"The Landing Zone," Asher said with careful patience, "is a transitional space designed to—"

"Landing Zone?" Piper scoffed. "What, like an airport?"

"If you'd let me finish—"

"Because I gotta say, your terminal needs work. Where's the overpriced coffee shop? The sad little newsstand? At least give me one of those massage chairs that never actually works—"

Asher pulled out a slim volume titled "Soul Processing: A Guide" and began flipping through it. "Let's see... denial... denial... ah, here we go. 'What to do when a soul is in denial...'"

"I'm not in denial," Piper snapped. "You're in denial. This is clearly a mistake. Send me back."

"Listen." For the first time, Asher's ever-shifting features settled into something approaching exasperation. "I have other souls to guide, so if you could just listen while I explain the points system—"

"Points?" Piper latched onto the word. "What points? What is this, a game? Did I fall asleep playing Candy Crush again? Because I've done that, you know. Woke up with my phone stuck to my face and everything."

Asher looked at her pointedly.

"Fine." Piper crossed her arms. "Explain. I'm listening."

"Thank you." Asher waved their hand, and a glowing screen appeared. "You have ended your life with 1,427 points and—"

"That's pretty good, right?" Piper brightened. "I mean, that's like a solid B+ at least. Once I got a 1200 point high score on—"

"Most souls," Asher cut in, "arrive with at least 2,000 points."

Piper's face fell. "What? No. That's... that's impossible. I was a straight-A student. I don't get bad grades. I..." Her eyes narrowed. "Wait. You still haven't answered my question. Is this hell? Because this feels like that time Mrs. Peterson gave me a B- in Chemistry, and I'm not loving it."

"If you'd just let me—"

"Or is it purgatory? Because if it's purgatory, I'd like to move right along, please. Get to the good stuff. The clouds, the harps, the..." She gestured vaguely. "Whatever else is up there."

A familiar black shape suddenly leapt onto the glowing screen, tail swishing through the numbers.

"Oh, come on!" Piper threw up her hands. "Seriously? Even in the afterlife, you're going to sit on whatever I'm trying to look at?"

Grim blinked at her slowly, then began methodically cleaning his paw.

"Could you not—" Asher began, but Grim had already vanished again.

Piper jabbed a finger at the space where he'd been. "Okay, we need to talk about the cat situation. Because either I'm hallucinating, or—"

"The points system is quite elegant actually—" Asher interrupted.

"Do you get bonus points for recycling? Because I always meant to start doing that."

"Well, no, but—"

"What about that time I gave a dollar to a homeless guy but then immediately felt bad because what if he spent it on drugs? Does the overthinking cancel out the good deed?"

Asher pinched the bridge of their nose and breathed deeply.

"Let me show you some specific examples," Asher said, waving their hand. The screen flickered.

"Plus fifty points," they announced.

"For what?"

"For rescuing Grim from the shelter."

"Oh." Piper blinked. "I mean, he was the only cat there who didn't try to cuddle me. I respected that."

"Minus two hundred and fifty points."

"For what?"

"The way you treated your sister."

"You mean brother Parker who's trying to—wait." Piper froze. "That's not fair. I was trying to protect my brother from making a huge mistake."

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Asher's expression remained neutral, but something in their constantly shifting features suggested disappointment. "Sarah's wedding invitation arrived four times."

"Because she… he —because Parker kept—" Piper stopped, frustrated by her own stumbling words. Why was it suddenly so hard to say 'he'? She always kept his pronouns the way they were supposed to be.

"Plus seven hundred and thirty points for saying grace before meals."

"Ha!" Piper brightened. "See? I knew that counted for something."

"One point per meal," Asher clarified.

"One point? That's it? But I did it for two years straight! That's..." Her face fell as she did the math. "Oh."

"It's the thought that counts," Asher offered. "Though mindless repetition counts... less."

"What about my donation to the church building fund?"

"Minus twenty points."

"What? Why?"

"You only did it because Mrs. Henderson was watching, and you wanted her to stop talking about how her daughter always donates."

"That's..." Piper deflated. "Okay, that's fair."

Grim reappeared, stretching across the screen of numbers.

"Plus seventy-five points," Asher continued, trying to peer around him, "for that time you anonymously paid for the person behind you in the drive-through."

"But minus fifty for immediately posting about it on Facebook," they added.

Piper: Ok this game is officially rigged. Seriously? Minus fifty for posting on facebook? That order ended up being like 30 dollars! I thought it would be like 10.

Asher: Right. But if you only did it for the glory of it then that cancels out a big portion.

Piper: Ok fine but do political donations count? I donated to that politician's campaign, the one that helped make abortion illegal! That saves lives! it has to count for something.

Asher just squeezed their eyes shut for a moment.

"That has to count for something, right?" Piper pressed. "Saving lives?"

"About that." Asher shifted uncomfortably. "Points aren't awarded based on what you think is right. They're awarded based on the actual impact of your actions on others."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Your donation led to increased suffering for many vulnerable people who—"

"Oh, don't give me that liberal propaganda. Next you'll tell me I lost points for speaking out against the trans agenda."

Asher's form settled briefly into something that looked almost sad. "Would you like to see how your posts affected your sister?"

"Parker," Piper corrected automatically. "And no, I wouldn't."

Grim appeared again, this time sitting directly in front of the numbers, staring at Piper with those unblinking yellow eyes.

"Could we maybe discuss your career instead?" Asher suggested diplomatically. "You got quite a few points for—"

"Fine," Piper snapped. "Whatever. Just... stop looking at me like that, cat."

"In your career as a claims adjuster," Asher began, "you earned several points for—"

"Being efficient? Meeting quotas? Running a tight ship?"

"For approving claims you were technically supposed to deny."

"What? Those were mistakes! I got written up for those!"

"Plus thirty points for each time you chose empathy over policy."

"That's not—I didn't—" Piper sputtered. "Those were clerical errors!"

"Plus one hundred points for letting that single mother's claim go through even though—"

"Can we please just move on to the next part?" Piper interrupted. I get it. She thinks. He thinks I was a bad person.

Asher's form suddenly shifted, flowing into distinctly feminine curves before dissolving back into ambiguity. "I don't think you were a bad person, Piper. The points aren't about good or bad. They're about impact."

Grim's tail twitched in what looked suspiciously like amusement.

Piper froze. "You can read my thoughts. That's scary. Can I get a different afterlife guide? This is too much."

"We can all 'read' your thoughts," Asher said patiently. "They're practically screaming at me. Like right now, you're thinking about how much you hate that you can't figure out what I am."

"I am not!" Piper protested, while actively trying to determine if Asher's voice had just gotten higher or lower.

"And now you're analyzing my voice pitch."

"Get out of my head!"

"If you'd prefer," Asher said, their form rippling, "we could move on to discussing your options."

"Options?" Piper latched onto the word. "What options? Is there like... a points appeal process?"

"You can't appeal the points you earned or lost in life," Asher said. "But you can earn points here in the afterlife."

"HOW?" Piper gestured at the vast emptiness. "There's nothing here. There's no one here. Just you and me. What am I supposed to do, give you a cookie? Point me to the nearest grocery store and I'll buy you two dozen cookies."

Asher remained patient. "Not here. In a moment I will adjust your awareness so that you can notice everything around you. To make it easier for you, it will look like the home you just left, and Grim may even visit you there from time to time."

"That cat hates me," Piper snorted. "The only time he showed any interest in me is when I was about to die. Like he knew, the bastard."

Grim materialized on Piper's shoulder, making her yelp. He rubbed his face against her cheek once, then vanished.

"Stop doing that!" she yelled at the empty air.

"Grim has his own role here," Asher said cryptically. "Now, about your accommodations—"

Asher flicked their finger and suddenly Piper found herself in her home, almost exactly as she'd left it, only neater. But something was missing. Several somethings.

"Who stole my TV? My laptop?" Piper spun around. "What am I supposed to do to entertain myself?"

"No one... stole them," Asher said carefully. "There's just not much use for them here. Besides, you'll spend very little time here. It's not like you need to sleep, or eat for that matter. And you know, there's no internet here. No cable or TV streaming services."

"Are you freaking kidding me?" Piper collapsed onto her couch. "I was right in the middle of watching the fifth season of Squid Game."

"There are other forms of entertainment—"

"Like what? Staring at walls? Playing charades with my possibly-psychic gender-fluid afterlife guide and my cryptic cat who may or may not actually be dead?"

Asher's form rippled in what might have been a sigh. "Would you like to hear about your job options?"

"My what now?"

"Yes, the way you can earn points here in the afterlife," Asher said. "By getting a job."

"DUDE. No. Just no." Piper threw up her hands. "I put in almost twenty years at Hoover, Dustly and Grant. Don't I get a fucking break?"

"I mean, that is also an option," Asher said mildly. "Not getting a job, not earning additional points. If that's the option you choose, you should get comfortable because you'll be here for eternity."

"ETERNITY with no TV or internet?" Piper stood up, pacing. "That's just bullshit. Fine. What are my job options?" She paused, eyeing Asher. "Are they hiring in your line of work? Because reading people's minds sounds fun."

"You would need significantly more points before being considered for administrative work," Asher said. “However, we do have openings in several departments," Asher said. "Dream Organizing, Coincidence Engineering, and Soul Rehabilitation registration."

"Soul Rehabilitation?" Piper perked up. "Like, for the really bad people?"

"For souls who earned fewer points than—"

"Sign me up." Piper straightened her shoulders. "I mean, someone's got to help those poor lost souls, right? Show them the error of their ways?"

Asher's form flickered in what might have been discomfort. "The position is... clerical in nature. Mostly data entry."

"Still. I'd be helping rehabilitate the worst of humanity."

"Actually, most souls in rehabilitation earned just slightly fewer points than—"

"Where do I sign?"

Grim appeared on the kitchen counter, making a sound suspiciously like a snicker.

"What's so funny?" Piper demanded, but he'd already vanished again.