Another day. My bed's messy. I appear to have had a rough sleep, as I'm all over my bed, and my sheets are scattered and weaved between my limbs without reason. My alarm blares. It's a wake-up call voiced by the female warrior adventurer Saki, Merryl's, one of the original heroes', granddaughter in the third installment of "Phantasm". I won the special alarm clock at an event, and I cherish the alarm clock, not only because I love the "Phantasm" series, because it was the one time I went to an event, in which I attend many, together with Mark. The cute 'wake-ups!" from the alarm clock repeat endlessly. My eyes squint to focus. To my right is a slouched silhouette. Turning, I see it's sitting in a chair - more specifically, my chair. More importantly, the figure - it's my little sister, Lexi. She's sound asleep, drooling and slightly hunched over on my chair.

Did, did she stay with me?

Turning off my alarm, I get up. Realizing what a mess I made, I quickly clean everything up. I change my sheets and pillowcase, and I make my bed. A couple of minutes later, my room is back to its neat and orderly composure.

Well, neat and orderly beside Lexi, who's plopped in the middle, very undignified. I sigh.

Looking at her, I wonder what I should do. She must've caught me, well, I wouldn't say crying, rather I was in a crying mess, shedding unawarely amidst my sleep.

I already said it straight, what have I got to hide? I was crying, crying like Jonathan and Maryam last night, it seemed.

Lexi, seeing this, stayed with me overnight. This is a great deal, because Lexi... she loves her room and her bed, and she's not very fond of the dark, being away from her comfort. It's a recipe for disaster. One of the reasons she hesitates going to sleepovers with her friends. Yet, she reluctantly goes. And, Yet, she stayed with me. It might seem very miniscule an act, but you can say we both have in common a sort of recklessness about us. And I would also like to say a kindness as well.

Because, well, this is a very kind and sincere act.

Lexi, my very clumsy little sister who my parents dote on, my mother especially (and my father even moreso but low-key), who I always tediously fight with (where, oddly, I never win), who is the sunshine of the family, who is great with anything athletic and who in turn eats like an athlete (that might be an insult to the athletes though am I right?), and a bunch of other things I don't recall immediately but I'm sure I recall in my heart.

I smile.

Grabbing my glasses, as well as ingeniously plucking whatever clothes were immediately closest to me from my closet for the day, and any other supplies such as my backpack, I walk up to my bathroom door, the bathroom which is connected to my room. I look back at the very sleepy and rightfully sleeping Lexi.

I can do better than this.

I drop my stuff in the bathroom and leave my room into the hallway to her room. I return, very softly and quietly with a fluffy blanket and a equally fluffy neck pillow, the kind you use on planes. I am not very fond of those type of pillows, I don't find it very comfortable, but Lexi loves them. These are all hers, of course, and I'm just borrowing them from her room. She's very lax on people entering her room, which is why I did, and likewise very lax in entering others - such as mine. I would be slightly irked, but being that right now would be ludicrous. Absolutely.

I cover her up snugly with the blanket and also very snugly equip - whoops, wrong word - adorn her with the neck pillow and fix up her posture to a more comfortable position. I contemplate laying her on her bed, but doing so I'm afraid I'd wake her up, or in some way mess her up. That might be too excessive, too. I'm unsure. Taking a glance at my special alarm clock, I notice I'm a bit late. I head back to my bathroom door, very quietly, and I pause again, looking once more at Lexi.

Seeing her in a more-than-before comfortable position I relieve myself in affirmation. With these two words, said very softly -

"thank you"

I leave, I close the door, and I stand in front my mirror which is to my right. I know that I should wake her up, since it's time, but I'll let her sleep in a little, as she does everyday. The lights still off, I turn towards the mirror and I stare at my reflection, which is a bit hard to see due to the darkness, my reflection itself shrouded and tinted with dark blue or black or any plethora of colors darkness embodies, very much to the mirror itself. I think to myself.

I cannot let my family worry about me. I have a lot to carry, and I must not burden my family.

I narrow my eyes.

Two more people died tonight in front of me. I also mustn't forget what started it all. The anguish I feel may be hidden but it's not absent - it's brewing, in fact, and that may even be worse. More the reason the need I feel to be strong. For everyone, and for myself. I'm not nearly strong enough in every way.

I bite my lip.

My real life is not of my immediate concern. I have those I care about on both sides. That's why, that's why I must work even harder. To a new day and a new life ahead, I clench my fists.

Things will only get more dangerous from here. I'm going to show life on both sides what I got!

I turn on the lights and go about my day with a new, almost bitter, invigoration.

___

"So, now that you've played it, what did you think?"

A cheery and informal voice escapes to my right that snaps me out of my daze. I had been looking outside, at the sky, cloudgazing if you will. It's a very nice breezy day, and at that moment I felt a sort of solace from my tense life in the calm, easy nature of my surroundings. Of course, with the windows closed, I can't actually feel the breeze. But I can imagine it, and I'm imagining it well.

The voice belongs to none other than Mark. Mark and I are sitting with our three desks aligned and together, the third desk belonging to Mia, who's joined us for lunch today and has pretty much become a regular and part of our little - not circle because that requires more people, not... line segment? A degenerate two-sided polygon? Well, none of those would describe us now that there's three of us, and those are far from the accurate way to describe things. Let's say, our triangle of friends. Yep, that seems much better.

...

You can tell I'm very inexperienced.

"Hey, Ely, you listening? You're looking more distant than usual," Mark says.

"Yes, yes, I'm listening," I say with a tone of indifference. "You're asking Mia how Phantasm was, correct? 'Raising Knights', the latest game, you were saying. I still believe that wasn't the best decision. The seventh game, 'Megalomania', is a good entry level game, and would probably be a better game to enter the series with, even though chronologically it's still very much in the middle. And also, I'm sure I'm acting perfectly distant, if you ask me."

"But," Mark replies, "each of the games, like you said before, are standalone enough in their own right. I was thinking she'd prefer the more modern versions of the game, and that's why I suggested 'Raising Knights'. Also, no one was asking you."

We begin our playful banter, that, like much of my banter with Lexi, will surely go nowhere.

"Mia, I was surprised. I didn't think you'd actually listen to Mark and play the game. I assumed you had too much on your plate to afford time to play games." I direct our conversation and attention to Mia.

Mia, over the past couple days, has been lunching with us, and we've become more than simple acquaintances and now we're definite friends. At least that's what Mark says when he announced it very abruptly mid-conversation yesterday, unnecessarily calling attention to himself and us and turning Mia as red as a raspberry. I'm used to his antics, so I'm not too bothered, and I'm sure Mia will get used to it too, in due time.

Hopefully. And that's not to say I'm not bothered at all. I can do without all the ruckus, but that's what you subscribe for to get the total "Mark Springfield" package - all that and then some.

I still remember clearly when Mia approached us the day she did. The familiar Ding~ Ding~ of the school bells tolling the beginning of our very generously-long-on-paper lunch period, which in actuality feels astonishingly short, and Mark and I were shuttling our desks and chairs together for yet another meal accompanied every now and then by Mark's passionate shouts for who knows what. In the corner of my eyes I see Mia, who was alone like usual, get up. I notice on her desk was nothing - no paper, no pencil/pen, no textbook, nothing of the sort - which is odd, because almost always she's doing some sort of work, diligent as she is. She took out a piece of scrap paper and studies it very closely. She looked rather odd staring and studying closely the scrap paper, mumbling to herself. I didn't pay it too much mind, as it already takes a good chunk of my focus dealing with Mark on a daily basis - which I do well enough. Mia leaves the classroom, and when she returns, she's holding a boxed lunch, courtesy of the school.

Holding the lunch close to her and looking very nervous, as if someone were out to steal her lunch, she slowly walks up to us-

or, I thought she would, but then she stops, panic stricken, then hastily returns to her desk and takes out the scrap of paper again and studies it deeply, evidently trying to calm herself. Outside stares indifferently collect on her for a moment, but they soon wander off to their own affairs. Mia, noticing this, becomes even more panicked, looking as if she recieved very bad news, and shuffles very uneasily, trying her utmost to appear normal. But trying to act normal when one by nature isn't is an unsuccessful venture.

I know all too well.

And so this charade continues. Sometimes she would approach, often times she would flee, sometimes hiding around the corner into the hallway. Sometimes she would leave for what would seem to be indefinite until she reluctantly pops her head back in. But she would never actually make contact with us, which she is so obviously trying to do.

After 30 minutes passed, and into second half it became, I finally had enough. I was going to get up, when Mark, noticing that I finally wanted to take action, jumps the gun and without any hesitation walks up to Mia, who's sitting in her desk, and stops right in front of her.

"Hey, Mia, Ely and I were talking about that checkpoint we took in history recently and were arguing about certain problems. Knowing your specialty in the so-called dark arts-"

"Liberal arts!" I correct him.

"What? It's not called the dark arts?"

"No way. Though, the dark arts are a thing, depending on what you're talking about."

"Tch," Mark clicks his tongue, in obvious mockery of my sometimes fussy nature. I only say fussy now because I've come to a realization some of my less appreciable characteristics as I see and am allowed to reflect upon Mark imitating me. "Gee, I wanted to make history fun, why do you always got to ruin everything Ely? Why can't Mia be a professor of the dark arts?"

"Well, I wouldn't recommend it. The dark arts job is dangerous position."

"He's right," Mr. Hoffman chimes in. "Very dark."

Mark thinks to himself for a bit. "Yeah, I guess that's true. We'll stick with that. Ahem," Mark clears his throat, restarting, "-liberal arts, and also knowing you also have the same teacher, we would like to know what you think. Ely always says you can't view the world from one spot - you need multiple perspectives. If you would like, would you care to join us?"

How clever, I thought. Very very clever. Mark turned our conversation, which started with the history of sliced bread to eventually branching into our history class, by his prompt, at the precise time before I decided to act leading him to decide to approach Mia, then using that as a segway. It's a subtle way of inviting her without being explicit, at the same time he still let her decide, making her choose to join us or not. Ingenious, Mark, very.

He continues to surprise on many levels. It's something I'm not capable of, definitely.

But, there was no need to quote me back there. I don't remember saying that, but I don't doubt Mark's legitimacy in his decision to quote me. And it's embarrassing, you're going to make me redden slightly, so please stop.

"Umm... let's see... I... I wasn't..." Mia stutters.

"Hmm? Well, I see, you must be busy then. I'm sorry for disturbing you. I'll be on my way," Mark cuts in.

"W-Wha..?"

Mark turns around and takes haughty strides towards me. I look at him in confusion. He very slyly covers his lips with his pointer finger, in a "shush" motion, while smiling distinctly.

Ah, I thought in realization.

"W-w-wait up!" Mia calls out frantically. Eyes turn and she stares down and blushes.

Mark stops and turns around, concealing his smile. "Yes, Mia? What is it?" Mark is such an obvious actor I'd be surprised, flustered even if anyone fell for his tricks. Except, Mia did, precisely because she's so flustered herself.

"I... I do not mind. M-may I join you, you and Ely both? Err... I mean... I would also like to... talk about the quiz. To help you guys, that is..." Mia is looking everywhere except at Mark. For a short moment she makes eye contact with me, and she very matter-of-factly cranks her head away.

I'm not sure how I felt then. I'm used to sinking into the background, but to be so openly avoided is another thing... I'm still not sure how I feel...

"Sure thing!" Mark laughs haughtily. Mr. Hoffman gives him one mean stare. As always, Mark shys a bit, before disregarding everything and continuing his charade - which might also involve Mr. Hoffman at this rate because he's always here to give Mark the mean stares.

Very mean, meaner than mine, in fact.

"Before that though, Ely, what do you think? Are you fine with Mia joining us?" Mark gives me way.

Mia half-looks at me very awkwardly, fidgeting slightly and blinking very rapidly. Her face is a mix between a half smile and half frown, on and off at times, but it's not repulsing, not in the slightest.

Normally I would've acted similarly nervous upon seeing her seeing me this way, awkward as that sounds, and it is, but between school and the dream dungeon and Mark, my energy has been drained and my focus occupied. I sigh and rest my elbow on the desk, my chin on my hand.

"I'm okay with it," I said.

"Right on! You heard that, Mia, come join us." With the grandest smile, Mark bowed slightly and signified in a grandiose manner the way to our unit of the room, opening his arms up in a manner like welcoming royalty. It certainly startled Mia. Mia bowed her head in appreciation, very oddly, and walked towards me.

"Allow me," I got up and reached for an empty desk and chair, and reorganized our quarters to accommodate the guest.

"T-Thank you, Ely, I'm grateful. How are you doing, it's been a while," Mia says softly.

"Yeah yeah! How are you Ely? Especially since Mia beat you on the last math test, even if it wasn't perfect, I heard. Hehe," Mark says while smirking.

To Mark, I could only half-close my eyes unsympathetically. To Mia, I could only really think...

Stop being so cute!

I thought that was appropriate. And I still do.

And here we are. Mia's been reluctantly joining us with Mark always inviting her, still very unnecessarily exaggerated, but much less so than that first day. Maybe.

I recall her at the end of the lunch period throwing away that scrap paper. I wonder what it was, but the way she threw it away made me think it wasn't as important as I assumed it to be.

"Phantasm... I have actually played it. To sum it up, I would say..." she looks up and away and scratches her cheek, "fun. It was very fun."

"See, I told you, 'Raising Knights' was a good game for her to start with," Mark interjects.

"Right, I concede. Mia, what specifically did you think was fun?" I ask.

"Well, definitely the story. I didn't expect a video game to have such a complex storyline. I read lots of books, and the hook, or the introduction of the game, far surpassed my expectations. It was very captivating! Though, I'm not really fond of having to grind... I'm only a few hours into the game, and although the battle system is unique and fun, it does feel like I'm bogged down..."

"That makes sense. The 'Phantasm' series is popular for its plot. The entire game series is like one expansive, interactive movie. Wait until you get to the alternate ends," I say.

"Yeah, it's crazy how fleshed out the characters are. The twists are especially great," Mark adds while nodding his head.

"Yep, exactly. Although, about grinding, unfortunately, this series is very traditional. In all the games to date grinding is a very prevalent feature. It's not too bad, not as in other series, in the newer games grinding is less of a hassle and integrated into part of the main story. It's just something you have to get used to."

"Things will really start kicking in after the introduction arc. At that point you'll wish you'll wish for more grinding time."

Mark and I very smoothly drop our insights on 'Raising Knights'. Both of us being absolute fanatics, without hesitation we explain together. We disagree on a lot of things, but our enjoyment for Phantasm is always, for us, a topic to agree on.

"I'm sorry," I say, "we don't mean to overwhelm you."

"No no no! It's fine! Now that I've heard you guys talk more about it, I'm motivated to continue playing!" Mia holds two fists close to her chest and nods in affirmation.

"You're making a life-changing decision right here," Mark says with unnecessary weight and solemnity. His face grows heavy. "We'll wait for you. Go. And enjoy the wonders of Phantasm!"

"I'm glad you're playing it," I say, with comparative lightness and ease. Mark gives me a profoundly deep, grim stare, as if expecting me to follow. I shrug it off casually. Mia giggles. Of course I don't follow what do you take me for Mark? "Make sure, though, not to play too much. It'd be bad if it infringes on your studies and your sleep."

"Here we go again," Mark says, back to his normally abnormal nature. "Preaching to the choir about responsible habits again." Mark rolls his eyes. "Ever since he started being more diligent, started exercising, and started caring about his appearance, non stop do I hear this guy telling me to do 'this' and 'that', and especially not to do 'this' and 'that'. You don't have to read to me every word of the book, Ely, I'm liberate."

"You mean 'literate', Mark," I correct him.

"You exercise, Ely?" Mia asks with intrigue.

"Umm... yeah, I do, but don't make a big deal of it. It's nothing, really." I blush slightly, less than I would've before, which is a good sign of growth... I think. I turn my attention to Mark. "But anyway, what's there to complain about? This is a good change," I say. "Also, Mia used to be in the choir, in middle school, so I'm preaching to somebody."

"Really? Mia, you were?" Mark asks.

"Huh? Oh, yeah... I'm surprised, how did you know?" Mia asks surprised.

"Hmm? You mentioned that during quarter 1 introductions when you became class rep, didn't you?" I say unassumingly.

"Eh? Really? Did I? I... suppose I did," Mia contemplates.

"Wow, even the girl herself doesn't remember." Mark smiles smugly. "Mia, Ely here doesn't pay attention too much to the details around him. Him remembering something like this is saying something." Mark laughs boisterously.

Mr. Hoffman need not stare. I elbow Mark concealingly but with great force, for both myself and Mr. Hoffman. Mr Hoffman glances up then uncaringly returns back to his desk work.

Mia, on the other hand, is again as red as a raspberry. Though, really, that's of course an embellished misrepresentation. More like a soft tomato shade of red than the distinct red raspberry.

Yep, that's more like it.

Ding~ Ding~.

Another conclusion to lunch. The bells tone and students shuffle about - some into their seats, some out to their proper class, most throwing away trash and bidding farewell to their friends. Mr. Hoffman's class during lunch is particularly busy and filled during lunch, for reasons unknown, but not too busy, just a bit more than classes around us. A majority of the people here are from last period, the period before lunch, them being a part of my class who sees Mr. Hoffman twice for both periods 2 and 3. Instead of leaving for other things, I suppose most of the students remain, or they get lunch and come back, because this class is the next class after lunch anyway. That's the same for me, but I also stay due to the fact that Mark always meets me here first. For Mia, she's the class representative, so sometimes she would have class duties that would extend into lunch. Today, though, she had none.

I reach down for my boxed lunch, now empty, only to find myself patting at an empty desk. I glance at Mia, who's also looking around her area with confusion and dismay. My eyes shift to Mark, who, under our watchful gazes, or lack thereof, escaped to the doorway leading into the hallway. He smiles at me, and lifts up his hand, revealing cloth napkins, their ends within Mark's grasp, drooping slightly with with rectangular, boxed outlines at the bottom, poking out from inside. Three of those distinct outlines clack inaudibly against eachother within three colored napkins, all suspended in midair from Mark's hand.

They are our lunches. Mia's too, as she often buys lunch herself, lunch that, as I mentioned before, is very good and may be better than what some people eat at home on a daily basis.

Though, they're not as amazing as my mother's cooking, I have to admit. But they're way better than anything I could make, and even moreso Lexi.

"Ah..." Mia lets out a soft shriek. She looks at Mark alongside me.

"This is no surprise by now, but I'll take care of this! Mia, don't feel bad. The trashcan is on my way to my next class. Gotta blast, seeya!" With another shout and a little wink, Mark flies off.

At this point, my feelings toward this issue are subsided. I look at Mia, who's staring pitifully and regretfully at Mark's dust. "Every time, you see? I've given up at this point. How does he do it, I wonder."

"That's no good! Ely, you have to keep fighting. Definitely, someday, if you and I join forces, we can beat Mark at his own game," Mia exclaims, very unnervous now. She's settling more into the motions with us now, and it's comforting to see her feeling comfortable and relaxed.

"I suppose. Though, what will we do? I know not." A thought comes to me. I smile, revealing very sparkly teeth in a very handsome grin towards her. "You're enthusiasm is appreciated. Someday."

She blushes and looks away frantically. Her cheeks flush and she holds her arms very nervously. "N-n-n-n-no problem! I-I'll see you, Ely!" With great words, she flies away back to her desk at a speed that'll make a sprinter surprised, at least, that's what I think. Once at her desk, she shrieks, in her body language that is, with chills running through her like a cat that's just been frightened, and she hurries back to me and our lunch area and reorganizes the desks and chairs in a neat and precise order very quickly, quicker than it takes for me to stand up to help her. And then she finally returns to her desk, making every attempt to appear occupied. But like me, she's not so good an actor.

One bad actor in the complexes of life to another.

I sit back idly. What I recalled back there was some advice Mark gave to me one frivolous lunch period, shortly after what Mark calls my "transformation". This was after an odd attempt at conversation with a classmate, the classmate, in fact, that threw out the question of tutoring after my "legendary" test score in Pre-Calc some time ago. Mark suggested I should act more naturally, and the question all people not so adept at social interaction ask is "how do I act 'natural'?" "What is 'natural'?" It's a question which I do not want to wrap my head around because, especially now, I'm preoccupied with so much. My life has become much busier, busier than I could have ever imagined, and something which the old me, before the dungeon, could not have imagined.

I often offer advice and insights to Mark, but most of the time, with increasing pettiness as demonstrated when he mentioned I was "preaching to the choir", he shrugs it off. If he has really taken my words to heart, as with his many underlying actions and intentions, which would surprise any passerby observing the usually unusual Mark, I wouldn't really know. He doesn't show it. He himself might have a deeper shell than I.

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Ughh... Teenage angst.

But this time, Mark is the one offering advice to me. Mark suggested simply that I should smile more. That I should "reveal those pretty boy teeth", which I took as a rather hefty insult. But, he added, as he always does, that beyond anything, being natural is being honest. This time, as with all times before, when those times uncommonly come, Mark can say some pretty impactful words, offer some pretty touching advice, that are pretty in themselves. But they hit home too hard too often.

And so what he said I just did. Not necessarily the "honesty" part, but the smiling tip, that is what I did. And the result...

Is something that I did not expect, nor that I want, or will want to happen again. Let's maybe not do that again.

And so is the continuation of "Ely's daily life". The actors in this well-scripted live divine comedy continue to play their roles, and I always thought I was more of a spectator to this all. My recent experiences and changes make me realize that I'm very deeply involved in everything and that I'm in the center of a conspiracy of sorts, a very real and seeming conspiracy that turns out to be a lie. Meaning, this is reality - there is no intrigue, there is no machination, there is no trickery, there is no subversion or outlandish scheme, this is happening, this is right now - and I'm in the middle of it all. Underneath all this pleasantry, that everyone here, including me, takes for granted, is much more terrifying things. People are dying, every day, every night. This world is much bigger than I ever would've thought. There are untold terrors, and these terrors, which fills this world plentifully and which I have still no real idea of, have reached the confines of our dreams. They invaded our bubble of ignorant bliss, this life of mine and all of ours that we live in peace, relative as it is, though relative is a word that may be an insult to the places without any inherent peace. Still, that's not to undercredit the work of tragedy this new terror brings. Another problem to an already long list of worldwide problems, and even problems limited to the country, to the state, and to our local society - to this school. My worries are that this problem is not simply a nationwide epidemic. It's already proven to be a worldwide problem.

And that's troubling.

My solace, my normal life in the real world, won't be present forever. Someday, news of the dungeon will leak to everyone, and everything, the world and all we know of it, will change radically. What will happen inside and outside the dreams, I haven't the slightest.

But I can tell it won't be good.

Ding~ Ding~. The bell tolls the late lunch bell, and the beginning of third period, which for me is Gifted Algebra II. I wash away my thoughts - I'm thinking too hard. I focus again on Mr. Hoffman, who has turned on the projector for yet another normal but slightly riveting lesson, as Mr. Hoffman always does. Today we're deep into functions, something that I'm particular adept at within my already studied aptitude in math, and even though I don't need to pay too much attention, I do so anyway, moreso to learn at what might be on the test so I can better prepare for it. Mr. Hoffman's test are always very hard, as people say. I take another glance outside the windows.

The clouds move at their very slow pace, almost not at all if you aren't paying attention, and most of the time, nobody is. But I pay special attention to it, and all the other landscape. This might be the only time I can, knowing what's to come in the future.

For some reason, the breeze which I felt, or I imagined to feel, before now oddly feels, or I imagine to feel, cold. Uncomfortably chilly, in fact, even though I'm within the warm confines of the school, which is remarked to always be very lukewarm. My glasses feel oddly heavy, and so are the lines of my face, causing me to frown slightly.

I tilt my head and comb my hair to the side with my head and look towards the projector displaying a powerpoint of notes that is sure to intimidate the weak of heart. With deep sighs, I pick up my pencil and open a notebook. The chatter of students around me settling into their desks and agonizing about their impending doom - that is, that Mr. Hoffman's class has once again started and they have to sit through another day of notes - fill the room until Mr. Hoffman himself halts it with his very intimidating stare. I'm used to it now, and even if I were lying, I act that lie very well as another troubling thought distracts me.

Knowing myself that the real impending doom is yet to come, I feel my stomach churn, churn uncomfortably with the food I just ate, protesting against my forced ignorance to it all. True, I'm an actor in all this, and an actor with my own script in my own script. My acts are all a facade, both in the dream and outside. But, really, who isn't acting? Maybe Mia... and in that, I respect her more.

Honesty huh...

Looking again at the students in the room, as well as Mr. Hoffman, as well as Mia, as well as outside, I wonder... How long will these peaceful days continue? Calm days before the storm of night.

Thinking about these things, my frown grows. The rest of the day continues.

___

The afternoon sky shines a deep orange light through the windows into the students' entrance of the school. This entrance comprises of glass doors in a steel frame, attached to a glass wall that appears thin but is actually very thick and durable. Due to it being transparent glass, any student or anyone can see into the school from the outside, into the main hallway with stairs a bit ahead and papers and other various posters attached to the few big bulleton boards to the side. These bulleton boards are filled with various student notices and activities posted mainly by students, with a big section for staff/student government posts. These bulletons, accompanied by the many other various items attached to the walls and turns of unconventional, distinctly modern infrastructure, make the area seem less like a school and more like a new community center. It teems with school spirit and the like. It's the first things students see coming into the day and often leaving, as the bus lots lead into this hallway, and there's fierce competition for the limited spacing on the bulletons where students are permitted to post. There's even a strict fine for those that do not obey. I wouldn't know what that fine is because I never get involved in anything.

It's here that I've gathered with my friends to end the day. I can say friends with an -s now because not only is Mark with me, and of course, my sister Lexi who walks home with me, but also Mia, who's more than more or less officially joined our little group. The group of "distants" just saw the addition of another "distant", which makes us that much less lonely, as individuals and as a collective. Though, in the case of Mark, he's not at all socially inept. He just prefers to stick to sore old me. And Lexi, well, she doesn't count.

I try not to let her count. I have enough headaches that the addition of another troublemaker with whom I would argue fruitlessly with is beyond me, and Mia, for that matter. Though, Mia may enjoy the company - my sister's not unpleasant to be with, even if I say all those things. Mark is in the same boat.

We are standing just outside the school, just outside the main student hallway, amidst a flurry of students bustling out with varying levels of haste, some entering the school and some popping into and out of hallways. School's ended and various clubs are open now and today's another busy day for many it appears. Not for us, though, at least at school. Today, as with most, if not all days, we're apart of the short minority of students in the "Going Home Club" where we do just that. I only say "most" and not "all" days because Mia is actually part of a club, the "Class Representative Collective", where every class representative to discuss class representative-type affairs, if that counts as a real "club" like the chess club or the coffee club. It's mandatory for all current class representatives, which would include Mia. But they meet once a month during the school year. Today is not one of those meeting days.

Normally, Mark and I disperse here, in front of the main student hallway, as he normally heads home on the bus, but today, he has work, which is just nearby the school, so he leaves out the same exit as me. This makes me feel even worse though, knowing that he pays for my lunch with money that he earns from work. His household's not very wealthy, either, so I don't know how he could afford to keep paying for my lunch everyday - the costs add up. Even today, Mark paid for Mia's lunch, which caught her by surprise. When Mark threw away our trash, I'm sure Mia felt especially upset, as I do, all the time, every time. Though, like I mentioned to Mia, I try not to let it bother me now and concieve it as the natural order of things now - I've given up mostly, to Mia's distate.

Mark, really, what will I do about you? I should speak with Mia about this sometime.

Mia walks home as well, so we both normally leave through the school gate further beyond the entrance to the main student hallway. And Lexi, of course, is with us, and she goes home with me.

The school encourages all students to join some extra-curricular activity, and true, most extracurricular activities and groups work with bloodthirsty invigoration to recruit as many people and as many talented people as possible. But Mark and I are mostly alienated from that experience. Mainly because we choose to go home and play lots of Phantasm. I'm unsure about Mia, she was probably afraid to approach and join clubs. There is a study club that is very diligent in keeping its members diligent, which she would be perfect for, but like me, we're two distant people in a current of sociable youthfulness. But we're much better now, together, together as it seems, with Mark who's chosen to walk alongside us.

And Lexi, she just chooses to hang out with her friends.

"I'm really shocked!" We're about to disperse, but before that, Lexi speaks up. "How many days has it been? Three days? Including today, four days! Four days you walked with us, Mia, I'm surprised."

"Umm... is it really that surprising?" Mia asks in a soft, high pitch.

"Mmm, very. This has never happened before. Anybody my brother tried to become close with never stayed, never stayed besides Mark that is. It's always been just the two of them. I still remember their names - Sam, Courtney, Charlotte, Emily, none of them lasted longer than 2 days."

"All... girls?"

"Yep. Go figure. This was all in middle school though."

"Oi, don't bring up unnecessary pasts," I reprimand.

"Yep, Lexi, don't ruin Mia's impression of Ely," Mark jumps into the conversation. Suddenly, his face lights up in thought. "Oh yeah, don't forget Ellie."

"Oh, how could I forget," Lexi says with sudden recollection.

"Not helping," I say coldly.

Lexi and Mark let out casual laughs. Mia looks content and, while not completely at ease, she's not unhappy nor detracted. From an outsider's perspective, I suppose we do look have some semblance of a real group, now, with four people talking about trivial matters, as real groups do. We continue talking about unnecessary things until we, shortly after, reach the school gate, which follows a different path from the main student entrance/exit, where Mark normally leaves to go home. The school gate is for those who walk home and who get picked up. There's another branch in the path to the school gate for the student parking, for those that drive. The school gate itself is elaborate with an antique design but with modern finishes. This school is a very good school, and just from outside appearances, one can easily tell. This school is what you would call a "magnet school". Actually, this entire school district is a "magnet district". It's a very good school district, this school, in particular, is especially high-quality, it resembles more of a private school than a public one.

In front of the school gate, we're all gathered together. "Oh, before we leave, Mia, can you send me your math notes for the class I missed," I say.

"Which class? Pre-calc or Algebra II?" she asks.

"Pre-calc."

"Oh yeah, I do recall you leaving during Pre-Calc. May I ask, where were you when we took those notes?"

"I actually took my skills test, for CPR and first-aid. I took a class in both outside school, but fortunately, the American Heart Association has connections to the school, and bi-annually they host classes and tests at Rivenburg. And, fortunately, I finished the class just in time for the tests hosted here. So, I took the test, but it happened during that period so I had to leave."

"Is that what you've been doing?" Lexi asks. "All this time, cooped up in your room recently?"

"Not all, but a chunk of my time, yes," I respond.

"You're certified now? So if I happen to choke tomorrow on a hot dog you'll be able to save me?" Mark asks with a tone of amusement.

"Yes, technically, but one of the last things I want to do tomorrow is perform the Heimlich maneuver on a Mark Springfield choking on a hotdog. I'd rather best avoid it."

Mia giggles. "That's so amazing, Ely!" Mia praises me.

"First the clothes, then the games, Ely... you... you really have changed," Lexi adds, with adoration and recognition.

Words that I've no doubt heard before.

I think back to this morning. Lexi, who stayed with me the entire night, didn't speak a word of it when she finally woke up - that is, like always, late. We've come to a mutual, wordless consent. Further words need not be added. And for that reason, I didn't bring it up myself.

"It depends how you define the word change. It's time to go." I scratch my neck and look away to avert myself of this prolonged attention.

Then, suddenly, a thought occurred to me.

"Ah! I forgot... I left my math notebook back in the classroom," I say with realization.

"Would you like us to accompany you?" Mia asks with consideration.

"No, it's fine. I'll go back. Mark, good luck at work. Lexi, you can go ahead. Mia, you too, I'll see you guys!" I make haste to hurry back, waving behind me. Weaving myself through the horde of sociable youthfulness, back to the main student entrance, I glance back to see them waving back, very characteristically. I need not see there faces to know who's waving. A very timid wave, an outstretched and sloppy wave, and a very casual, cool wave. In my heart, I actually feel very grateful.

I have friends. And good ones at that. Amidst the terrors of the night, I can come back to this solace.

At the same time, I think, this solace...

It won't last.

I make my way back into the school through the student entrance to Mr. Hoffman's classroom, the steady clack of my shoes hitting the very shiny and clean school floor. Mr. Hoffman's classroom is not a classroom that's used for clubs or any club activity, for reasons unsaid but probably obvious. Standing in front of the door leading into the classroom I try to peer into the window of the door to see if anyone's inside.

And nobody is. Mr. Hoffman's not inside his classroom, not sitting at his desk doing computer work as I always see him doing during lunch when he has free time, probably out and about roaming the school for reasons unknown. I've never really stuck around the school after class. Even recently, I've shuttled straight home and went straight to homework and other studies, including studying for my CPR/first-aid test. This resilience of mine might be very surprising to those who saw me in the past, but I've always had this, this dedication. Though, this dedication was directed to playing Phantasm, as I was really absorbed into that game, for about my entire life it seems. Mark himself is the same, and he himself knows this about me, which is why he isn't so surprised that I can do all these things. He surprised not for that reason, but that I was able to drop my dedication about Phantasm. Surely, my love is still there, but my focus is elsewhere, elsewhere more important. And this demonstrated focus of mine is what doesn't surprise Mark.

With the room empty, I consider looking around for him. But, knowing that he might be anyway, and not knowing where that anywhere is limited to, I hesitate. Looking around the hallways, there doesn't seem to be anyone around, or at least anyone that can help.

Nobody at all. Just me standing in this hallway.

I reach out for the handle, thinking it might not be locked, and twisting my hand, I find out that to my luck it isn't. I pause for a bit. Should I enter the classroom while he is away? Actually, I wonder why he didn't lock it in the first place? Mr. Hoffman, as I know, is very diligent. He might've just forgotton, though. He does sometimes go on rather elaborate and entertaining tangents during his math lectures, slips of the mind that carry him and the rest of class elsewhere, that do drain minimal amounts of time before he snaps back into focus and likewise the rest of the class follows. This may be another one of his slips of the mind. He is a very efficient person, but all super machines have flaws.

To my luck. I push on the door with slight force and it opens, without a creak. There's nobody in my general vicinity that can see me. I'm the only one here. I peer inside.

And, as I saw looking through the door window, it's empty. Silence, very different from how Mr. Hoffman's class is during lunch. I pop into the room.

It can't hurt to get my notebook. I'm just going to head to my desk and take my math notebook and leave. I'm not vandalising or anything of the sort.

With those very unsubstantial words of reason, I quickly dash to my desk. In actuality, this is not a serious act or "offense" of really any kind. Students drop into and out of classes all the time, for various reasons, and after school, it's common for students and teachers alike to be criss-crossing the school grounds. But, without teachers in the room, or a club, it's not encouraged. Most of the time, students that are very familiar with the teacher and recieve their unspoken consent are allowed these privileges. I feel I've gotten to know Mr. Hoffman well, through being in his class, and being in his class during lunch, and Mark who always inevitably attracts his attention (I wonder why Mr. Hoffman doesn't just kick him out, as he so easily can), and I'm sure Mr. Hoffman's particularly attentive to me for the same reasons, and that I've aced his test, which places me on his list of "legends" as students say. Yet, for some reason, I feel like I'm doing something wrong, and I have a bad feeling.

Mark would definitely snicker if he saw and knew this.

I actually find it very odd that nobody is around. With all the clubs and other activities going on after school, there's bound to be activity wherever you go. Yet, today it's silent.

Oddly silent. Peculiar.

I wash away these feelings and grab my notebook, which was indeed in my desk still, thank goodness no one took it, with my heart rate just barely, slightly elevated, and walk with even pacing back to the door.

Mission accomplished, I think trivially to myself.

I left the door slightly open though when I came in. Not good if I'm trying to act secretive, I comment to myself, if there's any reason to. In this pin-drop quiet and organized room, I pause to look at the posters and other things hanging on the wall. I never really did stop to glance, especially not recently. But in this silent room, I feel I have the chance to really just stop and see what's around me - the little details I miss on a day-to-day basis, partially due because Mr. Hoffman's lessons are so packed that you'd worry that if you blinked you'd miss valuable test information, but that's Mr. Hoffman to you. There's a lot of things I notice. Most of the posters are little factoids about math and equations and numerical riddles of all kinds, creatively displayed, covering the wall like an informative mural. It's astonishing - I never really stopped and paused myself to look at it. The bad feelings from earlier subside, and I take a very minimal but very maximized amount of time to appreciate the effort Mr. Hoffman put into his classroom. I even see my recent test on the wall, laminated and embroidered, along with other high scoring tests, including Mia's - the most recent one. My test has a particularly special embroidering, setting it apart from all the other tests, as it is the only perfect score on the wall. I never noticed these, actually, in this math bomb of a classroom.

But I didn't see the fabled aced test from 10 years ago, the last aced test before mine. But, then again, Mr. Hoffman might have just not displayed it. Or, it could not exist. Who knows.

I also never really thought of Mr. Hoffman in this way. He surely is very artistic and dedicated to his class and math.

Stopping myself from dragging time, I draw myself back to the door. With a renewed sense of calm like that of what you'd get if you were to look at a very profound painting, I walk with even steps to the door. Just a foot away from the door, and with my right hand outstretched, suddenly, I hear...

A student pleading.

"Ah! Let go of me! Help!" The student cries.

"Shhhh!!!" Another person very hurriedly hushes the student.

I pause, standing behind the cover of the door. I can hear footsteps in the hallway, that stop just in front of the door. I stand there puzzled.

"What's your deal? What did I do? Actually, who are you? I've never seen you in this school before. Are you a new teacher?" The student, a male, says.

I recognize that voice. Paul, from English class. What is going on outside this room? He's in the carpentry club, if I recall correctly. The room for carpentry should be on the opposite side of the school.

I was about to go outside and help him, seeing as the situation is about to turn sour, but then... what I hear next causes me to freeze.

"Don't yell! If someone comes and sees us, you'll be in a much more difficult situation!" The other person, an adult, says with a stern, reprimanding voice. A familiar voice, I know.

A voice that chills my bones and reaches into my heart.

What...

What is he doing here?

I don't even drop my hand, still outstretched to reach the doorknob. Every part of me freezes, and my entire body feels as cold as ice. Ice almost as terrifying as Maryam's. I wish, with the door still slightly open, that they absolutely do not notice me. I almost my breath, to remain as silent as I can.

What...

I recall memories of the past that make my gut churn, as these memories often and only do.

What is her dad doing here?

Yes... he's back... again...

But for what? And why? And why now?

I'm afraid that I'll be spotted. My formerly even heartbeat speeds up terrifyingly quick, with thumps so loud I'm afraid they'll hear it through the door.

Fortunately, they don't.

"My name is Ralph Davis. I work in security in the U.S. government," he says, in a cool and cold manner very different from his frantic outcry over the phone that one night. The one night that changed my life.

"A badge? You really are from the government..." Paul's voice shakes. "W-what does the government want with me?" He lowers his voice, enough so that only Ralph could really hear it.

And me.

"I'm glad you understand the severity of the situation. We've come to notice that you've been involved in a serious incident, and thus, we're going to hold you for an indeterminable amount of time for interrogation. Shortly, my men will come to secure you. Don't worry, we're going to be as discreet as possible to avoid any attention."

"W-what? No way!" Paul's voice is distressed now. "Y-you can't do that..! What about my rights? What did I get involved in? Also... the school won't let you! My parents won't either!"

What did Paul get involved in? What's going on?

I don't want to eavesdrop, but I find myself intently listening to every word. The bad feeling, which is proving true right now, that's resurfaced within me, as if mocking me for underestimating it before, is telling me: Listen.

"The school? Look around you - ask yourself why it's so quiet, why there's nobody around. We've cleared the hallway and nearby classrooms, with the cooperation with the school, with a diversion. We're already working with Rivenburg high, as well as many other schools in the area. We have their consent. As for your parents? We'll reason with them after the fact. You don't understand, what you've encountered is something beyond the scope of the nation, of the world. We have to take all precautions," Ralph says.

"But what did I do? I didn't get involved in anything!" Paul argues, he starts sounding a little angry at his sudden circumstance.

"Not directly, no. But, you knew someone that was," Ralph replies in the still easy voice. "I'm sure you'll know once I mention his name."

"... Who?" Paul says, uneasily, with a little belief now.

Ralph pauses for a bit.

"Connor Williams."

And afterward, I suddenly hear pained gasps.

"... No way... No way! No way no way no way no way no way! I-" Paul panics.

"I'm sure you know. He was absent five days ago, and hasn't showed up to school since. You've been telling your friends that he caught a really bad cold recently, playing it off as such, trying to distract yourself. But, I'm sure, you know the painful truth."

"I... I-I-I don't know what you're talking about. And even if I did, it has nothing to do with me! I'm not involved at all!" I hear exasperated gasps bellow out painfully, in between words, and afterward.

"It wasn't that he got a cold, no. You thought that was a possibility, but with all that he's revealed to you, you couldn't help but feel worried, didn't you?" Ralph's voice started containing a hint of mockery now, but I feel for some reason it's not directed at Paul, not at all. "You shrugged it all off, told him to quit it, to stop playing around with these things he was telling you, but he seemed to only be getting worse and worse with every passing day - no, night. Until, you suddenly stopped hearing from him."

"No..."

"Yes. You dropped by his place one day, to find something horrifying, hah!" That last little laugh that Ralph let out was short and forced, not actually a laugh at all. I can imagine him wearing an ugly smile on his stiff face. "His parents were out on a business meeting, and you used the keys he lent you to go in. What you found..."

"How... how do you..?"

More gasping. Frequent and short, like Ralph's little laugh.

"... was an unresponsive body. That of Connor's. Unresponsive." Ralph ignored Paul.

"How?!?!"

"How? How I know is not the issue. But what I know. And I know, very certainly, he's dead."

"Dead," Ralph repeated the word for unnecessary effect.

Gasping so loud and frantic it starts to get out of hand, more than it already has. I can physically hear something grinding, even from behind the door. Grinding of teeth, I can tell, in desperation.

"This... This is all wrong. You're wrong! He's not dead, I'm telling you! You're making this all u-up!!!" Paul lashed out at him.

"Come with me. You have no choice left. We'll make all the preparations for you and we promise we'll take care of you. And discreetly at that-"

"No," Paul almost yells now, interrupting him, "YOU are the one that has to leave. I'm not going. You're crazy!!! CRAZY! I'm leaving!"

I hear footsteps again, frantic, crazed ones, that start and pick up speed quickly in a rush away from our current spot.

"I didn't want to have to do this. Jamison, O'Riley. Get him," Ralph says decisively.

""Yessir""

Two deep succinct voices respond in unison, and loud, heavy footsteps follow. Then, I hear a good thump, some struggling, and then the struggling fades away. I'm unsure whether they've gone too far away for me to hear, or Paul was suddenly silenced, or both.

Probably both.

And I'm terrified.

And now there's just the two of us. Ralph and I, separated only by a slightly open door.

"Another one is gone," Ralph starts speaking, speaking to himself. "How many people does that make? I've taken 25 now, and 17 have died." Ralph lowers his voice to a faint, melancholic mumble.

Paul from English class. Paul Rider, to be exact. A tall guy, very strong, and very social and easygoing, in a different way from Mark. I don't know him all too well. I knew him well enough to exchange greetings every now and then, and we got along fine. I know he does carpentry, as his uncle owns a carpentry company, and so he is thought to be the "successor", if you will. One time, when we were doing a partner assignment, and it was early in the year, and I didn't know anybody, which either early or later in the year, it wouldn't make too much of a difference, he offered to work with me. And we worked well together. And ever since, anytime we'd do partner assignments or group assignments in that class, we'd work together. That's the extent of my familiarization with him, though. And now, he's gone.

He's gone. It's so... odd. It feels wrong.

And Connor Williams. He's Paul's good friend, and I usually see him around with Paul, much in the same way you see Mark and me together. I know of him even less than Paul - all I really know are his name and that he's Paul's buddy. And now, he's dead.

He's dead. Dead! And he's been dead!

Just like that! But where... where does Ralph fit in?

"Cardiac arrest and a shutdown of the brain... Are you kidding? Why is all of this happening? This job of mine, where I have to seize all potentially involved and deal with the deaths of so many innocent people is absolutely ludicrous. No, I'm ludicrous, I'm terrible. I can't believe I just talked down an innocent high school kid like that. What am I doing? Hah..." Ralph laughs that short laugh again. He relinquishes with guilt.

"Funny, isn't it?" He spites himself.

My eyes widen. I had a feeling, a feeling I didn't want to believe. But what else could it be?

I don't dare move. I laugh to myself in my mind. What the heck am I idling around for? Self-improvement? What's that, in the real world, going to do about the dream dungeon, a world on its own, and even its dominion in the real world, what is a little exercising or changing hairstyles or getting new clothes going to do?

Another life has been claimed in front of me, less directly this time, but certainly not less important. It's almost as if the world was telling me to wake up! To stop distracting myself from the reality of the dream.

Everything's coming together. I'm an idiot, a real idiot. How many lives are involved in the dungeon? How many lives will be "replenished" as the announcer declared, how many more people will get involved? How many people will die? I know not of the many problems of the world, but I do know this:

The dream dungeon, it's got to stop.

"Argh!" A pained grunt escapes. A pound on the ground follows.

I'm still frozen, and I'm not going to move now. Ralph is still outside, and he let out a groan while smacking at the ground in frustration, with his fist I presume.

You can tell a lot from a person's cry alone. People have an odd attunement to sounds of pain from others.

It's chilling.

"I promise... I promise, dear, I promise..." Ralph heaves his voice, as if speaking through clenched teeth. "I hate doing this job. I hate it. But I will endure. I will endure until I find the truth to what happened to you, my dear daughter.

"And then, after that, I... I..."

I hear a loud pound! against the wall, just a few feet away from me. The papers and other posters on the wall shake a bit. Ralph kicked the wall on the other side in bitterness. I cannot see from my blinded view, but I can see his distress.

After all, we share the same bitterness for the same person.

"I..." he cries, almost exactly like he did that night. "I will definitely avenge you. Definitely. Even if I can't, I have do something, at least."

Sadness wells up within me, probably like it is in Ralph Davis, but my sadness is probably only a minuscule fraction of that of Ralph. His child died. I only knew the girl for really some months. Yet, I won't mask the fact that I'm sad. I don't know Paul that well, or Connor, who died, among many others, but I knew her. And I saw her. And I let her die.

But, I want to make it clear, he's sadder. Much sadder.

Then, the stars aligned in one moment.

"Cheryl..." Cheryl...

We both say, simultaneously, him out loud, me in my mind. Funny how the world works?

Funny, isn't it? Haha...

I understand his mocking attitude now, mockery not directed at Paul, or at anyone else, but himself.

What am I doing? We both ask ourselves. I know it.

"Hey... this classroom... isn't it..?"

Ralph stops and pauses. Oh yeah, Cheryl used to be in this room. She used to be apart of this class. I look back at her seat, empty, void, much like all the other seats, but this seat looks to feel much heavier.

Much more weight is attached. Weight that cannot ever in forever and in eternity and in all thing's real and imaginary, rational and irrational, substantial and unsubstantial - everything, it cannot be removed.

When did I stop looking at her seat?

My eyes widen once more.

Not good!

I realized he's only that far away from me, and there's the possibility that he'll see me through the cracks of the door. I can be exposed. I can be seen.

He might even enter the classroom, for the same pitiful reasons with the same pitiful desires as me.

If that happens, I don't know what I'll do. My mind starts screaming in my head. My heart races and my stomach turns upside down.

Please!

Please don't catch me!

I wait. He waits. I hear footsteps approaching me. My expression turns ugly. I prepare myself for the worst. What will he do if he sees me? Will I be taken? Will he possibly recognize me?

That's even worse!

He stops just in front of the door. I can almost hear his breathing from the outside. I can almost feel his bitterness emanating through the crack in the door and through the door itself. I can almost see him on the other side, his arm outstretched to reach the doorknob or to push the door open, exposing me in all my imperfection.

What do I do?

I retract my hand finally, afraid of the doorknob, and hold my breath.

Fortunately, I hear footsteps pacing away. He left. I wait an extra length of time just to make sure, then I finally calm, at least a little.

That was too close. I don't know how I was able to enter the hallway without any resistance, or what exactly went down - my mind is still jumbled, in a mess trying to absorb everything - but I do know, with greater assurance, that things are about to go down.

This is only the introduction.

I turn my head to see a paper on the ground. I walk over to it and crouch down to look at it.

It's my test score. I look up at the wall to see the other tests and posters. It must've fallen when Ralph Davis kicked the wall. It's the only paper to fall.

I clench it, forming wild folds and slight creases in it, ruining the perfect, flat, embroidered, laminated piece of display.

Funny, isn't it? I think again self-mockingly.

Really... Isn't it? Who cares about a test? Who cares about anything really?

I look back at Cheryl's desk, then at my paper, then back at Cheryl's desk. I get up, and with apologies in my head to Mr. Hoffman for ruining his wall, I tack the test back onto the wall with the thumbtack used to fix it onto the wall in between all the other tests nicely and orderly.

I waste no time taking my notebook with me and leaving the room, in-case he were to return or I were to get caught. This school is large, very large, and sections of the school get closed off all the time for maintenance and such other things. I'm sure the guards or agents or whatever you call them will have little trouble escorting Paul out secretively.

I think those previous thoughts with helpless bitterness.

Closing the door with haste and delicacy, I almost feel an uncomfortable breeze, a gust of wind, not of the air shuttled out from closing the door.

I know the windows are closed. Another turn of the imagination, my own odd tangent, slip of the mind, and yet again, this imagined wind...

It's very cold. Bitterly so.

I safely leave the premises of the school and head back home in glum sullenness.