Class Beauty Leads Ruins Trip; Underworld Intern Thrilled

The Underworld had gone full performance-review culture, and now even a soul-reaping intern was required to hold a bachelor's degree.

So to earn my diploma and hit the numbers I needed for full employment, I spent four years undercover as a college student in the world of the living.

By day I was invisible. By night I ran a paranormal group chat as bait.

It hadn't been easy, but I'd finally lured every last one of them, over thirty fugitives with blood on their hands, out to the abandoned meatpacking plant on the west outskirts. All I had to do was net them tonight, on Ghost Night.

Then the class beauty queen, hunting for views, went and proposed the whole class scrap the graduation trip and go explore that same plant on Ghost Night for a livestream.

As a classmate, I tried everything to stop them.

"You absolutely cannot go there tonight. If you run into a killer, someone is going to die!"

Cheryl slapped the phone right out of my hand.

"Broke losers are always so gutless. Ruin the mood for everyone and you can forget about ever coming to a class reunion again!"

The class president was even more direct. Afraid I'd call the police and cut into their livestream money.

He got a few others to twist the dorm door shut from the outside with wire, and locked me in.

Listening to their rented bus roar off into the distance, I stopped talking.

I quietly pulled up the Underworld performance-review dashboard.

Fine. You can't reason a soul off the path to its own grave.

I'd actually been worried tonight's haul of fugitives wouldn't be enough to bump me straight up to the Reapers of Life and Death. Thanks, classmates, for padding my numbers.

...

My name is Christina Harding, an intern with the Underworld's East District Soul-Reaping Bureau.

Our evaluations get more twisted every year. It used to be you just grabbed your iron chains and dragged the soul off.

Now it's a bachelor's degree minimum, plus a comprehensive exam on the laws of the living and the dead.

To scrape together this useless diploma, I sealed off most of my death-energy.

For four years I played a poor, forgettable student at Riverton University, the kind nobody could place.

Every day it was dinner rolls and worn-out clothes, terrified of stirring up even the smallest thread of cause-and-effect that might wreck my graduation.

Midnight tonight was the deadline for completing my term, and I was still one big score short of a straight promotion to the Reapers of Life and Death.

I hadn't been idle these past six months.

Under an alias, I set up a dark-web group chat and played the mystic, spreading word all over that a priceless dark treasure was buried beneath the abandoned meatpacking plant on the west outskirts.

The group was a mixed bag of the worst kind.

Serial killers with a dozen lives on their hands, rogue occultists hungry for the blood and essence of the living. Every one of them a fugitive bound for the Eighteen Hells after death.

It took me a full three months to sweet-talk all thirty-plus of these monsters out to that plant.

I just had to wait for tonight, Ghost Night, when the death-energy ran thickest, then walk in with my soul-binding cord and net the lot of them for a beautiful, tidy promotion.

Everything was set. I was lying on my dorm bed, mapping out my capture route.

Then the class group chat exploded with a hundred messages, and Cheryl Pruitt dropped a poll link.

"Guys, a graduation trip to Miami is so played out! I've got a mind-blowing proposal!"

"Ruins-exploring livestreams are huge right now. Let's all go check out that supposedly haunted abandoned meatpacking plant on the west outskirts tonight!"

"I borrowed pro livestream gear. If the views blow up, we all split the profit. Way better than blowing cash in Miami, right?"

The chat went quiet for a few seconds, then the messages started flooding in. The class president, Mervyn Finch, was the first to jump in and hype it up.

"Cher, that idea is genius! People online eat up this kind of thrill. We could make serious money!"

A few of the girls sounded uneasy:

"But tonight's Ghost Night. Isn't a place like that dangerous?"

Mervyn shot right back:

"Scared of what? There are thirty-something of us. You think a busted-up plant can stand up to that much living energy?"

"Besides, if something actually happens, that's the perfect livestream money shot!"

Looking at those words on the screen, the abandoned meatpacking plant on the west outskirts, my eye twitched.

That place was a slaughter pit tonight.

Thirty-plus fugitives lying in wait inside, ready to fight over the treasure.

What business did a pack of college kids have wandering in? To serve themselves up as the main course?

I couldn't afford to keep playing invisible. I typed straight into the chat.

"You can't go!"

"The plant is a maze inside, and lately there's been talk online about a lot of fugitives hiding out in abandoned buildings like that."

"Go out there in the middle of the night, run into a real killer, and someone will end up dead."

The second that message landed, all the excitement in the chat cut off.

A few seconds later, Cheryl sent a voice message, her voice shrill:

"Christina, is something wrong with you?"

"Everyone's having a good time and you have to crawl out and kill the mood?"

"You just couldn't afford the Miami trip, so now you can't stand watching everyone make money on a livestream, is that it?"

Mervyn twisted the knife right after:

"Christina, if you're too chicken, stay in the dorm and mind the door. Quit fearmongering."

"A killer? You've watched too many movies. Even the cops don't know this stuff better than you."

The chat instantly filled with rows of people piling on.

"Right, always dressed in the same drab gray, never a nice word out of her mouth."

"What bad luck, cursing us before we've even left."

Staring at the wall of mockery, I sighed.

Rule one of the Underworld: you can't reason a soul off the path to its own grave.

Still, I'd been in this class four years. Watching them walk straight into a beating didn't sit right, and I was afraid the Judge of the Dead would dock my virtue points come evaluation time.

That afternoon, when I went to the classroom to pick up my graduation paperwork, Cheryl was up on the platform handing out flashlights and walkie-talkies to everyone.

I walked over with my backpack still on and planted myself in front of the chalkboard.

"Cheryl, you really can't go to the meatpacking plant on the west outskirts tonight. I'm not joking."

"That place is thick with death, and the people out there are all carrying weapons. They're real fugitives with murders on their records. You go out there, and something will happen to you."

The room went quiet for a second, then broke into laughter.

Cheryl rolled her eyes and came right up to me, looking me up and down.

"Christina, you really will throw away every last shred of dignity for attention, won't you."

"Death? Killers? You think we're three-year-olds?"

She lifted her phone, still mid-livestream, and shoved the lens straight into my face.

"Take a look, everybody. This is our class's famous broke little nobody."

"Normally she won't even spring for a meat dish in the cafeteria, and now that she sees me lining up a big money-making project for the whole class, she's so jealous her face has gone green, so she comes running in here spreading ghost stories."

A string of comments floated across the livestream, all of them calling me an ugly loser making a scene.

I frowned and reached up to block the lens.

"Get that phone out of my face. I'm not here to argue with you. This is my last warning. That place is off-limits. You go, and you will not walk away from it."

Years of dealing with underworld enforcers had put a low, heavy weight in my voice, and a few of the girls in the front row hunched their shoulders and edged back.

Mervyn, the class president, came striding over and shoved me hard on the shoulder.

"Christina! You're seriously not going to quit, are you?"

He used his height to point right in my face as he cursed at me.

"Cher's doing everyone a favor, setting us up to make some money, and you, who aren't putting in a single cent, want to stand here acting like some big bad wolf?"

"If you're just jealous that we can pull in appearance fees, then say it. Don't come in here making everyone sick with your bullshit about killers!"

I ignored Mervyn. I just kept my eyes on Cheryl.

"If you go tonight, once you're through the plant's front gate, getting back out won't be easy. Those people won't care whether you're college students or not."

Cheryl swung her hand and slapped it across my wrist, knocking my phone to the floor, the screen shattering to pieces on the terrazzo.

She crossed her arms and lifted her chin at me.

"A broke loser is a broke loser. Fit for nothing but rotting away at the bottom your whole life!"

"Ruining everyone's mood. Let me tell you, from now on, when this class gets together, someone like you can forget about showing your face!"

Mervyn tossed the shattered phone into the trash and pulled two hundred-dollar bills out of his wallet, throwing them down at my feet.

"Take the money and get lost. If we run into anything tonight, that's our business."

"You dare cut off everyone's payday? You think I can't make sure you don't survive at this school?"

The classmates around me looked at me with disgust all over their faces.

"Christina, enough already. Being broke is one thing, but do you have to be this nasty about it?"

"So selfish. She can't make any money herself, so she wants to smash everyone else's plate."

I looked at the two hundred on the floor, then at this crowd of righteously indignant college students.

Whatever small urge I'd had to save them was completely gone now.

I kicked the money aside and nodded.

"Fine. If you're all this determined to go get yourselves killed, I can't stop you."

I turned and walked out of the classroom.

Behind me came Cheryl's laughter and Mervyn's fawning flattery.

Since they thought I was the one blocking their payday, then tonight, these thirty-some fat pigs headed for slaughter could go run into it themselves.

By the time I walked out of the building, the sky had gone dark, thick clouds smothering the moon.

The death-energy of Ghost Night was starting to seep up out of the ground.

I glanced at my empty right hand. Tonight I wouldn't just be catching those thirty desperate men.

The way things were shaping up, I'd be dragging back a few fresh ghosts too, ones scared to death on the spot. My quota was locked in for good.

At eight o'clock that night I sat in the dorm and dug the black soul-reaping robe out from under my bed.

This run-down school had put its dorms up on top of an old graveyard, and after dark the drafts came through everywhere.

I was just clipping the god-striking whip onto my belt when footsteps came up outside the door.

Mervyn's voice carried through the panel.

"Christina, you're in there, right?"

I said nothing and tucked the soul-binding cord up my sleeve.

"I know you're in there." Mervyn laughed twice through the door.

"The bus is about to leave. We talked it over. We are all classmates, after all."

"Cheryl said she was a little rough on you this afternoon, so she went and bought you some fried chicken. I'm here to drop it off."

A weasel wishing the chickens a happy new year.

I walked to the door and had just closed my hand around the handle.

Metal scraped and clanked outside, and then someone yanked the handle taut from the other side.

"Merv, get it tight, these pliers really work!"

"Quit talking and twist it. Three loops of wire!"

I pulled the handle inward. It didn't move. The latch bracket outside was already lashed shut with thick wire.

"What are you doing?" I asked through the door, my voice flat.

Mervyn patted the door.

"Christina, don't blame us for this."

"We've got livestream link-ups lined up with a bunch of big platforms tonight. Tips alone are estimated in the tens of thousands."

"You've got that dark streak in you, and if you slip off to the police while we're gone and tell them we broke into a condemned building and filed a fake report to cause trouble, our whole livestream is finished."

Cheryl's voice drifted over too.

"Christina, just tough it out for one night. Get a good night's sleep in the dorm."

"First thing tomorrow the cleaning crew will come around and let you out. Once we've made our money, we'll come back and buy you a new phone."

"Don't worry, I bought the thickest wire they had. You can't cut this without hydraulic cutters." Mervyn added from outside.

"And if you dare start screaming in there to bring the dorm supervisor over, I promise you, when I get back I'll make sure you don't even walk out of here with a diploma!"

There was some laughter outside, then several sets of feet clattering quickly down the stairs.

Soon the engine of the bus rumbled to life below.

I stood behind the door, looking down at the handle. Ordinary iron like this would shatter with the smallest touch of yin.

But I didn't touch it.

I dragged over a chair, sat down, and opened the projection of the Underworld performance-review dashboard I carried with me.

A panel glowing with blue light rose into the air.

Objective: apprehend malevolent spirits / rogue cultivators / murderous fugitives lingering in the mortal world who have escaped judgment, thirty in total.

I looked at the panel and my mouth twisted.

I'd worn myself out trying to talk them out of going, and not only did they refuse to listen, they locked me in the dorm over a little vanity and a garbage livestream.

I'd actually been worrying about those thirty desperate men, how, if they fought back, one person couldn't cover every direction at once.

Now it was handled. This pack of college students had run off to plant themselves as live bait.

I opened my backup phone and dropped into Cheryl's livestream. The comments were already flooding in, the numbers climbing fast.

"Fine. Since you're so set on making me work for free, I'll just sit here and watch."

Once they'd been beaten by the killers and gotten a taste of what real hardship felt like, there'd still be plenty of time for me to close the net.

I hoped Mervyn and Cheryl could keep their mouths this tough once they were staring down the butchers' blades.

Eleven-thirty at night. The witching hour, closing in.

The abandoned meatpacking plant on the west outskirts.

The picture on screen jerked and swayed. Cheryl held the selfie stick out in front of her, a crowd of guys and girls trailing behind.

"Hey, everyone! We've officially made it to the haunted meatpacking plant! Look at this huge steel gate. There's even a police seal slapped across it!"

Mervyn walked at the front and kicked the rusted gate open.

Inside, the place was pitch black, and a rotting, bloody stench leaked out through the gap.

Cheryl watched the viewer count and the gifts climbing higher and grinned so wide there was no room left for fear. She marched deeper in, heels clicking.

"Everybody stay close to me. Tonight we're cracking open the urban legend of this place!"

One of the girls off to the side screamed:

"That... what is that!"

The flashlight beam hit the corner. There was a pool of dark red liquid on the floor, not fully dried yet, and beside it a heap of white animal bones.

For a second, the comments in the stream just stopped.

Mervyn leaned in for a look, then pitched his voice up and laughed:

"Relax, it's probably just some rotten bones a stray dragged in. Christina was trying to spook us about a killer. This is a garbage dump."

Cheryl swung the camera over fast:

"Right, right, don't be scared, everyone. To bring you the most authentic exploration"

"We took a huge risk coming here, so come on, guys, hit us with those gifts!"

They kept moving forward, on into the slaughter floor of the plant.

And right then, footsteps came scrambling from every direction of the floor.

Flashlight beams swept wildly, lighting up the exits at both ends.

A dozen or so men with brutal, meaty faces stepped out of the shadows.

Steel pipes and iron chains in their hands, and a few of them twirling sharp bleeding-knives.

The bald one at the front had a scar carved clean across half his face.

He carried a heavy bone cleaver, eyes fixed on the pack of college kids.

Sitting in my dorm, I knew that bald head the second I saw it.

Quinton Chavez. Class-A fugitive, a serial killer with eight lives on his hands, the one they called the Living Reaper.

Mervyn took him for some street punk. He stepped up, pointed at Quinton, and swore at him:

"What's this, huh? We're livestreaming here, can't you see the camera's rolling? Get lost if you know what's good for you, or I'll call the cops and have you hauled off!"

Quinton rubbed a hand over his bald scalp and grinned:

"Call the cops?"

He took one long stride forward, swung the heavy bone cleaver up, and slammed the blunt back of it down into Mervyn's knee.

Mervyn's right knee buckled instantly, and he went down.

Before anyone could react, Quinton kicked him in the face.

Mervyn rolled two meters, front teeth knocked loose, blood all over his face.

He froze for a second, then clutched his broken leg and rolled on the ground, screaming.

Dead silence, everywhere.

Cheryl's face went white. The selfie stick dropped from her hand, her whole body went limp, and she was so terrified she wet her dress.

The classmates who usually strutted around were all hunched down now, too scared to move, no strength left even to run.

Quinton walked over and pinned Mervyn's head under his foot:

"I was just worrying I had no cannon fodder to scout the way, and here you all come, hand-delivered. Break every one of the men's legs and throw them out front to trip the traps."

"The women, though, we keep those. Let the boys have their fun before we butcher them!"

The fugitives around him burst out laughing, pipes and knives in hand, closing in slowly.

The whole floor was nothing but college kids crying and shrieking.

I watched the screen. I'd meant to let them eat a little more of this before I moved.

But the camera swept past a corner.

Molly, the slightly chubby girl who'd once slipped me a cup of hot cocoa when I was faking cramps, stood there with her hands over her face, shaking.

I shut my eyes for a second. I had, after all, eaten four years of the living world's rice.

If I stood by and let people die, and the Judge of the Dead docked my points, I'd have to sit the whole exam over for another year.

"Fine. Count yourselves lucky." I stood up and rolled out my neck.

My right hand found the door handle and yanked, hard.

That thick wire, lock and all, was wrenched clean out of shape and dropped to the floor.

I put on the black soul-reaping robe and took up the god-striking whip.

From the dorm to the west outskirts took no time at all.

Inside the plant, Quinton had Cheryl by the hair, dragging her up onto the slaughter table, his blade already laid against her throat.

Cheryl sobbed:

"Don't hit me! Don't kill me! I have money! My classmates have money! Please!"

The blunt of the blade had already broken the skin at her neck.

The plant's heavy security door let out a sudden crash.

The whole door was kicked clear off the ground, flying, and slammed down at Quinton's feet.

The force of it shook the floor, dust flying everywhere.

Every single one of them froze where they stood, stunned by the noise, as a great mass of cold black fog poured in through the broken doorway.

I came out of the fog, walking over the rusted scrap iron, dragging the soul-binding chains behind me, the whip throwing sparks off the ground.

I lifted my eyes to Quinton and tugged one corner of my mouth up.

"You go after this year's sprint quota, and you didn't think to ask the whip in my hand first?"