Calli has a dream

“C’mon! What the fuck was that, man?”

“H-her weapon just disappeared… I panicked, sir.”

You sigh blearily. You assumed as much, but still. “Goddamn, you never seen shit just disappear before? Your jizz disappears half the time you jerk off, you lose your marbles then too?”

“My apologies, sir!” For now, you accept your marksman’s apology. They aren’t trained to deal with PIs of this degree, you don’t know anybody here except for you that is.

“We’ll discuss this later. -Guys, top off.”

Like the rest of your team, you press the mag-release and stop the thirty-round box before it hits the ground. You finish the procedure first and observe the others swap their magazines. You feel a modicum of pride seeing the men you coached performing the simplest task with adequate proficiency. All of them remember to retain their remaining munition. Cased telescoped ammo doesn’t grow on trees, they grow in Pekora’s garden. And Pekora’s garden is like the Villa d’Este of gardens, expensive.

<<Musket 1, it’s TOC. Your extraction Victors are on standby outside the warehouse. Interrogative: is the situation contained?>> Once the bullets stop, Oga is back on the comms. He is always there, ensuring you have the information required without distracting you at a critical moment.

<<TOC, the subject is down. We’re moving in to investigate, standby.>>

<<You’re the expert on PIs, 1-1. Stay frosty.>> You always try.

Upon first glance, there’s nothing out of place with the bullet-riddled body of the young woman sprawling over the cold pavement. She simply lays there, motionless with an expression that declares nothing. It’s almost a tragic depiction of a victim murdered in cold-blood, if taken out of context.

But you know better than to assume this is a permanent solution to Paranormality, it’s almost second nature to never consider a corpse as a problem solved in your industry.

Really would appreciate it if things can just die when killed.

“Spread out, eyes on the subject.” You direct your team to form a semi-circle around the deceased, to be on guard for anything conspicuous.

Of course, something bizarrely curious starts to occur right afterwards. The maroon ruby on the self-proclaimed reaper’s weighty necklace pulses once, brilliantly so. A signal for the blood staining the floor in blotches of red to begin their recession backwards to the source, surging up her skin until it seeps into where they once ruptured from. Bits and pieces of flesh that were blown apart from the caress crawls and rolls towards the wounds still fresh, moulding themselves back into place like nothing is wrong with this concoction of a human-shaped being.

All of this is rather gruesome, and you honestly prefer not to have this image imprinted in your brain. You’re not so skittish as to faint at the slightest hint of a mangled body, that’d make this line of work unsuitable for you. However, you won’t go out seeking depraved butchery either. Slasher movies? Those aren’t for you.

Although you still observe and analyze the supernatural phenomenon. This is not a time-related effect, like something Tenet can do. This is regeneration… like that liquid nitrogen scene in T2 when the T-1000 rebuilds itself after being shattered, but instead of a future-tech material, the girl is all flesh and bones.

Favourably, this discovery showers you with opportunities to exploit. The subject takes roughly a minute to show any noticeable signs of regeneration. So if you just blast her every fifty seconds then immobility should be guaranteed unless the condition alters.

“Target her limbs, fire one burst on my mark.” Your squad understands, keeping themselves at a distance while you carefully advance.

Once you’re standing over the unscathed corpse, her eyelids stiffly peel open to reveal the same scarlet irises of a refined beauty. Appearance alone can’t change your opinion of someone, but it does kindle your empathy to their case. That might be a very superficial reason for who you attempt to understand, but you believe that’s just human nature.

“Arghh… ack-! Guh… shit… fuck me.” Her orbs focus once the haze from her revival wears off. The first thing she sees is your inverted face and the suppressed tip of your rifle as you stand over her.

“-WOAH! W-wait! WAIT-!”

You don’t listen though. You don’t listen to the enemy. “Hit the hands.”

An accurate spurt of lead impacts where you directed, spilling blood and breaking bones.

“AGH-! OW-! AGHHH!” The pinkhead genuinely screams in agony, her claret-red pupils dilating in pain and tears swell to the brim under her eyelids. You trust this to not be an act, giving meaning to your cruelty in understanding that physical suffering applies to this PI-enabled individual.

“State your name and purpose.”

“I-I told you! I’m Calliope Mori! I-I’m a reaper!”

To give away her full name this easily can be evidence ascribing to her statement. You can imagine someone of Pekora’s status not minding the risks that come with it, but for the reaper, less so.

“Target the legs this time, aim for the ankles.” Violence is a universal language, and it’s what you have to speak against the aggressor to get your message across. It’s not exactly pleasant to abuse someone already so vulnerable, but you can’t let yourself be boggled by compassion at every turn.

“W-WAIT! P-please don’t! PLEASE! Just hang on-! Hang on a sec!” Her plea sounds legitimate, her fear looks unfeigned.

You hold your group’s collective trigger in place, for now, deciding to hear out what the subject has to offer. As long as the dynamic of power doesn’t shift away from you, Calliope lands a chance to explain herself, given that she doesn’t try anything other than lying on the floor.

You aren’t particularly fond of this tactic, but Calliope's guilelessness is a massive advantage in negotiation. If things get hot again, you might not fare so well without the element of surprise.

“Speak.” You order, maintaining the output of your barrel to her forehead.

“Oh geez… ya boy didn’t think it’d turn out like this. Guess I had this coming, but still… you cowboys are way too trigger-happy, I swear, man.”

You thought she would take the situation more seriously given that you’re aiming to put a bullet through her skull again, which could be an outcome she dislikes. Right now, you kinda want to step on the fingers that are still healing. However, that’s a bit too brutal and senseless even for you. So, you settle for just booting her on the head to get her to take you seriously.

“Ow-! Ouch!”

“Speak about yourself! What’re you doing here?”

“Sorry- sorry, mah dudes! I’m here on official Underworld business! I want a partnership with the cool kids that’s been icing all their competitions out there! Can you just lemme explain myself?” Trying her utmost to smile through her tears, Calliope forces her lips to point up despite the pain.

“You killed four of my men. Doesn’t leave a good first impression.” If partnership in the Underworld involves capping your association’s people, then this won’t be a long-lasting collaboration.

“Woah! No, no, no! It ain’t like that! I just knocked ‘em out for a sec! With a reaper blow! I swear! Pinky promise, sire!” She sticks up a half-broken pinky, slowly affixing itself as the blood flows back. “Hold on! Just don’t shoot me again and I’ll get ‘em back, good as new!”

This is risky. She’s obviously trying to achieve a feat through her PI-related ability, or perhaps actual hades magic. In any case, you can’t control what spell she will cast given the opportunity, this is about how much you can trust this individual, and how much you want to.

“Go ahead, no sudden movements.” Your decision is made, not based on observable facts or actionable intel. It’s just a feeling, to trust your own judgement of someone’s character. You want to believe the girl to be genuine. You want to believe your read of her isn’t mistaken.

Without relaxing your stance, you lend Calliope permission to provide her medical procedure of the charitable type.

Her digits are clumsy, sweaty, and only recently healed. Regardless, Calliope taps the vermilion ruby at the centre of her necklace using her right index finger. The gleaming gem pulsates once more, illuminating the secrecy with its tint of crimson before settling down.

“It’s done. I just whisked them away for a bit, you get? Go ahead and check on ‘em! O-or you should let someone else check and keep me here, right? It’s not a trick to get you away or anything, f-for real!” Calliope shows the palm of both her hands to prove her submission.

<<TOC, you picked up all that?>> You trust Oga to be there watching and listening the whole time.

<<Affirmative. I’m seeing Musket 3’s vitals coming back online, it appears she’s not lying. I’m routing Musket 2 for recovery now.>>

<<I’m splitting the channels. You keep Musket 3 company and update me on any new developments. I’ll figure this one out.>> You don’t need side conversations buzzing in your ear when you’ll be busy grilling this unverified reaper.

<<Roger, 1-1. Talk to you in a bit.>>

<<-Wait, wait! What about me?>> Of course, you can’t just forget Watson, she won’t let you.

<<Do you have anything of value to contribute?>> It’s a rhetorical question.

<<Actually, yes!>> However, the answer Watson gave is the exact opposite of rhetorical.

<<Huh? Okay, lay it out.>> Your visage of surprise isn’t transparent to the CEO on the other end, very fortunate.

<<I’ve seen her before. Calliope Mori is a streamer on YouTube, she’s been around for… a year, I think? Mostly plays video games and tries way too hard to be relatable.>>

You aren’t sure what you expected for a backstory on this socially awkward reaper, but definitely not that.

E-thot? Probably not.

<<How many subs she’s got?>> Somehow, this is what you ask first. Maybe it’s just a way to make sure you don’t lose the contest of absurdity amidst all these wacky personalities. You also make sure your voice doesn’t flow beyond your helmet-mounted microphone.

<<Ehh, she’s pretty indie. Like… under a fifty thousand.>>

<<Oh yeah? And how many subs you got?>> You’re strangely defensive over Watson’s disparagement for the indie scene. And when is fifty thousand subscribers considered ‘indie’?

Am I outta touch? Can’t be.

<<Hey! I am the head of a multi-national criminal organization! I can clear a million easy if I start handing out discounts on substances for subs! Aha! Get it? Sub for sub!>>

<<All you’ll be buying are dead subs though.>>

<<But you’ll watch->> This has gone too far.

<<-Eeeeeenough! Cut the shit, I’m still working here.>> You terminate whatever wisecrack was coming out of Watson’s mouth to refocus on the task at hand. The banter isn’t unenjoyable, but it’s just that, banter. <<Tell me this, is she trustworthy? In your opinion.>>

<<You know what, I’d say yeah. She’s a bit weird, but I can’t see her planning anything devious.>> If Watson vouches for the reaper, then that certainly counts for something.

<<Very well. Stay in this channel, but don’t distract me, got it?>>

<<Okay, subordinate.>> A retort instantly pops to the forefront of your thoughts, but you retain your urges. Watson has that charm about her which always puts you at ease, too bad right now you need to be the serious operative she’s paying to keep the roof up.

<<Over.>>

That brings your attention back to the uninvited guest who started all this trouble. “It’s all cool now, right? I’m a reaper of my words! Now ple-e-e-e-ease! Let’s drop the hostility to begin anew in the spirit of prosperity… pretty please?”

Nice rhyme.

Given the situation, you really ought to contain her in some sort of blast-proof and shear-proof prison with at least sixty millimetres of metallic wall. However, that level of accommodation isn’t in the same ballpark as your current organization’s capacity. You’re just gonna have to handle her with the tools available. Thankfully bullets are the slayer of anything mystical, or at least against Calliope.

You shuffle back a few metres, your optic never leaving the reaper’s skull. “On your feet.”

“Oh- yeah, yeah, fa'sho'!” Hastily, Calliope climbs upright. “Oh man, big ups to you fellers for affording a lowly skeleton like me human rights, moves me to tears. I-I’m not lying! Just gimme a minute to make some more, I think I cried most of them after my palms got scattered.”

She’s probably being sarcastic, which you aren’t here to tolerate. “Why did you engage my team at the door?”

“I-I don’t- I kinda just… shit, dawg, gotta be honest, that was totally my fault. They were coming at me all strong and the like, so I just panicked…” Calliope struggles to find an agreeable pose while abashedly giving her excuse. She stragglingly scratches at her neck and misses tugging the collar of her shirt on the first try.

The same roguish shirt and jacket that’s still full of holes and rips, showing off the curves of her bountiful body and the pale white skin underneath. If she’s really a reaper, then their beauty standard must be relatively close to that of human society. Calliope is by all conventional definition an exceedingly attractive woman, presuming that her allure isn’t some Underworld trick. You’d almost say she belongs on movie posters and billboards were it not for her inexplicable quirks.

Around this time you realize you’ve been gawking at her body, especially her voluptuous bosoms for more minutes than there are people in the building. Calliope tries awkwardly to cover herself with her hands without the action coming off as conscious, she fails miserably and blushes a deep red when you snap out of your own daze to serve her a judgemental gaze.

“Hey, quit it with the hands. You’re not gonna hide anything doing that.”

“Ah- uhmm… y-you right, man. Damn, ya boy’s gotta hop back to Hot Topic over the weekend.” You’re super embarrassed now too, but it’s more important to make her more embarrassed than you now that you’re caught red-handed ogling at a girl.

<<Anon… buddy…>>

<<Please… shut the fuck up.>> You make sure not to have your profanity come off as too offensive, but Watson really isn’t helping.

<<Maaaaaan… that was something.>>

God, I need to get laid… Not gonna lie, your lack of self-care during these chaotic months after joining Watson’s syndicate is starting to affect your work.

Still, staring at a half-naked weirdo with a piping hot physique isn’t how you stay sane. “Go grab one of those tarps on the pallet and cover yourself up.”

“Uhm, actually I can just change into my-”

“-Now!” Spooked and dazed, Calliope quickly obeys and runs over to grab herself an improvised garment.

Meeting the bare-minimum requirement for modesty, Calliope fretfully skirts back to present herself before you and the team. Around this time is when you’re comfortable enough with the situation to lower your rifle, which your team follows suit. This zany reaper, if what she said can be trusted, is not here to collect your soul.

“Check ‘em! It ain’t my style, but I think they’ll let me twirl on a runway for postmodernism.” If the fashion show is advocating for equal representation of the homeless population in society, then surely Calliope can make it big. You aren’t even being ironic, the surrealism is on the up and up with that getup.

“Now you can explain what your whole deal is.” It’s already taken this long to get anywhere. You went from full-alert operative mode, to pure perplexity, to a cirrus audience in five minutes. That’s some serious whiplash. “And try your best to make sense.”

“Righto… okay, listen… I’m Calliope Mori, a recently graduated reaper… graduated- is that right? Err… whatever. Just stay chill and call me Calli. I’m here to do a job. I reap souls of dudes who die, you get?”

You give her an understanding nod, so far so good.

“Listen- it be like this. When people die, either from sickness, accidents or just old age. It’s sad, it’s unfortunate, but it’s just the cycle of life. Sure, they’ll be kinda upset or regretful about being literally dead, but overall, it’s all Gucci, their souls don’t really make a fuss about passing on.”

Calli passionately presents her exposition. Despite her constant application of the English language in mannerism not normally considered to be proper grammar, you can still easily attend to the eagerness carried in every misused vocabulary.

“That is, except for those who are killed unwillingly by their fellow man. You boys can guess how getting whacked by someone else can leave quite the impression, and not a merry one. Those souls be hella mad, totes filled with vengeance n’ shit. And those guys become ghosts. Like- actual fucking ghosts.”

“Actual fucking ghosts, huh.” Very spooky, you might just wet your trousers.

“Absolutely. I’m talkin’ bedsheet-on-head type of motherfu-errs… that’s right, they’re real. You normal folks can’t see ‘em, but they’re there. Lurking in plain sight.”

“Okay. Make sense to me.” Now that you’ve been properly educated on the significance of actual, real ghosts, Calli can continue her story.

“Yeah. So it’s all kinds of freaky, and that’s where we come in. We get rid of ‘em, we slash ‘em! We send ‘em packing… with us. I mean- they pack up and they come with us, where we take ‘em to the Purgatory and let them sort their things like the rest of the normal non-ghostly souls.”

The picture in your head is starting to take shape now.

“But it's not all fun and sunshine, I tell ya. They’re sneaky bastards. The ghosts don’t like getting snatched up by us. It’s a constant cat-and-mouse game out there. We used to chase ‘em blindly, but now we understand where the ghosts come from.”

“When people kill each other.” You conclude for Calli. She sure likes talking about her trade.

“Exactly, my dawg! It’s the winning strat. Nowadays all the senior reapers do their thing at this eastern place, but it’s like- in the middle? I don’t really get it myself. I just know it’s where all the wars be at. They mostly hang with the white dudes with guns, since they’re always there after a village gets blown the fuck out from the sky, right after all the ghosts manifest. I heard it’s hella good time, they slay ghosts by the bucketload and get all the laud.”

Unfortunately for the pink-haired slayer with a questionable understanding of modern conflict, Tokyo isn’t exactly a warzone in the ‘middle’ of the ‘east’. You get the feeling she’s about to tell you why she’s here.

“I only just got approved for fieldwork though, so I’m getting sent to a more peaceful place with less spooky ones. But that don’t mean I can’t work with the homeboys who are responsible for a good chunk of trouble. Oh- BTW mah dudes, I don’t want us to get all twisted about this. Us reapers don’t really have a problem with you humans glacking each other. For real, nether is boring as is, if you peeps don’t dust others, we all be outta jobs.”

It all sounds reasonable enough. Watson’s group is probably responsible for all of the gang violence taking place around the greater Tokyo metropolis. “I’m relieved. How do you want to make this work?”

“Well, ya boy is just spitting here. Maybe I can tag along when you cowboys go on one of your outings, like third-wheeling your killings? I’ll clean up the spiritual mess you guys leave behind and we’ll all have a dandy time.” Calli casually suggests, although her recommendation seems to be lacking something critical.

“What do we get out of that though?”

“Uhmm… errrrm… listen… ummmmmm… shit…” Now she gets it. “Oh man, this stuff is not my forte… I dunno, dude. I’ll give you anything I have, name your price! J-just not Ricky, okay? I can’t work without a tool.”

You briefly snicker under your mask at Calli’s expense. No longer worrying about dealing with an unknown PI-enabled subject, you’re now confident that this exceptional reaper is a person you feel you can understand. Sure, she is eclipsing peculiar and unruly, but those are all very human traits she’s displaying. As long as she shares the same degree of sentience as you, this cooperation can bear fruit.

With Watson’s approval, of course.

You aren’t even sure what to make of all this, half of her retelling just kind of went over your head, to be honest. It’s not that you don’t believe her account, ghosts sure are non-fiction, you can attest to that personally. However, you’re rather alien to the concept of reapers being a class of species. Did they come into existence pre- or post-Rapture? You can’t say for certain.

It’s all… so strange. But you don’t dislike the ridiculousness. It is the spice of life.

You reach for your receiver to make a call home. Hopefully your newly appointed radio officer isn’t sleeping on the job. This time you don’t hush your voice though, it’s fine for Calli to pick this up. <<TOC, 1-1 to TOC. Operator Watson, requesting final clearance for the proposed joint operation outline.>>

<<Err… it’s Watson here, Musket 1-1, can you confirm the- what’s it called, ah- whatever. Forget about it! Calli is cool. I have no problems with her, bring her in!>> The blonde just gave up trying to sound professional halfway through.

The gaze Calli shoots your way is abundant in anticipation, almost cute enough to be reckoned as puppy eyes. It’s apparent from her attitude that she really needs this, whether it’s purely due to her dedication to the job or other motivations isn’t for you to uncover. However, you can surely understand the desire to execute a role to perfection, it’s a core driver in the hearts of many who’re steadfast to themselves.

Man… she is hot like that.

Perhaps you are not as resolute against women’s appeal as you’d like to think you are. Either that or you’ve only been interacting with stunning enchantresses as of late.

“Alright, I guess it’s fine if you wanna run ops with us. You have a phone number?” Jubilated by your endorsement, Calli gladly shines a rejuvenating smile unfitting for her title as the gatherer of souls.

“YO! For… SURE! Oh boy, thank you so much! You champs got no clue what this means to me! If I don’t hit my quarterly quota I’ll be banished down under, and I ain’t after that! It’s goddamn drab back home!” Calli says, passing you a note that feels cold to the touch. “Oh, I also don’t really have a number. Is Discord okay?”

This again…? Maybe it’s just a young people thing, maybe you’re actually the weird one for having a SIM card. Am I out of touch…? No, it’s the kids who are wrong.

Wait a second, can a reaper even be young? “How old are you, Calli?”

You didn’t think too hard before asking your question, and the consequence is Calli staring at you dumbfoundedly instead of answering.

“You good? Ignore my last if it bothers you.”

She blinks herself back to consciousness soon after you give her an out. “No- nah… it ain’t ‘bout that… I just… first time someone actually called me Calli.”

“Huh…” What else can you say? These types of things happen, you suppose. Even reapers can be lonely, that’s a little too relatable.

“Back home it’s always just ‘weirdo’ or ‘deadbeat’… and up here I don’t really have anyone to hang out with.” The end of her woeful sentences reduces to only a mumble. Calli casts her gaze elsewhere, unsure where to place it.

“Hey, you’re with us now, yeah?” That was a pretty massive cliché coming out of you, but for a reaper from another plane of existence, it cheers her up wonderfully.

“Thanks, uh… I never actually caught your name, my guy.”

You suppose that for you two to be long-term partners, sharing designations is a must. “Anon.”

“…Alright! It’s my pleasure to rolling with you and the lads, Anon!” Seeing Calli beam, you remind yourself to be careful not to let that be her way of reaping you. “Also- also, just a sick FYI about my age. Reapers are born from a concentration of energy in the Underworld, we eventually gain cognizance when enough human souls pass through and show us what eccentricity is like.”

Deepest lore.

“So ya boy doesn’t really have an age, but I woke up on the fourth of April, 1968, Gregorian calendar. I think someone big shot died that day. A real celebrity, I’m sure. They flew through the Underworld and helped me finally get outta bed.”

Basic knowledge of history tells you that date is the day of a certain civil rights activist’s assassination. This could either be the reason behind Calli’s absolutely unfathomable individuality, or mean nothing at all.

“Martin Luther King Jr.”

“Right! That’s it! Big ups to my dude Anon for reminding me that! He was a pretty swell dude. We didn’t hang out much tho, he was too popular.”

“So you were born in the late sixties… actually, that explains a lot.”

“Sure hope it does, dawg. I’m still young and fresh in human years.” Calli proceeds to do the ‘rock n’ roll’ gesture with both hands, you’re not sure what she meant by that.

There are still many things about this reaper and all things Underworld you’re clueless on, in fact, the universe is teeming with concepts and enlightenment you have no hope of ever grasping in your lifetime. But that’s okay, you always learn something new with every passing minute. And right now, your field of study heavily weighs towards the afterlife.

It's exciting, in a sense. Meeting Calli here can potentially open so many new doors for you. Towards her is where the unknown leads, and it’s liberating to pursue what you do not understand. After all, what is the meaning of life if not to broaden your horizon? To seek out what is yet undiscovered and to attain greater heights of knowledge.

“Alright, we should get going now. We only bribed the cops for fifteen minutes of delayed response.” You state, realizing time is now of the essence. The cleanup team is getting free hours on the clock today.

“Yo, not yet though. I gotta take care of them spooky boys you regular boys created today.”

“Fair enough.” You did waste a bunch of people not too long ago. “Go do your thing, make it quick.”

Calli nods for you, a confident grin across her lips, distinct from her previous silliness. You and your squad step out of the path of a serious business lady on her way to work. The pinkhead reaper reaches for the tarp wrapped around her neck, giving it a vigorous yank to pull the cloth completely free of her body.

Just when you are secretly glad to get another view of her perfect half-exposed booty, Calli surprises you with an entirely different and unspoiled outfit under the bland garb you forced her to slip on. Elegant and otherworldly, this set of darkened and antiquated garments must be her occupational uniform. It even comes with a little veil and crown for the tall princess of soul collection.

“Why did you change into that earlier?”

“I was trying to tell you! But you wanted sheet!”

How embarrassing, better distract her. “N-No excuses! Now back to work!”

“Guh-! O-okay, boss-man! Please don’t get mad!”

You can get used to this. Calliope’s surreal characteristic paired with the absolute glamour of her maneuverer as she swings her deadly scythe, she ain’t so bad to befriend.

The next monday

It’s funny, in a way. In spite of your insistence on the greatness of modern society, you are never someone willing to sit down in a cubicle with a computer, some writing tools and a poster of whatever, working nine to five. That’s not you, it just isn’t, you’ve never even touched a white-collar job and you never will.

Maybe I should go back to that husbandry thing I had going on before… this. Who knows, if retirement is possible, anything is. You could make that vacation to Pekoland permanent. Start your own empire, but for agriculture.

Anyway, you reel your thoughts in from denouncing the wickedness of an office job. Your daydream devised by your deliberation: working at Watson’s organization, which is based out of a high-rise office building… does that count as you technically holding an office job?

Then again, average corporations probably don’t employ literal cat-girls to be their receptionist. Especially not in Japan, where they still got that racism thing going strong. Now with five times the scapegoats than before the Rapture.

“Mogu~ Mogu~! It’s Mr. Anon.” A fat-cat slouching on the reception desk lazily greets you as you come out of the elevator, the vague glint in her massive lavender orbs clearly implies she just woke up from a nap.

“You got anything for me?”

“Noooope~ today is slooooow day~”

“Anything scheduled for this afternoon?”

“Noooope~ today is slooooow day~”

“You had any lunch yet?”

“Nooooooope~ I’m huuungry~”

“Want me to buy you something to eat?”

“Yaaaaaay~ Thank you Mr. Anooooon!” This cat is beyond preposterous.

“In your dream, fatty! Now sit properly and quit it with the snooze! Our doormat is more formal than your obese-ass, lazy-ass, retarded-ass, crippled-ass… pussy!” You harshly condemn the cat’s inappropriate behaviour, but every word meant to belittle simply bounces off her thick skin.

“Owwww~ that hurts, Mr. Anon~ I’m nooooot that faaaaat~” The purple slob somehow slumps even further into the desk, melting into a muddle of skin and fur as if her skeleton vanishes into powder. She sure has plenty of plump meat to go around despite her smallish figure, mostly centred around the chest area that spills out to either side of her torso as she lays flat on a smooth surface.

Damn, I’m way too fucking horny. That getting laid thing? You haven’t gotten around to it yet.

“You’re staaaaring a lot, Mr. Anoooon~” The cat might be indolent, but thankfully she isn’t blind. She should at least be able to sound the alarm if some outsider ever comes up that elevator. Otherwise, you’ll fire her on the spot.

“Only when you put on a show, fat-cat. Now sit up!”

“But I don’t mind you staaaaring~”

“Jesus…” You sigh, she’s gotten you with that one. You don’t want to deal with this first thing in the morning, and by morning you mean afternoon. You just wish Watson would take her new hires more seriously, no matter which friend she helps hooking up with a job.

Before you decide on a course of action to galvanize the fat-lazy-cat, you hear a resonating ding indicating the lift behind you has reached the designated floor and its doors are opening.

The radical shift in the cat’s aura warns you to steady your own footing. She doesn’t do anything sudden, but you can tell she is fully alert now. “Haaaallo~ I think you got off on the wrong floor.”

“Say whaaa? Is this not the headquarters of the Kiryu- oh wait, it’s the… uhmm… Watson & Co incorporated?” Upon that inane voice and silly speech pattern entering your ear canal, you know the cat’s vigilance is unnecessary.

“That’s right, Calli. Good job getting here.”

“Oh- yo-yo-yo! It’s ‘hashtag’ our guy! Anon! Sup, my man?” You turn around to face the buoyant Calliope jogging over, a puerile smile plastering over her cheeks. Both of her arms reaching out for something… perhaps a hug? However, you don’t react, and she quickly flusters while lowering her limbs once she sees your inaction.

Not that close yet.

Her outfit, still as punkish and ‘radical’ as ever. That trip to Hot Topic may have cost her a hefty penny, but you can’t know for sure unless you can spot a price tag she forgot to snip.

“You know her, Mr. Anon~?”

“Yeah, she’s with me.”

“Okaaaaaay~” With the crisis averted, the cat relapses to her unenthusiastic self. “Are you here to see the boss laaaaady~?”

“Yep, yep! The name is Callio-P Mori! Just call me Calli though!”

“Okaaaay Calli~ I’m cat… call me cat~” You all heard it. The cat is cat. It’s what Watson introduced her as, it’s what everyone’s been calling her. You don’t really care either way, although Calli appears slightly bewildered as she studies the lilac feline with a slant in her gaze.

“Don’t worry about her, she’s just… happy to be here. Watson just keeps her for emergency food.” You drag Calli out of the cat’s earshot to offer an explanation. You don’t want this to turn into a whole episode. “Anyway, you wanna see her?”

The distraction works, drawing Calli to your topic of discussion. “Sure am. She mic-ed me on Discord asking me to drop by. A-and did I say ‘me’? Cuz it’s more like ‘us’.”

“…Us? I wasn’t informed about this.”

“W-well, I mean- I work for- I work with…? I work with you? And you work with her? So it makes sense…? Does it? I dunno, I just thought you can also be there? Do ya boy a solid?” You don’t particularly have any correction to make to her assumption, or anything particularly urgent to do right now, so you merely shrug and acknowledge.

“On me.”

“O-on you? What do you mean- should I… what?”

You kinda want to groan, but maybe it’s your fault for speaking too curtly. “Just come with.”

“R-right, roger!” Classic calli, always making things so awkward. You know her for less than a week but are already too familiar with this trope of her personality.

Or perhaps it should count as a part of her charm, to always be dependable when the mood needs a bit of jollity. You suppose it’s endearing in a way, watching her try her best regardless of her jitters underneath her cool façade. Your intuition tells you she won’t be a bad partner if you’re ever down for a drink, a bit of alcohol in the system would surely turn all her odd duds into bangers.

That’s what makes Calliope herself, the shameless sense to just act upon her first instinct.

When you pass the cat, you toss her a twenty for her troubles. “Get yourself something to eat.”

“Awwwww~ thank you Mr. A- …this is US money, Mr. Anon…”

“Try McDs.” You don’t turn around to witness the fat-cat’s pout. A twenty is a twenty, after all.

“Yo, didn’t know you’re big into music, Anon. Sick reps.” Once it’s unambiguous there’ll be no more conversation with the puss, Calli points out the guitar case hanging on your shoulders.

“I’m not. It’s not a guitar in here.”

“…So it’s a bas-”

“-It’s a gun, Calli.”

“Guh… right, right. You’re big into the bang-bangs, of course.”

Anyway, with the ‘young’ reaper in tow, the two of you walk the short distance to Watson’s office where you push through the doors without knocking, like always.

As the double doors creak open, you and Calli are blasted by sheer intensity in the form of a timeless rhythm beating at an impossible tempo that just evokes passion.

“~On a cold winter of morning, in the time before the light. In flames of death's eternal reign- we ride towards the fight~!”

There stands Watson, in front of her wide-screen TV hooked up to her Playstation, a model plastic guitar controller held tightly in both hands as she flicks and clicks the button in sync with the onslaught of notes appearing on screen in rapid barrages.

The blonde is demonstrating an extraordinary level of concentration in her virtualized rendition of ‘Through the Fire and Flames’. Her zealous focus prevents her from even realizing there is an audience of two gathering behind her. For her effort, the result is fruitful as her combo has yet to be broken by the time the verses start.

Wait a second… you brought a guitar case for your rifle and Watson just so happens to be playing a guitar game? Coincidence…?

Yeah, it is.

You know it’s a seven minutes long song, so there’s a bit of waiting ahead. You don’t mind though, it’s rather interesting seeing what Watson does for fun. You think Calli is engrossed also, although for unassociated reasons.

“…On blackest wings in hell's domain~ we watch them as they go~ in fire and pain… -once again we knoooow~” Quietly, Calli is singing to herself. Her tone is muted and some of the words slurs, but there is a clear flame of zest ablaze in her heart.

She fans that flame, setting it to kindle brighter as the song continues.

“So faaaaar awayyyyyy~! We wait for the daaaaaaa~y…! For the light source so wasted- and gooone…!” Watson breaks her combo right around there. It’s sad, if not inevitable.

However, this doesn’t hamper Calli’s singing in the least. Instead, she raises her voice, pitches her octave to more closely match the actual lyrics and adds further soul into her vocals. You are honestly impressed by her tune and devotion, watching her tapping her toes to the rhythm as she lets herself be enveloped by the chorus really shows another side of the reaper you never knew existed.

“~We feel the paaaain~ of a lifetime lost in a thousand days…! ~Through the fire and flames we carry ooooon~!”

If you have to describe the performance, it would be erratically beautiful. A mob boss and an undying collector uniting in recognition of music’s majesty.

There’s an inherent connection between the two performers of the metal piece, a connection that lasts all the way until the song’s end. Upon completion, the scoreboard shows a hit percentage of forty-eight percent. In real life, Calli cycles through her inhales and exhales gaspingly as Watson releases her grip on the guitar to let it dangle freely by its straps.

“Oh boy- that was… pretty good. You’re pretty good, Calli.” Watson speaks first, a tiny dew of sweat flies off her forehead when she turns to her spectators. Well, it’s one spectator and one co-artist now.

“I- errr… sorry if I distracted you, I kinda just went off with my s-singing.”

“No, no. I liked it, definitely! I think it helped me pick it back up after the first blunder.” Watson points back at the screen, where it displays her result as the third out of however many attempts.

The top score already caught your eye when it initially appeared, and now Calli also notices the mark of unimaginable attainment looming in first place. “-Woah, WOAH! You hit a HUNDRED percent before!? On expert!? That’s absolutely amazing- that’s a FULL combo! Nobody, seriously, nobody can DO that-!”

“-It wasn’t me. It’s a friend.” Unfortunately, Watson shuts down Calli’s excitement rather swiftly.

“Oh- well, I mean- it’s still incredible! There are less than a hundred people in the WORLD that have done that! Your friend is a total monster with ‘em chords!”

“Yeah… I guess she was. I’ve been trying to hit fifty percent, but I'm still a bit off.” There’s a sombre tone attached to Watson’s words which both of you notice.

“Uh… sorry if I said anything…” As expected, the downcast takes effect on Calli’s mood too.

“Hum? Ah, no. It’s not like she’s dead or anything, she’s just somewhere else right now.”

“Oh- alright! Hey, hey- I can help you find her, a-actually! We- uh… Underworld residents can sense people and stuff. So if you wanna-”

Again, Watson interrupts Calli. “-It’s all good. I know where she is… she actually works for me, sorta. I got her running ragged on an expedition, she won’t be very happy to see me right now, ahaha~ *hic*.”

It’s become obvious now that irrespective of whether what Watson reveals is the truth or not, she’s not intending on diving in-depth into the backstory of whoever left behind such a record. Even if Calli is a bit thick-headed, she surely also realizes that.

“Well, you’re the man. N-not like the gender ‘man’, w-what I meant is-” Classic Calli moment.

“-Haha! It’s okay, I get you. Although there is someone I want you to find for me, if that’s okay?”

“Yeah, yeah! Totes, my gal! Just give me a name to work with!” You think you have a good lead on who will be brought up by the ever so opportunistic Watson.

“I’m looking for a Kiryu Coco.” There it is, the unsolved conundrum of the Kiryu-clan’s founder’s disappearance. “Kiryu, spelled like that on the medallion there. And Coco, C-O-C-O.”

“A Kiryu… Coco, gotcha. I’ll hit you back if I snag anything. And err… if you-” This time, the interruption comes from a ringing in Calli’s pocket. She whips out her smartphone and a visible frown barely flourishes before transforming into a mask of neutrality.

“Sorry guys, I gotta take this one.” Neither you nor Watson makes a fuss, Calli logically assumes that to be a wordless consent.

“Hello, Mr. D. What’s going- …yeah, yeah, oh man, that’s bad. …R-right here? …Right now!? …I mean- yeah, I can… but I’m in the middle of… h-hello? Hello…?” Calli lowers her phone from her ear and takes a moment to just stare at the touchscreen, speechless and flabbergasted. The quiet last beep of the disconnect tone was barely audible before the reaper slips her mobile device back into her jeans.

“You good there?” Your sympathy is a rarity, but Calli deserves it this time. That was rather brutal to bear witness to even from the sidelines. Whoever was on the other end isn’t someone who prioritizes her interests.

And she said she doesn’t have a number. It could be region-locked to the Underworld though.

“I gotta… I gotta bounce, there’s a thing that’s come up and- it’s reaper business.”

“So what’s going on?” Watson inquires.

“I guess it won’t hurt to share. Some dude necro-ed a soul straight outta Heaven, and that shit ain’t so fly. My boss- my Underworld boss, he wants me to take care of it.”

“…‘Take care’?” That term can represent a variety of possibilities when applied to Calli’s context.

“I gotta kill a bitch.” The reveal rinses a sigh out of Calli, you can feel that exhaustion. “Normally us reapers can’t just kill fools. Because like- ‘WTF dude, reapers can’t interfere’. But when fools dabble with shit like necromancy or whatever, that’s when we get the slayer license.”

Not gotta lie, you kinda want to see that. Calliope the professional reaper in action is a thing of dastardly elegance.

“Can we come along? I got nothing else planned for today.” Apparently, so does Watson.

“I dunno. Can you? Like actually- can I bring people with me…?” For a short second, Calli is deep in meditation. But she isn’t the type to stay there. “Fuck it, I don’t see why not.”

Road trip time.