Freda’s dark brown eyes shifted towards the puddle of blood. Fear was not something she was unfamiliar with. She had experienced it all her life—fear of people, fear of the elements, fear of an unfortunate accident. Freda had experienced enough fear to fill three lifetimes.
The puddle of blood next to her was no more shocking than the one she saw the day her mother died. The wild and aggressive bearded man was no more threatening than her abusive father. The supernatural ice room and disembodied system voice were no more logically baffling than the government not allowing her to work while sick, while not allowing her to get their assistance unless she was looking for work.
She had done her best to survive during her life, and in this limbo, she would do her best to reach the end.
Discussions about working together and supporting the fragile were stopped short by the static of the system delivering a new message.
Feeling an itch on the inner part of her forearm, Freda pulled down the cuff of her sleeve. She watched the others do the same from her periphery. Marked on her skin like a scar from an old wound were three numbers: 1-3-0.
“GYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAK!”
As the system spoke, the woman who appeared right after Freda let out a bloodcurdling scream and grabbed a fistful of her mousy brown hair.
"My arm! My arm!” She tried to scratch off the numbers, having no care for the harm she was inflicting upon herself.
It all happened at once in a chaotic scene.
The system repeated its announcement: "The trial has now begun.”
Freda raised her hand and waved at the ceiling.
“Hey, System! Hold on, wait!”
Pairs of stunned eyes turned towards her. Even those trying to soothe the crying woman paused to watch this courageous person bundled up in a down denim jacket casually shout into the air.
"What is she doing?“ one muttered as a second person whispered, "Can you even talk to it?”
Her arm still raised in the air, Freda continued, “Can we get some anxiety meds for that lady?”
Everyone: …
System: …
Freda was patient but when the system did not answer within 10 seconds, she repeated her question. The system could hear them, she knew. If it couldn't, it would have said its message one time (as standard) or three times (like the introduction). But it said it twice, like it was aware its first time was overshadowed by the woman's screams.
Finally, the sound of static filled the room as the system responded: “Participants of the afterlife system have had bodies restored to A+ standards of health upon arrival. Any conditions resulting after entering the system do not qualify for system interference.”
After a moment of speechlessness, Freda waved her finger. “No no no. As the system administrator of this test that we were brought into involuntarily, you are required to provide reasonable accommodation to any participants that may need it,” she explained with full confidence.
The other participants tilted their heads curiously, either trying to figure out what Freda’s hidden motives were or what mumbo jumbo she was talking about.
“One of your participants is barely able to stand up let alone attempt a trial. If one of your trials requires reading and a captive, ahem, participant is illiterate or needs glasses, do they have to just give up and repeat a trial?!”
Sparks of realization flashed in the eyes of the other humans.
Freda clicked her tongue, shifted her gaze and folded her arms. "Talk about unjust and unfair."
If the system had a face, it would have looked like it’d just been slapped by a lemon-soaked rag.
Just as the bearded man was about to raise his fist in support of Freda's argument, the system static sounded again.
“Administrator-approved calming agent has been administered to participant 59601A. The trial has now begun.”
The woman with the son named Timothy rubbed 59601A’s back in circular motions.
"Do you feel any better?”
59601A took a deep breath and nodded.
"I’m Angie. What's your name?”
The other woman's breath hitched before she replied, "Misha.”
"What a beautiful name.” A gentle smile graced the mother’s lips.
The moment Misha was helped to her feet, a trickling sound caught Freda's attention. She and the other participants with good hearing were already staring at the wall above the trail of blood as it melted from an invisible heat. The melted ice mixed with the blood, expanding the puddle and causing the pocket knife man to stumble backward just as he had taken a step forward.
The puddle stopped expanding and had turned a light red once the wall formed a doorway the width of two people. The trail of blood that had faded into nothingness within the ice now trailed a few feet out of the doorway and to the left.
"It's a hallway,” said the rich man who was brave enough to grab the doorway and peer out of it.
The ten people exchanged glances in silence.
“Let's all introduce ourselves first," said the bearded man, serious eyes scanning the crowd. "I want to know who I'm heading into Hell with.”
A minute later, Freda had finished analyzing and categorizing each of the nine other people. She knew who would be helpful, who would take a free ride, who would unhesitatingly sacrifice themselves, who would unhesitatingly sacrifice others, who would vy for leadership, who would need to be carried, who could be allowed some trust, and who was never to be trusted.
The earlier situation in the room had shown her a lot and their introduction styles just now solidified her hypotheses.
The group made their way out of the ice room and into the hallway, Beard in front with Anime Boy, Pocket Knife and other men next, women and elderly in the center, and Frida close behind Mom and Mousey. Freda glanced at Rich Man who placed himself near the center to check in on the men and women, gross smile still plastered on his face.
Stay far away from him, Freda thought. It was clear, behind that façade of gentlemanliness, personability, and calm was a calculating fox.
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