Some say routine is the first step in the monotonous journey to insanity. Does doing the same thing day in and day out strengthen your mental health, or does it actively degrade– and ultimately harm– your sanity? If one were to spend any time at the Initiative, the answer they came to would be blurred beyond mortal comprehension.

  Liv treks her way up the stairs just behind George, her team trailing a few steps behind her. Though she had already gotten used to it– Donovan showing the mildest sign of annoyance– Anthony looked like he may keel over and die at any moment.

  “Do you need… help?” Charlotte questions, her head turning to her larger compatriot. He heaves, his face red, fresh bruises lining his aching body. Charlotte shows none of the telltale signs of exhaustion, her arms folded neatly behind her back. “I could carry you if need be-.”

  “No.” Anthony gasps out, pulling himself up by the railing. “I’ve done it before, so I can… wheeze… do it now.”

  “Look alive, kiddo.” George calls, his loud voice cascading off the hollowed concrete walls. “We’re almost there!”

  “Almost”, in George’s words, was a hell of a lot more than Anthony’s definition. Ten minutes passed, ten that evolved into fifteen, then twenty. By the twenty-fifth, the five of them finally stop on a floor, a loud chatter ringing behind a pair of doors. George opens the door, beckoning them forward. Liv’s the first in, her eyes widening at the sight before her.

  If she had thought the Gala was full, this place would be overcrowded a hundred times over. Thousands upon thousands of people clammer like ants in a hill, their combined voices a deafening cacophony of overlapping sentences. The room is large enough to accommodate them, a charged atmosphere buzzing around the place. There seems to be no furniture, the walls and floor made of the same concrete as the rest of the building. The only furnishing of note is a bulletin board on the other end of the room, its length spanning the entire stretch of the wall. It’s a beige, though it’s hard to see over the papers plastered on its surface.

  “Welcome to the Beta’s request board!” George exclaims. “When you’re not actively working, you’re gonna be here a lot.”

  “Awful… full.” Liv says, her hand resting on her chin.

  “How the hell are we even gonna get to the board?” Donovan questions, his arms wildly gesturing to the hordes of people before them.

  George lets out a hardy chortle, readjusting the sunglasses hung on his shirt. “Well, we got here just before the board refresh, so people are tryna get the best picks. Sucks to say, but you kiddos are gonna have to settle for the bottom of the barrel.”

  “That’s disheartening.” Charlotte murmurs.

  “Some of the better missions are left at the bottom of the barrel.” Anthony claims, his previously sweaty face returning to its usual paler complexion. “Assessments for difficulty in Hellfire are just ‘how many bodies does it take to throw at the problem’, so all the newer missions are just luck in the end.”

  “Something like that.” George agrees, not denying the macabre way in which the system was described. As if on cue, he turns on his heel, walking through the door, his head the only part of his body still in the room. “Sadly, I got a lot of work to do. I’ll be seeing you kiddos after this mission, though!”

  No responses are made as George vanishes from sight, any well wishes dying on the lips of their speakers.

  “Guess we gotta wait then.” Donovan mutters, his back resting against the wall.

  “E-Er… W-waiting isn’t too bad.” Arla pipes up from next to Donovan, clutching her tome close to her chest.

  “I guess not.” Donovan scoffs. “But waiting sucks-. JESUS!” He screeches, his heart leaping from his rib cage. He stumbles forward, his body slamming into Liv’s sturdy frame. She just manages to stabilize herself, a furrowed look of annoyance directed at her teammate.

  “S-Sorry!” Arla calls softly, her body shifting uncomfortably. Her discomfort is further exacerbated by the withering glare Donovan is shooting at the cackling Charlotte. “I t-thought you were talking to me.”

  Liv’s eyes sparkle with recognition, a small smile spreading across her face as she sets her gaze toward the thin girl fidgeting not too far from her. Though her outfit was different– a thick, blue robe where a white dress had once stood– Liv hadn’t seen a weapon as recognizable as the thick tome Arla carried. She walks up, her hands snaking out to grasp Arla’s. She enthusiastically pumps both with a boyish enthusiasm, a wide grin plastered across her lips.

  “Good to see ya again!”

  Arla squeaks, a rosy red flash bubbling up on her splotchy cheeks.

  “U-Uhm,” Arla starts, “g-good to see y-you too!”

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  “You two have already met?” Charlotte inquires, her cackling ebbing to a soft fit of coughing, her professional guise reapplied.

  “Yup!” Liv exclaims. “Me ‘n that guy I punched talked to ‘er when I was doin’ the Gala! Didn't get to talk to 'em long for... Reasons." She clears her throat, her eyes darting to Anthony. If he saw it, he didn't acknowledge it.

  “T-that might’ve been my fault.” Arla murmurs, an awkward smile twitching up her lips. “I overreacted with F-Florence a b-bit.”

  “Ain’t a problem for me!” Liv claims, her now loose hands thumping against her chest with pride. “I ain’t too banged up ‘bout it! Yer brother is awfully kind, and so are ya.”

  “...Brother?” Anthony questions, his eyes turning to Arla. Her face, simply rosy before, is now a full blown crimson, tears pricking the corners of her eyes. To say she was horrified would be akin to saying mice have a distinct phobia of cats, her entire body tensed, ramrod straight with her arms pinned at her sides. The tome, somehow, floats beside her, suspended midair on invisible strings.

  “W-well…” Arla starts, her voice fizzling down to e terrified mutter. “Y-yes?”

  Donovan whistles, his hand sliding into his pockets. “Jesus. Talk about strong blood.”

  “That discredits the work they put in themselves.” Charlotte interjects, her voice a bit heavier than needed be. “Their heritage is not all they are.”

  “I-it’s not wrong I guess.” Arla mumbles, her finger propping the large spectacles resting on the bridge of her nose. “I mean, I got p-pretty lucky with my weapon.”

  Liv sighs as that same tugging drags against the connection in her brain. They wouldn't shut their mouth until she tried.

  “Oi.” Liv says, Arla’s head whipping toward her, eyes wide as saucers. Liv clears her throat, trying to sound as convincing as possible. “Can I have yer weapon?”

  “...N-no?”

  “Reckon I tried.” Liv says, the connection warbling with the amount of traffic.

  “You’re breaching the contract with semantics-.”

  Liv cuts off the connection, a smirk spreading across her lips. She shrugs her shoulders, finding her hands buried in her pockets. “Welp, I tried. Ain’t nothin’ more I can do than that.”

  The five continue to have their amiable conversation, the crowd slowly whittling down to a few stragglers. Apparently, to the shock of nobody, Arla didn’t get a lot of socializing done at the Hellfire Gala. Unlike Liv, however, she didn’t have the fallback of past friends to get her by. She ended up choosing at random from the top fifty, though she seemed happy with most of the choices she made; though, she did speak negatively about one.

  “T-They don’t really wanna change around everyone else,” Arla had said, her eyes nervously darting around, worried they might pop out at any moment. “A-and it’d be unfair to ask my team to just… C-Change around them. Cutting them isn’t gonna be fun, though.”

  Liv hadn’t considered cutting anyone until she had pointed out her ability to do so. She did have that ability, but she wasn’t sure if it was a power she needed. She had been shown how bad their teamwork was, though she still reckoned she would’ve gotten it if Anthony could’ve kept up with her. At what point did she need to cut someone? Too much responsibility to think of now.

  The crowd finally clears enough to form a line to the board after nearly an hour of waiting. Arla waves, taking her own path forward, a light smile on her face.

  Much of it had been covered in papers, though quite a bit of its contents had been ransacked. Each seemed to have a name corresponding to the supposed difficulty, one that matched neatly with the Stratas difficulties. There were plenty of “Risk” ranks; though, there were plenty of others: Threat, Perilous, and Emergency plentiful. Crisis and Armageddon seemed entirely missing. Probably for the best. Wouldn’t want a bunch of world ending threats just… Romping around.

  The four scan over their options, a small debate blooming between them. Donovan wanted to go for another rogue demon, Charlotte wished for a Strata, and Liv wanted to escort a truck all the way to Colorado. Anthony had abstained from voting, clearly not caring much for where or why the group went anywhere. Eventually, after a lot of talking, debating, and a hint of favoritism, Liv had won out.

  Donovan mutters under his breath as Liv plucks the paper from the board, his eyes darting to Charlotte’s proud form.

  “You only did that ‘cause you didn’t want me to win.”

  “Scathing.” Charlotte retorts, her hand falling to her chest in faux pain. “You’ve fostered pain in my heart, Donovan. True pain.”

  “Reckon we’ll be doin’ good either way.” Liv says, turning on her heel, on course for the door. Just as she’s about to exit, however, she’s stopped at the doorway by someone familiar. She can’t quite place a name, but the way he carries himself is oddly familiar. The white clothing, the katana, the bun of hair tightly tied at the top of his head...

  “Mr. Hyoudou?” Charlotte calls, just a step behind Liv. Her voice carries a cadence of respect, one not born from the guise of diplomatic trickery, but from a genuine respect. “What a pleasant surprise. I would have believed you gone by now.”

  “My path is my own to chart; though, I do not plan to remain here long.” He says, his voice almost… Boyish. He didn’t look young, though he certainly didn’t look old– his voice was simply higher than Liv had expected. Up close, his limbs almost looked spindly, his cheekbones sunken deep into his face. Her expression clearly shined through, Arata’s eyes turning to her with a confused mix of evaluation and mild annoyance.

  “Is something interesting?”

  “Hm?” Liv questions. “Oh, sorry. Wasn’t expectin’ that noise outta yer mouth.”

  “I see.” Arata says simply, annoyance overpowering the evaluating expression on his face. “I didn’t expect that accent out of your mouth either.”

  “Guess we’re two bees in a pod!” Liv exclaims, her hand snaking out to jab him in the shoulder. She can feel a heavy tug at the edge of her subconscious, but she chooses to ignore it. If Bruno wanted to say something, they could wait. She was practicing the art of friendship.

  Arata shoots Charlotte a confused stare, though he’s met with her closed eyes, her lips sucked into her mouth as her cheeks redden. Donovan picks up her slack, an awkward chuckle escaping his throat.

  “Ahahaha… She’s just joking. We’ll be going now!” He practically shoves Liv out with him, Anthony following with Charlotte but a moment later. Donovan sighs, mentally noting to teach Liv social cues and dynamics. That could wait, though. They had a mission to do.