Celia still didn't feel any pain, or any contact with the mighty Noise at all. After an uncomfortable blur as she passed through the monstrous creature, she found herself floating in mid-air. She looked down in shock, only to find that her body had become little more than a silhouette of herself, formed purely from crackling lightning.
Celia watched, entranced, as her body gradually reverted to normal. A few seconds later, the enchantment fell away entirely, and she landed lightly on the ground as her normal, vulnerable self.
The Noise charged again, and this time, Celia was ready. Her stylus shocked her again, and she rushed through the Noise, reaching for her fallen Lightning Rook pin as she did. She couldn't quite feel the smooth metal pin in her hand, but knew she had retrieved it nonetheless. She spun, and was gratified to see the giant Noise twitching uncontrollably with electricity coursing violently through it.
Three quick bolts of lightning hammered into the Noise. Combined with Blake's efforts in the other zone, it was more than the Noise could handle, and it crumbled into static, and then nothingness.
"There. Your Noise is gone. Now get lost," Blake spat, as soon as he and Celia were standing before Bradley once more.
Bradley looked outraged. "Alright, then. The gloves come off," he hissed.
But another Reaper had joined them.
"What do you think you're doing, Brad!?" Dennis interrupted, a panicked look on his face.
"Mind your own business, you little crybaby," Bradley sneered.
"You know the rules!" Dennis protested. "Once you use the Noise the Game Master allocates to you, you're done for the day!"
"Then it's a shame he isn't here to stop me, isn't it?" Bradley growled. He thrust both palms forward, calling forth another six Noise sigils.
"Then I'll stop you myself," Dennis declared, standing between the two Players and his fellow Reaper.
"You?" Bradley laughed. "When did you decide to grow a spine? Or are you just the Game Master's little lapdog now?"
"Does it matter?" Dennis challenged. "Attack me, then. Think the Game Master will forgive that?"
Bradley glowered at Dennis, but said nothing.
"That's what I thought, too," Dennis said coldly. "I'll make you a deal. Get out of here and learn to play by the rules, and the Game Master won't have to hear about this."
Dennis's threat must have been too great for Bradley to ignore, for in the end, the brutish Reaper shot Celia and Blake a murderous look, then stomped away.
"You two had better watch your backs," Dennis said quietly as he watched his fellow Reaper depart. "He'll keep bending the rules so long as he thinks he can get away with it."
"Looks like it," Celia agreed. "Thanks for sticking up for us, though."
"Don't mention it," Dennis said.
"Hey, Dennis," Blake said, with no trace of his earlier mistrust. "That Reaper said the Conductor's after Celia for some reason. Another Reaper said the same thing to us yesterday. Do you have any idea why?"
"The Conductor?" Dennis asked, surprised. "I didn't think he cared about how the Game went."
"Selena said the same thing, but both Bradley and Trevor seem to be after us… well, me, really," Celia said softly.
"Us," Blake corrected firmly. "We're partners, remember?"
Celia nodded, and couldn't help but feel touched by her partner's sudden display of solidarity.
"I don't see why the Conductor would care," Dennis said. "Most of the time, he just ups and disappears, off to do his own thing. One of the vets told me that the Conductor is supposed to assign the Game Master and Reapers for each game, but it's that Michael dude that's been making those decisions, lately. That's doubly weird, since Michael doesn't even have a title. No one knows why he's in charge, he just is, sort of."
"Michael doesn't have a title?" Celia asked, surprised.
"Not one that I've heard," Dennis said with a shrug.
"Hmm… have you ever heard of the Producer, Dennis?" Celia asked curiously.
Dennis gave her an odd look. "Nope. None of the vets mentioned any Producer, either," he said, wearing a look of honest confusion.
"Never mind then," Celia said. "Well, whatever he is, at least Michael seems determined to keep the Game fair. Hey, Dennis, what do you know about the Game Master? When you mentioned the Game Master, Bradley seemed kind of worried. Scared, even."
"Honestly, not much," Dennis admitted. "He's always been the quiet type, hanging out in the background. Most of us barely noticed him until Michael showed up just before the week started to give us our roles. The Game Master seems reasonable enough, but no one really wants to cross him. He was powerful enough to be given the job, after all."
"Reasonable?" Blake scoffed. "You think our mission for today is reasonable?"
At his words, Celia suddenly remembered their predicament. "Blake, the mission!" she exclaimed, instinctively looking at her palm. To her surprise, her timer was already gone.
"See what I mean?" Dennis grinned. "There's still quite a bit of Noise hanging around, but you Players did some real work out here today. Told you that would be enough for the Big Man."
"Well, I'm glad some of you Reapers play fair, at least," Blake said.
"Most of us try to," Dennis said with a shrug. "And Brad… well, he seems a bit overzealous, but if he's really getting different orders from the Conductor, it may not really be his fault. A lot of us are pretty new to being Reapers, and we're still just feeling our way along."
"How did you all become Reapers, anyways?" Celia asked curiously, for it had only occurred to her then that the Reapers seemed more or less like regular people.
Dennis shifted uncomfortably. "Sorry. I'm not supposed to say."
"Why not?" Blake asked warily.
"Michael strictly forbade us from talking about it," Dennis said. "The order came from the Composer, supposedly. He's the one really in charge of the Underground. The Conductor's supposed to report to him, and I think Michael does, too. I know even less about him than our Game Master, though. I've only seen him twice, and never his face, assuming he even has one. I haven't heard him speak before, either."
"It must be pretty confusing," Celia said sympathetically.
"Oh, it is. I'm not complaining, though," Dennis said. Before he could say anything else, his phone buzzed. "Ah. Looks like the Game Master's about to put you all to sleep. I'd best be off, then. Good night. I'll see you two later, hopefully."
"Alright. Thanks again, Dennis," Celia said.
A few miles away from the KeyArena, Michael stood motionless atop of one of the stores overlooking Pike Place Market. Invisible to the living world, he kept his eyes fixed on the streets below. He waited there patiently, as if expecting someone.
He wasn't surprised in the slightest when he heard soft footsteps behind him. "Good afternoon, Game Master," he greeted.
"You asked to see me, Ariel?" the Game Master asked.
Michael turned to face his guest, a fairly tall, solidly-built man clad in a long black leather trench coat. "You've changed your look," Michael remarked.
"I've reverted to my old look," the Game Master corrected. "It does feel a bit refreshing, in a way. It's been quite some time since I was last made Game Master… but I digress. What do you need?"
In answer, Michael stepped aside and turned back to the street. "Look," he instructed.
The Game Master frowned. "At what? Minamimoto's 'art'? I thought you had decided to wait until after he leaves to scrub them from the Underground."
"I did, but I believe now that I've made a grievous error," Michael admitted. "Take a closer look."
The Game Master took a step forward and eyed the junk heap carefully. His eyes widened as he saw what Michael was referring to. "What the hell?"
"I've noticed that your diction grows cruder upon being confronted by your former partner's antics," Michael said, amused.
"If you think I'm bad now, you should have seen when I was with…" the Game Master began wryly, before cutting himself off halfway through. "Never mind. My question still stands."
"Well, that's a…" Michael began.
"I know what it is," the Game Master sighed. "I've seen a Taboo Noise refinery sigil before. I've heard the rumors about Minamimoto, too. My question is, what the hell does he think he's playing at?"
"Frankly, following that man's train of thought is far beyond even my abilities," Michael admitted. "His motives matter little to us now, anyways. Over the past few weeks, he has constructed dozens of his sculptures throughout the city. Each sculpture has now been ingrained with a similar sigil, and the Taboo Noise have already begun to surface. If we do not act swiftly, the Underground will be overrun by this time tomorrow."
"Then we'll act swiftly," the Game Master said simply.
"You will confront him? He's almost certainly beyond you right now, you realize," Michael warned.
"I didn't say I'd confront him alone," the Game Master pointed out dryly.
Michael shook his head. "If you and I go to face him together, who will maintain the Game? Who will deal with the sigils and the Noise?" he reminded.
"Then what do you suggested?" the Game Master asked.
"Allow me to handle the Conductor," Michael requested grimly. "I'll put an end to his nonsense while you keep the Underground in order."
"Are you sure you can handle him alone? He might be insane, but he's more powerful than just about any other Reaper I've ever known," the Game Master warned.
"Please," Michael laughed dismissively. "I can handle one renegade Reaper. I'm more worried about you. What do you intend to do?"
"The only thing I can do," the Game Master replied. "This calls for a change in tomorrow's mission. The Reapers and I will do what we can about the sigils. After that, I'll send the Players after the Noise."
Michael looked at the Game Master in surprise. There was even a slight trace of fear in his eyes. "You will order the Players into battle against Taboo Noise?" Michael asked, shocked.
"What choice do I have? The Reapers don't have the manpower to handle the Taboo Noise alone," the Game Master said.
"The Players will not escape their battle with the Taboo Noise unscathed," Michael warned. "Some may be erased."
"Possibly all of them," the Game Master added grimly. "But if we cannot erase the Taboo Noise, we cannot save the Players anyways. I'm no happier about this than you are, Ariel. We need these Players to make it through; I still mean to face them myself on the seventh day. That will never happen if we let the Taboo Noise run free."
"I suppose we'll have to trust our Players to weather the storm before them, then," Michael said. "You'll be glad to know that some of your players have proven extraordinarily resilient," he added thoughtfully.
"Oh? Which of them?" the Game Master asked in a tone of mild curiosity.
"A young woman named Celia Winter, to name one," Michael said slyly. "If tomorrow goes as well as you hope, you'll have quite the battle waiting for you on the final day."
For a long time, the Game Master said nothing. When he finally spoke, his voice seemed unnaturally calm, and his words seemed forced. "I'm glad to hear it."
"Good luck, Game Master," Michael said.
"Good luck to you too, Ariel. I may be wrong, but I think you'll need it more than I will."
I don't care 'bout imaginary boundaries,
But somehow, I'm afraid to go over them,
Cover up all my scars and memories,
Creativity is all that I've got…
Author's Note:
Lyrics taken from Three Minutes Clapping.