There’s something about death that’s close to sleep. Eyes falling shut, brevity, nothingness…

–

There’s something about life that’s close to waking.

Scratchy sheets clawed at my skin, failing against the kind of cold that threatened to seep into every fiber and cord of my flesh. I coughed into a wall of sour air as my lungs began to work, gasping. My eyes shot open, my brain still grappling with the fact that there was any air at all. 

Shouldn’t I be busy drowning? The ghost of a hand slipped from my palm as I remembered the crashing waves. Had the ocean decided to take a convenient vacation and spare me?

I shivered like a newborn puppy as I caught my breath. The room was unfamiliar and grey. A sense of dread crawled up my spine.

I wasn't genre savvy enough for this shit.

I sat up numbly. Rubbing sleep out of my eyes like a kid, I swung my legs over the bed, and they found purchase on the freezing floor. Thus began my minor quest for anything that would keep me warm. 

Ugh.

I stumbled up, the bed creaking below me. My legs weren't quite ready to take my weight. Catching myself on a chair tucked into a messy desk, I discovered a dark jacket. Score. I tucked my body into the fabric, warming myself up. A sleek metal bracelet was affixed firmly to my wrist, nearly too tight on my skin. Maybe it was the ominous green glow of an unfamiliar gem at its center, but I was fairly wary of messing with it. I settled on glaring at the foreboding accessory. 

In any case– First objective: success.

Another bed was propped up in the corner of the room, empty but obviously slept in. I was perversely grateful to be alone in my confusion, twisting my hands around the edge of my shirt. Perhaps the movement warmed something in me because my head was a bit clearer as I stumbled my way into the bathroom. 

The room was equally sterile to the bedroom, though there was evidence of someone using the shower and sink before me. Cramped but clean.

“Where the hell am I?” I questioned, squinting in the mirror.

I palmed at the faucet and splashed some warm water in my face. There was one plastic wrapped toothbrush, the other used and sitting in a damp cup. I unwrapped the new one and pearled some toothpaste on top, wetting it together. My mouth was foul with sleep, bitter. I scrubbed my mouth absently. My thoughts were a million miles away, but my hands knew what to do. As I spit the minty concoction out, a tinny robotic voice called something over an intercom system in an alien language. I didn’t have much time to puzzle it out, but just a moment later, a message projected itself from my bracelet in English. 

“All recruits to the mess hall. Breakfast ends in 15 minutes.” 

“Holy hell.” I said, a bit of post-wash spit dribbling down my chin. I wiped at it as a pang of hunger ran its way through my intestines at the thought of breakfast. When was the last time I ate? I eyed the door warily.

“Fine.” I said, as if I was answering someone and not just talking to myself.

Ducking out of the bathroom, I assented to my possible doom. Or, just breakfast if I was lucky. With the confidence of zero confident people, I slipped a pair of shoes on (conveniently in my size) and toed my way into the hallway. It opened to a long corridor lit with some kind of fluorescent light dotting along the walls. The too-bright things were already inducing a headache between my temples. I thought I’d be alone there too, but a few other stragglers seemed to be in the same boat. Most of them were… not human. However, the general theme seemed to be confusion, an emotion that was apparently universally read across species. 

People and… well, the non-human people questioned each other, some agitated, some more bewildered. What the hell are you? What’s going on? Where am I? A few resolutely passed by, no existential terror apparent on their faces. Some spoke English, others spoke various other languages which popped up in translations. I kept my head down as I followed the lit path to an open hall. 

It was huge.

There was an amalgamation of creatures eating a variety of foods. Some humans, most not. A short line formed before a red scanner. Food was deposited at three depots. The scanner at the front read everyone’s bracelet, presumably to deposit the correct meals. “Candidate 23, Batch 52, Dianne Lee. Please proceed to Counter 2.” The tinny robot greeted me as it scanned my bracelet, the translation popping up eerily right before my eyes. 

At the center depot, plain rice, two boiled eggs, and some pickled veggies plopped down on a metal platter. The meal was accompanied by a plain glass of water, a cup of brightly colored pills, and a brief, printed note. “Eat up.” I grit my teeth in distaste.

“Wonderful.” I grumbled. 

Balancing the tray in my hands, I set my eyes on the various groups populating the mess hall. I’d just had my nineteenth birthday a couple weeks ago. Of the humans, I was on the younger side, though I warily spotted a couple of actual children scattered here and there. Some of the older people were comforting them, though not everyone was in a state of confusion. Most were simply eating breakfast. The din of voices in the mess hall was worsening my headache. If I was lucky, maybe one of the pills was ibuprofen. 

I didn’t feel particularly lucky. The chances were low. What I really needed was an explanation.

I’d settle for food, as always.

As I made my way to an open table, a thin black-haired boy with sharp eyes, maybe a few years younger than me, caught my eye. I could swear they flashed red for a moment, but when I blinked they were back to a dull brown. Sitting beside a red haired cat-like girl who was busy scarfing down the remnants of her breakfast, he had the most annoying smile on his face. 

I was about to go past them to the open spot, but then the boy did the funniest thing. 

He said my name.

“Huh?” I replied, thinking I heard him wrong,

Incredibly charismatic, he commanded: 

“Sit here.”

“Sure bud.” I nodded cautiously, clenching my fists around the metal tray. “I’ll stay if you tell me how you know my name.”

He looked me up and down, a clear smirk visible on his cheek. “I have my ways.”

Oh, was he one of those.

“So mysterious.” I said. “Do you think that makes you sound cool?”

The cat-like girl snorted suddenly, spitting some of the fishy gruel that she was shoving into her face out at the boy. His ears turned red as he wiped at the gruel.

“He really does.” The cat-like girl said, smiling. 

She tapped the table. 

“But seriously, come sit.”

Whatever language she was speaking was foreign to my ears, but it soon popped up before me, translated by the gem on my wrist. The thing was proving somewhat handy, though I still didn’t trust it.

“Does yours do that too?” I asked as I slid onto the metal bench across from the odd pair. They seemed better informed over whatever the hell was going down in this strange reality I’d found myself.

The cat-like girl tilted her head. “Does what—? Oh! Yes, it does. Though we can’t see each others’. Now that would cause problems.” 

“Right.” I said, noting that I couldn’t see anything translated on her side. It seemed true enough.

“I’m Mierre, by the way.” She grinned. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“It’s good to meet you too, though… You already knew my name.”

“I didn’t.” She said, sticking a claw out at the boy. “That’s all Mr. Seer here.” 

“Ah, Mr. Seer.” My eyebrows pinched together. “And this Mr. Seer, how did you know my name?”

“Dianne, Dianne, Dianne. If I went around spilling all my secrets, then what kind of magician would I be?” The boy tutted.

“I don’t know.” I said, “But, you’d be less of an asshole at least. Does being a magician help you make friends too?”

My words hung in the air for a moment before Mierre went into another fit, punching the table as she doubled over. “Shut up.” The Mr. Seer grumbled.

I glanced between the pair. There was a friendliness between them that I had trouble reconciling with my own morning. It threw me off.

“You two seem to know each other pretty well,” I observed. “How is that possible?”

“Oh, we’re batch mates, yessiree.” Mierre explained. “We were picked up two cycles ago, and we’re nearly ready to challenge the second level. We just need a healer to help with the Cowhawks, and—”

“Dianne doesn’t know what any of that means, Mierre.” The boy said, cutting her off. “She’s Batch 52.”

Mierre went silent at that before apologizing.

“Oh, I didn’t realize. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” I mirrored. “Why would you be sorry?”

Mierre tilted her head in the way she seemed to do when she didn’t understand a question. She placed the pads of her hands flat on the table, her bright eyes meeting my own with uncomfortable understanding.

“Because you died, of course.”

Of course?