A/N: Fun fact: I work in a warehouse to pay for law school.

My sister works as a waitress to pay for art school and hates it.

Chapter 10

"…and then she just pretended she'd lost my number. Can you believe chicks sometimes?"

Working in a warehouse isn't exactly the obvious choice for a girl and co-workers like the one's conversation I have the displeasure of overhearing right now kind of explains why.

When I applied for this job the supervisor just raised an eyebrow and eyed me up. Clearly his intention was to mock me when he ordered me to pick up some heavy boxes from the assembly line and put it on one of the shelves – top row, of course. Even when I proved this wasn't a problem for me he didn't give up. Fucker didn't even try to hide his smirk when he asked me to use a forklift and rearrange some crates. That's basically what working in a warehouse is about: Carrying stuff from A to B and back, filling boxes, cutting boxes open, pushing crates, refilling supplies, taking out the trash… it's pretty dull. I guess if it weren't for Gantz and my suit, if was still an average teenage girl I wouldn't have bothered working here, or at all, for that matter. The old Santana would probably have laughed right in my face.

Anyway, after three days of proving I didn't have a problem with all this nonsense they call hard work I got the job and I guess I earned myself some respect, too. The supervisor only smirks at me now when he thinks I'm not looking. Asshole. Whatever.

Actually I like the warehouse. I mean, yea, the pay is shitty and I could probably do better if I worked as a waitress and shook my ass at customers or whatever, but there's no way in hell I'm gonna do that.

Up here on the first floor there are no windows reminding me of what time of the day or year it is. It's always kinda cold and kinda dark, but at least no one pretends it's not. Anywhere else people expect you to celebrate the day, to celebrate life. But here all I'm expected to do is move stuff around and no one gives a fuck if I smile. No, actually, it'd be really weird if I smiled, because who fucking smiles while moving crates around? Although I have to admit that skating on a hand-lift is sort of fun.

My co-workers are all guys, which is also fine with me. They're the simple minded kind, the kind that doesn't expect me to talk if I don't want to. Here in the warehouse all boundaries are respected if you just work hard enough. You can be a complete weirdo, anti-social, even rude and it doesn't matter. Sometimes I think it's even appreciated.

Of course that also means enduring some really obnoxious guy-talk.

"… so I was like 'Dude! No one gives a fuck.' and he went all crazy on me, tried to hit me and all. But fucker has no aim so what does he do? He rams his fist into the next wall. Now he's got a broken wrist. That idiot…"

Enlightening.

I climb a step further upwards on the ladder that's leaned against the shelf I'm currently working on. My upper body is kind of buried between stuff as I try to make space for the box I'm balancing on my right hand. It's not heavy, it's just big and unwieldy.

"Did you see that girl's ass? I wonder how old she is."

I close my eyes for a second and just hope they're not talking about me.

"Shhh!"

"You think she can hear us?"

Fuck.

"She's pretty strong for a girl, though. I don't know."

I know this kind of talk. It always starts with a little comment. Then someone else agrees. Then those two start exchanging comments frequently. Next the comments grow to gossip and before you know it you got a whole team against you, talking behind your back. It shouldn't bother me. Not anymore. Not after my death. And yet it triggers memories.

I'm in my usual bathroom stall, squatting on the toilet, trying to escape all the looks and talks.

I'm lying in the dumpster, staring at the sky, trying to fight back my tears.

I'm in the hallway right after some insult was thrown at me. "Loser! Retard! Dyke! Trashcan!" I used to close my eyes and walk on, trying to ignore them away. A part of me always hoped they'd just disappear if I managed to pretend long enough. If I'd just hold still, they'd eventually give up, right?

Yea. It never worked. I was such a wuss, such a coward.

Now I'm strong. I do my job well. I deserve respect and no one's going to take it from me.

"Excuse me, gentlemen, do you have a bathroom I could use?"

And then it hits me that of course they weren't talking about me.

I should have known that bringing Rachel here wasn't such a great idea. But she needs a job. She needs her own stuff. She needs her own fucking mattress.

"Pancakes," I remind myself as I make my way back down the ladder to save my roommate from further humiliation and most importantly: to save my own dignity. I brought her here. If she makes an ass out of herself they'll take it out on me.

"Good job, Lopez." I curse to myself. But just as I'm about to jump off the second to last step I hear the familiar ringing noise.

Not now! Dammit! Not now! Something's seriously wrong, because Gantz never calls me back when I'm around other people. I'm always alone! Fuck that. "Rachel!" I call out, climbing all the way back up. "Rachel! Care to help me with for a second?" I repeat when I don't receive a response.

In my panic I jump onto the shelf and hide between some boxes. I must look ridiculous, but at least it's safe.

The last thing I see is Rachel approaching with a puzzled look on her face.

"Santana?"

A few seconds later I find myself in the apartment with Gantz.

I wait for Rachel to follow, but she doesn't come. No one does. It's more than a little confusing. Gantz, what are you up to this time? I just hope Pancakes doesn't ruin my reputation at work while I'm gone.

I stand there and stare at the black ball waiting for the screen to light up, but nothing happens.

Then the ball snaps open. No music, no weapons, no enemy to kill, no mockery. Just me standing there glaring awkwardly at the orb as it opens up.

For another few minutes nothing happens so I decide to take a closer look at the black ball. Who knows, maybe the guy inside died and Gantz is going crazy or something. But as I approach the orb I see something move inside of it and before I know it there's a naked dude- THE naked dude – standing in front of me, wearing nothing but his mohawk. And have I mentioned that he's naked? And he's supposed to be sitting inside the black ball!

Holy shit.

I feel my hands touch the ground behind me and realize I've actually fallen backwards. My jaw hurts and I realize it's wide open.

"W…w…what the…?" I hear myself stutter.

And then he speaks:

"Oh, yea. Uh, sorry about that." He awkwardly rubs the back of his neck, but doesn't try to cover himself. He's kind enough to leave some distance between his junk and me, though.

"This isn't one of your regular calls," he finally says.

No shit.

"In fact", he continues. "I called you myself to make you an offer."

"An offer?" My mouth moves faster than my brain and I find it hard to keep track of what's happening.

"Yea. Oh, I'm Puck by the way. I died, just like you. I came here the same way you did."

I blink a few times and try to make sense of that tidbit of information, without success.

"Well, anyway. I'm your friend, you know." He smiles sheepishly. Apparently he doesn't know I don't have any friends. Never had.

"So I called you here and I want to send you on one more mission on your own. I want you to get those last points, but…"

Here we go. Of course there's gotta be a catch. There always is.

"… I want you to use your points to revive Nishi."

The two brain cells which are actually still working snap out of their stupor and I finally realize what's going on.

"No way!" I snap at Puck.

I've worked too hard to get where I am. Two years I've been fighting and killing and running just to get out of here and now I'm supposed to give up my freedom voluntarily just to revive someone who betrayed me? No way.

"I thought you'd say that," Puck says. "What you do with your points is up to you, of course. But Nishi can help you bring back the others."

I furrow my eyebrows, because this guy is speaking some language I don't understand.

"Who?" is all I can come up with.

"The others," Puck repeats and it doesn't help me. "Because right now you might not care, but she cares."

"What? Who? What?" This is getting beyond confusing and I'm seriously about to lose my nerve.

"Shelby."

That word, that name, hangs in the room between Puck and me like a curtain of mist. It's ringing somewhat familiar inside my head, but I can't put my finger on why. It's like there's a fog in my brain, like a melody you know from somewhere but no matter how hard you try you can't remember where you know it from.

"I don't know…" I shake my head.

"You don't remember?" he asks as if it wasn't obvious.

"Whatever," I answer him. What's inside my head is none of his business.

"Well, you met her. We all did. And you made a choice, like me."

You have to make a choice.

Puck continues, "But like me you have to find all of that out yourself. You'll have to make a lot of choices and the most important one will lead you back to her. But first of all you need to revive Nishi."

And with that he steps back into the black ball, reconnects himself to all those weird devices and breathes into his cone.

The orb closes and a transmission begins.