Chapter Text
As a child, I might’ve said this world is beautiful.
However, as I grew older, I came to learn the truth of humanity.
This world is infested by two-faced sinners walking amongst us, masquerading as the virtuous and pure.
But it also harbored incredible individuals who, against all odds, sought out love, justice, peace, forbearance, and all other sorts of goodness.
Despite not having done anything to deserve any sort of maltreatment, these people—who were filled to the brim with human good—were constantly trampled upon by the ones who took until there was nothing left.
These are the people who deserve nothing short of death and eternal damnation.
I just never imagined that I’d be one of them.
I opened my eyes.
All around me, stretching into infinite darkness on every side, was nothing.
Or perhaps, just the mere illusion of nothing.
I was still aware of the presence of wherever I was. It wasn’t a true void in that sense.
But, still, no ground was beneath my feet, no sky was above my head, no walls were there beside me.
And yet, somehow, I was standing. Or maybe I was floating. I couldn’t really tell.
Then, I noticed the line.
It was a long, seemingly endless queue of people stretched out before me and behind me—all donning the same ill-fitted robes I found myself in.
I was somewhere in the middle of it. Or maybe I was at the end. Again, I couldn’t really tell.
In front of me stood a rather tall man. He was broad-shouldered and sported dense, coiled hair.
Perhaps I could get some answers from him.
"Excuse me, sir?"
The man’s body began to twitch and contort before his head finally spun around on its swivel like some kind of owl.
“Yes..?” The man inquired before his head fell to the side due to the mess of loose tendons, muscles, and bones which was supposed to be what most would call a neck.
“Well?” He continued to speak despite his head being held onto by a thread, "My, my… Young lady, you look like you’ve seen a ghost!”
“Oh…” A softer-spoken voice made itself known directly behind me, “He was beheaded…”
"Really, of all the ways to go..! Poor dear…”
The woman’s situation wasn’t much better than the man in front of me. The left side of her face was drooping so much it looked like it would just slide off at any moment! Not to mention how the other side of her face was missing and her right eyeball was hanging out of its socket by its optic nerve.
Before I could comment on the state of either of my line neighbors, I was pulled down by an unbearable weight.
I fell what seemed like hundreds of thousands of miles, the air screaming around me before it all ended with a soft thud.
I rose from my spot and was greeted by the unmistakable sight of a graveyard, littered with millions upon millions of individual crosses in every direction, the sky above bleeding a crimson red.
“Where am I..?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Another voice to my immediate right, this time carried more weight than the last two.
“You’re in Hell, you filthy sinner!” The figure loomed over me as it hunched over one of the numerous mausoleums scattered throughout the graveyard like a gargoyle.
The creature hopped off of its resting spot just then. As it pranced towards me, its hooves crunched the scarlet petals beneath us.
I couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of dread, every single nerve in my body was screaming at me, pleading for me to turn tail and make a break for it, or do anything at all rather than stand there and watch as the horned beast with six charred, black wings continued to approach on me.
All of these primal feelings went away as soon as it took my hand and shook it violently like a freak meeting their favorite idol.
“I’m a huuuge fan!” It squealed, and the atmosphere of our entire encounter had shifted dramatically, “By all the fires of the black pit, did you stick your head in a woodchipper? Your hair looks HORRIBLE!”
I almost wished it went back to being the menacing entity it was mere moments ago.
"Horrible! Horrible! Absolutely unimpressive!” It remarked, "Your body is in perfect condition, though. A small victory indeed!”
“Wait!” I cut its fashion critique early to ask one of the infinite amount of questions I had, “Does this mean… I’m dead?”
“Are you slow?” It scratched its chin with one of its claws, “I just told you that, moron. You’re in Hell! Y’know—fire, brimstone, gnashing teeth, the works.”
“I don’t remember anything,” I raised my defense, “What on Earth did I ever do to end up here?!”
“Originally, you were supposed to spend an eternity in the Ninth Level; however, I decided that your situation was just perfect to fulfill a little job for me,” I couldn’t help but look down to the floor as it explained my situation to me, “So, I decided to yank you straight from Judgement! A sinner like you has no chance of redemption, anyway.”
I couldn’t bring myself to meet its judging gaze.
I bit my lower lip anxiously, immediately feeling the disturbed skin of a scar that sat there, “...What’s this job you’re on about?”
The creature almost instantly returned to its previous gleeful showmanship from earlier that already made me yearn for when it was threatening me with eternal damnation.
“I want you…” It began, a stupid grin beginning to spread across its face, “...to become a grim reaper!”
It snapped both of its fingers in my direction, “Now, shut up and pay attention as I explain the whole reaper shindig to you in great detail!”
“Earth is chock-full of sinners walking around with a care in the world,” It chirped, “You’ll be able to tell who’s who by a giant red X that’ll be hovering over their chest that’s only visible to a reaper!”
As it explained, it used its finger to trace an invisible X on its chest, seemingly to get me to visualize what it was talking about despite there already being a big, black X on the… core—of some kind—encased in its chest.
“And that’s where you come in!” It continued, “Reaping the soul of a sinner will send them straight to Hell—no need to meddle with Judgement’s wait times! All you need to worry about is merely plucking one of those weeds a day to meet your quota, and you’ll be off the hook!”
“Sound like a deal?” It extended its hand, “Come on, let’s make it official and shake on it!”
“...And if I refuse?” I slowly asked, staring down at its offered-up hand.
“Then your sentence in Hell will begin immediately.”
With a singular snap of its fingers, I was transported to a space similar to what I had awoken to not long ago.
But this time it was different.
There was nothing.
Literally nothing.
There weren't any other people, there wasn’t any sound, I couldn’t even feel anything.
It was only me.
I fell to my knees, desperately grabbing at my own throat in what I assume was my attempt to feel something—anything at all.
This was it.
I was staring at eternity.
I don’t want to be alone.
Just as fast as it began, my brief servitude in Hell was over, with another snap, I was transported back to the comparatively forgiving graveyard from before.
“That is where you are to spend eternity,” It began again, “Oblivion.”
Sauntering over to a nearby pile of rocks, it went on, “Depending on someone’s actions in life, a sinner will be sent to one of the Nine levels.”
Its grin returned, “You were going to be sentenced to the Ninth: a void absolute nothingness, where you will continue to ‘exist’ for the rest of eternity.”
“So, about my offer…” Its tail swished back and forth behind it, extending its hand back out for me.
I bit my lip once more, weighing the total of two options I had.
“Well…” I spoke up, “It’s not like I have much of a choice.”
I took its firm grip in my own hand as I caved in.
“I knew…” As it opened that horrid trap of a mouth once more, a slithering spiral of eyes snaked its way out of that core, “...we’d come to an understanding.”
The shadowy mass surrounded me, all of its countless eyes staring right into mine.
Before I could truly process what exactly I was looking at, or rather, what was looking at me, it forced its way into my body, violently seeking entry through my mouth.
As it filled my very being, I could hear the whispers of many, the pleas of the damned filling my head.
I’ve chosen my fate in all this.
I easily chose the preservation of my own expired life over the prosperity of others.
I chose to do this.
And I think that was the worst part.
You pass countless people every day without a second thought about them, without a second glance, without it crossing your mind that their life is just as complex as your own.
I would say this applies to me as well… if I didn’t look completely ridiculous, that is.
Seriously, what was that thing thinking when he put me in this crap?
It makes me miss the old robes I woke up in.
When I told him to inform his team of ‘design experts’ that it looked terrible, all he did was threaten me with the secondary option of a ‘sexy cat girl.’
Yeah, no.
“I’m not your doll…” I somehow managed to end up rambling to myself on the side of some random corner store, “But that doesn’t even matter in the grand scheme of things!”
“Who the hell cares about my outfit?! I still don’t even know if this shit is even real, or not!”
“How do I even start with killing one person a day?!” I ran my fingers through my hair, ruffling it further out of frustration, “Where am I even gonna find a-”
“Hi?”
Shit.
“I couldn’t help but notice you were wrapped up in thought there…”
Some tall guy who was good-looking in the obnoxious, ‘pretty boy’ way had been waiting next to me, for probably the whole time I was rambling, “I just wanted to check in and make sure you were alright.”
He glanced down at my outfit, examining the crosses stitched into the baggy sleeves with his piercing blue eyes that were probably contacts.
Don’tsayanythingaboutitdon’tsayanythingaboutitdon’tsayanythi-
"Hey, your fit looks-"
Fuck.
"-really cool," He rubbed the back of his neck, flashing me his gentle, pearly white smile, "I dig the whole goth-vibe. You coming from that anime convention going on a couple blocks over, or is that just your everyday look?"
“R-Right, the anime convention!” I scrambled to keep up with the conversation, “I thought it’d be fun to dress up, y’know?”
I tugged at my sleeves, “I managed to cobble this old thing together. It's from a pretty underground manga series—you definitely haven’t heard of it before—but it’s getting there!”
"Honestly, you pull it off," He tilted his head, studying me with an appraising gaze.
“A-Ah, thanks!” I tried to bounce off his compliment, “I was super worried when I left the house. I didn’t know if anyone would give me dirty looks, or something!”
He extended his hand, "I'm Jordan, by the way."
I hesitated for a moment before taking it.
He waited for me to introduce myself, watching me with a patient, “...And you might be?”
My mind raced, ‘Do I even have a name anymore?’
My eyes darted around the street, desperate for inspiration.
A neon “OPEN” sign buzzing above the door of a nearby store.
A passerby’s bright lipstick.
The big ‘X’ hovering over Jordan’s chest.
Red.
Red everywhere.
“It’s… S-Scarlet,” I stammered, immediately cringing.
Scarlet? Really?
"Scarlet?" His brow arching as he rolled the name on his tongue as if he were tasting it.
Just then, a blush came to his face, “Like the color?! Red’s actually one of my favorites, believe it or not. It’s such a gorgeous color that looks good on just about anyone!”
"Thanks, I guess?"
"So, uh," He shoved his hands in his pockets, his body language shifting to something more casual, "You weren't really busy, were you? You looked kind of lost. Like you didn't know where to go next, or something."
I opened my mouth to lie, but he kept going, "Look, there's a diner a couple blocks over called Big John's.”
“It's not fancy, or anything, but the food's decent enough to feed a hungry man, and they've got a jukebox that still plays actual records from Before," He shrugged, a small, almost shy smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, "I was just gonna grab a bite myself, but eating alone gets old, y’know? If you're not doing anything, you could join me."
I studied him, searching for any sign of the man the red X promised he was.
But all I saw was a handsome man making a friendly offer.
It didn't feel like a trap.
"Sure," I said, agreeing, "I'd love to."
Maybe this was all just some big misunderstanding.
The pig head that sat right above the entrance of ‘Big John’s Steak and Grill’ leered at us from the parking lot, its bib declaring ‘JOHN’ in dripping red letters.
Jordan held the door open with a theatrical sweep of his arm, “After you.”
Inside, the diner was a time capsule: vinyl booths, yellowed ceiling tiles, and a jukebox playing rock songs that were practically ancient by now.
I slid into a booth. Jordan sat across from me, elbows on the checkered tablecloth.
"So," He said, drumming his fingers against the table, "Miranda, I-”
“I told you my name was Scarlet,” My gaze switched from the ketchup bottle between us onto Jordan’s face, “Who’s Miranda?”
"Oh, right," He laughed, shaking his head, "Sorry about that! I got distracted. It's just… you’re so beautiful, it makes me lose focus—I hope you don’t mind me saying.”
He ignored my question all together.
Before I could respond, the waitress came over and slapped two menus in the shape of cuts of beef onto the table, alongside two glasses of water.
Jordan ordered a T-bone, rare. I merely asked for fries, my stomach churning.
"You're not getting anything else?" He asked, raising an eyebrow, "Come on, live a little. The steak here is legit, and I’m the one paying, so no harm done to you!"
"I'm not really a steak person," I said, which was true for as far as I knew, "Fries are more my speed."
"Suit yourself," He shrugged.
The waitress shuffled off, taking out menus with her, and Jordan leaned forward with an eager expression, "So, what do you do? When you're not wandering around talking to yourself, I mean."
I scrambled for an answer, "I'm… sorta in between jobs right now. I’m still figuring things out after I lost my last job.”
"Ah, gotcha," He nodded sympathetically, "I've been there. Took me forever to find something that stuck."
"What do you do?" I asked, genuinely curious despite myself, “Like, for a living, and stuff.”
“Computer repair, set-up, and building, mostly, but I do some coding on the side,” He said, “It’s funny, y’know? People always think they know what's wrong with their machines, but nine times out of ten, it’s something stupid! Half my job is just teaching people to look their problems up before they call me."
“That sounds frustrating,” I pointed out.
"It certainly can be,” He admitted, “But I find it pretty satisfying to actually solve the problem.”
I nodded along, taking a sip of my water, "That's a good way to look at it."
“Yeah, well,” He shrugged, the smile fading slightly, “It's not for everyone. Most people just want their stuff to work without having to think about it. They don't care about the process, just the result.”
"And you care about the process?"
“More than you’ll ever know,” His foot brushed against mine under the table, “Enough about me, though. What about you? What’re you passionate about?"
The question caught me off guard.
What was I passionate about?
"I don't know yet," I admitted, "I'm still figuring that out."
"Fair enough. You're young. You've got time," He reached for his water, taking a long sip, "I didn't land the job at the company I currently work for ‘til I was, like, twenty-seven, and even then-”
“What do you mean, ‘‘til you were twenty-seven’?” It just clicked with me. How old was this guy?
“Oh, right,” He nodded, “Forgot to mention I’m thirty-five. Hope that's not weird for you."
I blinked, "You're thirty-five..?"
He laughed, a warm, easy sound, "Yeah, I get that tone a lot. Good genes, I guess. People say I take after my Ma’.”
I stared at him, genuinely surprised.
He looked maybe twenty-one, twenty-three at most.
"I didn't expect that," I admitted.
“You look to be, what? Twenty-eight? It’s not that big of a gap, but if it-”
“It’s fine,” I cut in, “I… I l-like older guys.”
I had to force myself more than usual to churn out that lie.
Why was that so hard?
I don’t really care about what this guy thinks, so what was the deal?
The fries arrived, saving me from whatever he was going to say.
I shoved one into my mouth, trying to pretend I wasn't sweating bullets under his gaze.
"You've got a scar here," He moved on, pointing to his own lower lip, "How'd you get it?"
I touched the scar on my lip, my fingers tracing the familiar ridge of scar tissue.
"A fight," I lied, “When I was a kid.”
"Hmm," His finger traced the rim of his water glass, “Funny. My brother used to get into fights all the time when we were kids. Ma’ had a couple scars, too. They were on her legs, though.”
“I think I have a thing for scars, actually,” He said, his eyes snapping from his glass of water to my eyes, pausing briefly over my lip.
I shifted uncomfortably, “What's that supposed to mean?”
“I dunno,” He shrugged, “I just think they’re so… interesting. I think they’re much better at telling stories of things that happened in the past than something so boring like a tattoo.”
He smiled, that same easy, disarming smile before laughing softly, “Sorry, I know that’s kind of weird.”
I crossed my arms, “At least you’re self aware.”
“Ouch!” He winced, clutching his chest as he feigned heartache, “You wound me, Scarlet!”
We ate in silence for a while, the only sounds being the clink of silverware and the distant conversations of other diners.
I found myself relaxing slightly, the tension in my shoulders easing.
“So,” Jordan said finally, setting down his fork, “What were you mumbling to yourself on that corner earlier? You seemed pretty caught-up back there.”
“Oh, yeah, uh…” I searched for another lie, “I was just complaining to myself about my boss. He gave me a metric fuck ton of work with an impossible deadline and is threatening to… fire me if I don't finish it all in time.”
“Didn’t you say you were in between jobs right now?” He tilted his head curiously, catching me in my lie.
“S-Sorry, you’re right,” I shook my head, “I meant that as in… I was thinking about an old boss of mine! One terrible experience with one can really stick with you for a while, you know?”
He nodded sympathetically, “Tell me about it. I’ve had bosses like that before—they have absolutely no consideration for your life outside of work.”
“Exactly!” I raised my voice, unintentionally getting worked up, “It's like they expect you to be available 24/7 and be ready at a moment’s notice to give your life for the company!”
“Gee, I got lucky,” He said, a blush returning to his pale skin, “You're really strong, aren't you?”
He set his knife down, “I gotta say, I love strong, independent women.”
I laughed nervously, “Strong, huh? I don’t know about that… Stubborn, maybe.”
Jordan placed his elbow on the table and propped his chin on his hands, his blue eyes studying me like I was the most interesting thing he'd ever seen.
“Stubborn's good. Means you don't give up easily,” He nodded along to his own words, “People like that… they’re rare.”
He grinned, and I could've sworn he bit his lip for a split second before pulling his teeth back into his mouth, “I like that about you.”
When the waitress brought the check, Jordan opened his wallet beneath the table, seemingly to ensure I nor the waitress saw inside of it before producing the exact amount of change.
“Let’s blow this place,” He turned his attention back to me after paying, “You ever been bowling?”
Bowling.
I couldn't remember ever doing it before.
Then again, I couldn't remember much of anything before I woke up in that line.
The clatter of pins echoed through the air, mixing with the laughter of other bowlers and the occasional burst of celebratory cheers.
I stared down at the ugly, neon-patterned carpet that sprawled across the floor, wiggling uncomfortably in the stiff bowling shoes I barely managed to shove my feet into.
“You doin’ alright over there?” Jordan's voice broke through my thoughts.
“Huh?”
I glanced up to find him crouched in front of me, offering me his usual smile.
“You’ve been staring down at your shoes like you never learned how to tie them when you were a kid,” He teased, taking a knee as he motioned toward my untied laces, “Let me help.”
I froze, a wave of panic overcoming me, “N-No, it's fine! Really, I can-”
But Jordan had already leaned in, deftly tying the laces with a quick, practiced ease.
His fingers moved with surprising precision, looping and knotting the strings in a way that made me feel ridiculous for not doing it myself.
“There you go!” He said, sitting back on his heels with a satisfied look, “Good as new! Unless you trip over these, too. Then I might have to start carrying you around or something.”
I forced a slow, awkward laugh, "Yeah, thanks. I, uh, I guess I haven't tied shoes like this in a while."
Jordan tilted his head, his grin never faltering, “What? Been wearing slip-ons your whole life, or something?”
“Something like that…” I mumbled, standing up quickly to escape the conversation.
My cheeks burned from the embarrassment of having it look like I needed my shoes tied as a grown woman.
He stood as well, brushing his hands off on his jeans, “Well, let's see what you've got!”
He motioned toward the lane before grabbing a ball from the rack and handing it to me, his fingers grazing mine for just a moment longer than necessary.
I took the ball, my hands gripping its smooth surface tightly, and Jordan gave me a light nudge forward.
“I've never…” I murmured, glancing over my shoulder at Jordan, “I mean—I don’t do this much.”
“You never do much, do you?” He laughed, taking a seat at our booth, “Just aim for the pins and don’t let go backward and send it flying through my skull. You’ve got this.”
I nodded, forcing myself to focus.
The pins at the end of the lane seemed impossibly far away, but I squared my shoulders and swung the ball back awkwardly before letting it roll forward.
It veered wildly to the left, skidding into the gutter with a loud thunk.
Jordan clapped once, laughing lightly, “Hey, not bad for your first try! At least you didn't throw it backward!”
I rolled my eyes, biting back a grin despite myself, "Don't jinx it. I might on the next one."
“Let me show you how it’s done,” He said, picking up a ball and stepping up to the lane.
His movements were smooth and confident. And when he released the ball, it rolled perfectly down the center of the lane, crashing into the pins with a satisfying strike.
He turned back to me with a smug grin, spreading his arms as if to say, 'See? Easy.'
“Jack-ass,” I sneered as he sauntered back on over to the booth.
I got back up and realigned myself, correcting my foot placement to be more like his.
I took a deep breath, rolling my shoulders to shake off the weight of his attention.
The pins blurred slightly as I focused, gripping the ball tightly and pulling it back.
It was even worse than the first time!
The ball clattered down the lane awkwardly, rolling crookedly before veering hard to the right and tumbling into the gutter with an unsatisfying thud.
Jordan laughed, the sound warm and full of amusement, “Wow, Scarlet, I didn't think it was possible to bowl worse than your first try, but you’ve truly outdone yourself!”
“Shut up!” I snapped without actual heat behind my words.
“Alright, alright!” He held up his hands in mock surrender, “Watch what I do, okay? And this time, pay attention to the details.”
He picked up another ball, rolling it between his palms like he was getting a feel for it.
Then, he stepped up to the lane. I watched him closely, noting the way he positioned his feet, the way he held the ball at chest level, and the way his arm swung back in a smooth, controlled arc before releasing the ball with a gentle flick of his wrist.
The ball rolled down the center of the lane, striking the untouched group of pins dead in the middle.
Another strike!
“See?” He turned back to me, “You were rushing it. Take as much time as you need to line up your shot. Let the ball do most of the work from there!”
I nodded, stepping up to the lane again.
This time, I tried to mimic everything he'd done: the stance, the way he carried his weight, the amount of force he put into rolling the ball.
I released it, and for a moment, I thought it was going to work.
The ball rolled straight before curving slightly and hitting the pins off to the right side, causing seven of them to fall in a satisfying crash.
“That’s better!” Jordan called from behind me, “One more!”
I picked up another ball, feeling more confident this time around.
I lined up my shot, took a breath, and rolled.
The ball curved again, catching the remaining pins.
The last three toppled over.
“SPARE!” The scoreboard flashed, and before I could stop myself, I let out a little jump, my fists pumping in the air.
“YES!” I cheered, “Oh my God, I can’t believe I actually-”
I caught myself, my face flushing with embarrassment as I realized what I'd just done.
Jordan was already on his feet, striding toward me, “Attagirl! That’s what I was talking about! You’re a natural!”
“Th-thanks…” I avoided looking into his eyes, still cringing from my earlier celebration, “I don't know how I-”
Just then, I felt his hand place itself against my lower back, gently feeling the curve of my spine as if he were testing me, “You totally killed it, baby.”
I turned to look up at him, my brow furrowing, “What did you just call me?”
“What was that?” He tilted his head, his expression the picture of innocence, “I didn't call you anything. I said you totally killed it.”
“No, after that. You said something else.”
“I don't know what you're talking about,” He shrugged, quickly pulling his hand away just as fast as he had put it there, already turning back toward the lane, “Come on, let’s see if you can catch up to me!”
I groaned, “Ugh, no way! You’re not even trying OR you’re doing it to just rub it in!”
“Maybe a bit of both,” He snickered, “Buuut, if it helps, you’ve been bowling for, like, what? Twenty minutes? I’ve been doing this for years!”
“Years?”
“Yeah,” He shrugged, “My brother and I used to come to places like this when we were kids. He was always better than me, though. I couldn’t beat him at anything!”
"You have a brother?"
“Wanna hit the arcade?” He ignored me again, “Come on, it’s on me!”
Jordan had made a beeline for a machine near the back, pulling out his wallet and loading a hundred dollars onto a game card without even blinking.
“Here,” He handed me a card of my own, “Fifty bucks each. Let's see who can win the most tickets.”
“Fifty? Jordan, that’s-”
"Relax," He waved off my protest, "I got a good deal on a job this week. Consider it a gift."
I stared at the card in my hand, the plastic smooth and cool against my fingers. I didn't know how to respond to his generosity. It felt like a trap, somehow, but I couldn't figure out what kind.
"Earth to Scarlet," He waved his hand in front of my face, "You still with me?"
"Yeah, sorry. I'm here."
"Good, 'cause I'm about to kick your ass at racing."
He was true to his word. He beat me at every single game we played.
Racing? He won by several seconds every time.
Shooting? His aim was deadly accurate.
Even the claw machine—which I'd assumed was mostly luck—he managed to snag a stuffed bear on his first try.
"Here," He handed it to me, the bear's beady eyes staring up at me, "A souvenir."
“I don’t-”
“Just take it. It's not like I have any use for it.”
I accepted the bear reluctantly, holding it by its stubby arm.
“Thank you,” I said quietly.
“Of course,” He nodded, "Now, come on. I want to try that dance game."
I choked, “Absolutely fucking not!”
“Oh, come on! It’ll be fun!”
“I don’t know how to dance, Jordan!”
“Then that’s just too bad, isn’t it?” He laughed, already pulling me toward the machine.
By the time we left the arcade, my voice was hoarse from laughing.
I’d been terrible at every game we played. Absolutely, totally, laughably terrible.
But, even so…
It felt easy, being with him.
I didn't know what to make of that.
“And I swear to God, I could fix that man’s computer a thousand times over and he’ll say it’s broken!” Jordan complained, “It’s like he does these things just to watch me suffer!”
“Sounds like your boss and my old one would get along great.”
Every part of me wanted to dismiss the glaring red X that floated over Jordan’s chest as some kind of hallucination, but deep down, I knew better.
As we weaved our way through the crowded sidewalk, Jordan let out a chuckle, a low, velvety laugh that made me feel even more on edge, "Misery loves company, right?”
His gaze lingered on me, sharp yet somehow inviting.
“Jor-” Before I could say anything else, one of the members of the crowd knocked into me, causing him to stumble out into the road, being met with annoyed honks from the cars trying to pass by.
Before I could lose my balance completely, Jordan’s hands were around me, steadying me against his chest.
“Watch where you’re going, man!” Jordan snapped, his voice cracking like a whip over the crowd.
The man who bumped into me stumbled further back, his wide eyes flicking to Jordan as if caught in headlights.
He stammered, “S-Sorry-”
“Oh, now you’re sorry?!” Jordan snapped at the clumsy passerby.
I looked at the man who’d bumped me, still visible a few steps ahead.
He was hunching his shoulders, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his coat as he tried to disappear into the crowd.
Despite his awkward, almost pitiful demeanor, the glaring red X hovered over his chest just as it did with Jordan.
Him too?
The man looked harmless, like someone who got given swirlies and shoved into lockers in high school, not a sinner deserving of Hell.
There had to have been some kind of mistake.
I was tugged back into reality when I realized that Jordan’s arms were still wrapped around me, firm and unyielding.
For a moment, there was just the steady rise and fall of his chest against my back.
Then the moment stretched on.
He wasn’t letting go.
His grip didn’t loosen, if anything, it seemed to tighten ever so slightly, one hand on my hip opposite the direction his arm wrapped around my waist, the other splayed against my upper abdomen.
The steady, slow rhythm of his breathing I had felt earlier was in contrast to the frantic beating of my own heart.
His hand shifted further up to my chest.
Not to feel me up, but seemingly to… feel my ever-quickening heart.
“...Jordan?” I mumbled quietly, giving a slight experimental push against him.
“Hmm?” His response was a soft, distracted hum.
“Just making sure you’re steady. That could have been a nasty fall.”
“I’m steady,” I said, pushing a little more firmly now.
Finally, with what felt like deliberate slowness, his arms relaxed, and he took a small step back, but his hands lingered for a few seconds longer before he came around to face me.
His eyes scanned my face, his expression oddly intent, like he was checking for cracks in porcelain.
A smile came to be on his lips, but it didn’t reach his eyes.
“There we go,” He purred, “Can’t have you getting hurt.”
His thumb rose to brush the corner of my mouth, right over the ridge of the scar which sat on my lip.
“Especially not this,” He murmured, his thumb tracing the line of the scar, “It’s such a unique feature. We can’t have you getting any more damages than you are, now can we? Not before we really get to know each other, at least.”
The word ‘damaged’ hung in the air between us, oily and wrong.
“A little wear and tear adds character,” He said, his thumb absently pushing its way past my lips and pressing gently against my fangs, “But there’s a limit, you know? Can’t let this mouth of y-”
“Don’t.”
I had jerked my head back, breaking the contact.
The word came out sharper than intended.
His hands retracted immediately, “Sorry.”
He chuckled, slicking his hair back further with one hand as he rubbed his neck with the other, “I got pretty carried away there… It’s just…”
“You still look so good after all these years, Mira.”
“Would you look at that!” Jordan shifted the conversation before I could respond, peeking down at his phone as he pulled it from his pocket, "It’s almost midnight!"
He turned his phone around to show me his lock screen, his wallpaper looked to be him when he was younger, his hair as white as it is now, beaming with a joyful grin that seemed genuine while standing next to an older woman, presumably his mother, “I guess it’s true what they say, time really does fly by when you’re having fun!”
This isn’t fair.
Sure, he could be a bit… strange at times, but there’s no way he could deserve Hell for that!
But, every time I think about letting him live, my mind is transported back to that void.
“This was fun,” He added, slipping his phone back into his pocket, "But it’s late. You’re not planning on walking home alone, are you?”
“I’ll be fine,” I said quickly, but Jordan waved me off.
“No way, I can’t just let you be out there all alone this late!” His tone dipped into something softer, almost hopeful, “You can crash at my place! It’s not far, and it’s not like I bite or anything.”
Of course, he had to offer something kind and selfless.
Just another thing to make this harder than it already was.
I shook my head with a polite smile, "Thanks, but I’d feel better sleeping in my bed. If you don’t mind, though, you could walk me home.”
Jordan’s beaming smile faltered slightly, “...You sure?” He prodded again.
“I’m sure,” I nodded, “I just want to go home.”
Of all the things I had told Jordan, that was one of the few that wasn’t a lie.
We walked side by side down the darkened streets, the noise of the crowd thinning as we veered into quieter alleys between buildings.
‘He’s a sinner,’ I reminded myself, the image of that glaring red X hovering over his chest burned into my thoughts, ‘He belongs in Hell.’
But he didn’t seem like he belonged in Hell. Not with the way he smiled when he talked about computers, or how he had gone out of his way to make me laugh all night.
He didn’t feel like a monster.
“You win, Satan,” I muttered under my breath, taking one last glance at Jordan’s face.
“What was that?” Jordan spun around, but it was too late.
In one swift motion, the air around me shifted, and the same slithering mess of eyes gathered into my hands, materializing into a massive scythe.
“Wh-” Jordan’s feet shifted backward, “What the hell are you?!”
Without a word, I lunged towards him.
Jordan rooted his foot into the ground, pulling out a pocket knife and turning it on me.
“Back off!” He cried out, “Don’t think I won’t hesitate to-”
I didn’t let him finish.
The blade sliced clean through him, the motion was swift and precise.
For a brief moment, time seemed to freeze.
Jordan’s expression was a mix of disbelief and something else as his body split in two, crumpling to the ground.
Then, I was somewhere else entirely.
Jordan
There was no pain, just the world tilting before it fractured into darkness.
But the darkness wasn’t empty.
The darkness was a sterile smell of bleach.
It was the hum of fluorescent lights, the kind that flicker just enough to give you a headache.
It was the feel of scratchy cotton rubbing against my skin.
I was fourteen, and I was sitting in a beige room on a beige chair, my hands folded neatly in my lap.
The man across from me wore a white jacket with patches on the elbows.
It was Dr. Müller, as usual.
“Jordan,” He began, “How are you settling in?”
I made my eyes wide, like a scared baby deer, let a little bit of the frightened-kid shakiness into my voice, “I-it’s… okay. It’s quiet. I miss my room”
That was the truth, enough of it, at least.
I did miss my room.
I missed the things under my bed.
“That’s understandable,” The doctor nodded, “Let’s start with something easier. What do you want to be when you grow up?”
I didn’t even have to think, “A computer technician.”
It sounded stable, respectable, “I like the idea of fixing things that are… wrong. Things that aren’t what they should be.”
Dr. Müller continued to do that same nod as I spoke, scribbling on his notepad.
The scratch that resulted from which was the loudest sound in the room.
We went on like this for a while.
“What school subjects do you like?”
“What are your hobbies?”
“Are there any girls at school that you like?”
“Do you read any books?”
“Do you play any videogames?”
“Connor and Amber are worried about you,” Dr. Müller said, his eyes lifting from his notepad in order to meet mine, “They care a whole lot, son.”
I dipped my head to show a picture of contrite remorse, “I know. I’ve caused them so much trouble. They’ve been so good to me.”
Another truth, my foster parents tolerated more than they probably should have.
“They’re discussing possible next steps after your release,” He said.
“Connor mentioned the possibility of military school,” Dr. Müller watched my reaction, or rather, lack thereof, carefully, “Amber feels that an all-boys academic environment might be sufficient enough.”
Of course she did.
“What about my brother?” I asked.
The doctor’s brow arched, “I’m sorry?”
“My big brother,” I clarified, “You guys haven’t given me any of the letters he’s been sending in the mail since I got here. I want to read them.”
Dr. Müller remained silent, and I did as well.
He just looked at me.
He kept looking at me with the same look everyone always did.
After some time of silence, Dr. Müller’s tone shifted, “Jordan.”
His tone was sharp and flat now, like my father’s.
My real father.
“Tell me about the attack.”
Here it was
I let my breath hitch, looking down at my hands I spoke in a softer voice, “I… I don’t remember all of it. It’s like a blur…”
“Try.”
“She- Melanie was laughing. In the art room. She was with her friends, and they had my sketchbook.”
That part was true.
They had snatched it and were passing it around, shrieking with laughter at the detailed drawing I had done with such care, “They were saying mean things. About me. About what I drew. They always did.”
“And how did that make you feel, Jordan?” Dr. Müller readied his pen.
“Angry,” I whispered, “Humiliated. It was like… like everything got really hot and loud, and then it got very, very quiet.”
Dr. Müller wasn’t buying the fugue state, “You stabbed her seventeen times in the forearm with a pair of scissors, Jordan.”
“Then, you attempted to gouge her eyes before a campus police officer tackled you,” He set his notepad down in his lap, “That’s a very specific escalation. Can you tell me what you were thinking in that moment?”
The memory was crystal clear, not a blur at all. The way her screams had shifted pitch.
It’s really easy to recreate something when you’ve seen it done before.
I manufactured a tear, letting it well and spill over.
It was easy—you just think of frustration, of being misunderstood.
The easiest way was making yourself angry rather than sad.
I don’t think I’ve ever cried tears of sadness.
“I w-wasn’t thinking-” I choked out, “I just wanted her to stop looking at me. I wanted all of them to stop looking at me l-like th-that…”
“I’m so s-sorry. I’m so, so sorry…”
I let the crying shudder run through me.
Dr. Müller took the notepad from his lap and set it on the table beside him along with his pen as well, leaning back and steepling his fingers.
“Jordan,” He said, “The things you draw. The fixation on ‘interiors.’ On how things are put together. It concerns me.”
His voice was devoid of its earlier warmth, “This incident isn’t just anger or even a case of lashing out at school bullies. I’ve noticed that you have a curiosity.”
Dr. Müller leaned in, “Do you understand the difference between a person and an object?”
I wiped my face, and the remorseful mask remained in place.
But my insides had gone cold.
I knew he had seen the shape of me, “Of course I do.”
“People have feelings.”
“Objects do not.”
Scarlet
Just as soon as Jordan’s torso hit the floor, I found myself back in Hell.
However, instead of the graveyard, before me was an endless sea of blood.
The undisturbed waters were like a clean sheet tucked on top of a mattress.
“A sinner like you, wearing a cross around his neck…” Satan cooed, “How ironic!”
“...Am I dreaming?” Jordan’s charm and flirtatious smile were long gone by now, those blue eyes that stuck out in that sea of red desperately searching for any signs of illusion.
Jordan donned the robes that all spirits in the afterlife possessed, his wrists now bound together by chains.
“Did…” He stammered, “Did you really kill me?”
Those sweet eyes landed on me, and I couldn’t find the strength to look back into them.
“You were marked…” I murmured, “A-And you were just there!”
I desperately tried to explain myself to him, “I have to kill one sinner a day, and you… were the easiest t-target…”
“I was a target?” An expression of disbelief briefly crossed Jordan’s face before his signature grin returned.
Although, this time, it took on an entirely different light.
“You fucking bitch…” He cursed, “I knew I should’ve slit open that pretty throat right then and there when we walked into that back alley!”
Any tears that had been threatening to fall this whole time quickly dried up.
“I told you~” Satan hummed, “An ‘X’ marks a sinner!”
“The sinner you have brought me…” Satan explained, “He was a serial killer.”
“He killed seventeen women, and one man,” Satan continued, “And you were going to be the nineteenth. He would have turned your skin into some wonderful lampshade, or maybe even a mask using your likeness! But, thanks to your unique circumstances, the tables have turned in your favor.”
“Why?” I finally managed to meet Jordan’s gaze head-on, the light that was in his eyes had finally dissipated, “Just… why..?”
He brought his bound hands up to his own face, “I love seeing the blood drain from a beautiful woman, all of their complexion leaving their body along with it.”
He began to drag his fingers down, feeling his own features, “Seeing them walk around without a care in the world… IT DISGUSTS ME!”
“THOSE FLOOZY SKANKS ARE LUCKY SOMEONE LIKE ME EVEN LOOKED THEIR WAY!” He continued to shout, skeletal hands emerging from the water below, “NOBODY CARES IF WORTHLESS WHORES LIKE THEM GO MISSING ANYWAY!”
“You’re disgusting,” I sneered, the hands now clawing at his body, tugging on him as he slowly sunk deeper into the water.
“Seriously?” He seemed dumbfounded.
“YOU THINK YOU’RE THE FIRST PERSON TO TELL ME THAT, SCARLET?!” He barely even struggled as he continued to be dragged under the surface, “YOU STUPID BITCHES ARE ALL THE SAME!”
“I CAN’T WAIT UNTIL-” His last spit of venom was cut off as he was finally submerged, the surface still bubbling with hate for a few more seconds until it finally returned to its original state.
“...Satan?” I looked from the water’s surface to his amused face.
"If someone like him got sent to barely the Sixth Level… then what the hell did I do?”
“Oh, my dear, dear Scarlet…” His face contorted into a sinister grin, “Telling you would just soil all the fun!”
And just like that, I found myself back in the alley.