Dead Reckoning

Chapter 1: Roll for Initiative

The vending machine was Rory's final foe.

It stood ominously in the fluorescent-lit hallway, the hum of its mechanisms barely audible over the droning announcements from the school's crackling intercom. Rory Haywood—eighteen years old, senior, avid social media lurker—stood before it, her weapon of choice a crumpled dollar bill that might as well have been Excalibur. She smoothed the bill between her fingers, as if that simple act would erase the creases of both the paper and her life.

It didn't.

The vending machine grumbled, refusing her offering. Rory groaned. Of course it had to be today. The day when nothing had gone right. She was running late to her shift at work, her phone was dying, and now she couldn't even get her hands on a bag of stale potato chips. It was as if the universe had conspired against her in the most trivial ways, as if life had become some absurdist comedy where she played the unwitting fool.

She kicked the machine. Lightly, at first. Then harder, the sharp click of her heel against metal echoing down the hallway. "You've got to be kidding me," she muttered, glancing over her shoulder to make sure no one was watching her lose a battle to an inanimate object.

And then it happened.

In an irony that would've made the gods cackle, the vending machine lurched forward, groaning under its weight. Time slowed, as it always seemed to do in movies, but in reality, it was just enough time for Rory's brain to register that she was about to become a headline. Not a heroic one, mind you, but the kind reserved for absurd accidents: "Local Teen Crushed by Rogue Vending Machine."

Her last thoughts weren't profound. They were more along the lines of: Seriously?

When Rory opened her eyes, it wasn't to the sterile lights of a hospital, nor the comforting blankness of whatever came after. No, instead she found herself standing in front of a set of gates—grand, imposing, and unnecessarily dramatic, if she were being honest. Beyond them, an endless sky stretched out, a canvas of shifting colors that seemed to defy the very concept of time. The air smelled like... well, nothing in particular, which was unsettling in itself. It was the kind of place that didn't belong in reality, but rather in the fevered imagination of someone who spent too much time on fantasy novels.

She blinked, utterly bewildered. "I'm dead," she said aloud, the words hanging in the air like an afterthought.

"Yes, and rather spectacularly, I might add."

The voice that responded was smooth, almost musical, and dripping with the kind of amusement that only comes from watching someone fail spectacularly. Rory turned to see the speaker and immediately found herself caught in the presence of someone who seemed too perfect for this—or any—world.

His ebony black hair cascaded like a waterfall down his back, catching the soft light that seemed to exist only around him. His dark brown eyes—so dark they were almost black—held a celestial depth, like someone had bottled the night sky and injected it with just a hint of mischief. He wore a smile that was both charming and deeply, deeply irritating, as though he knew exactly how much Rory wanted to punch something right now and found it endearing.

"So," he said, walking toward her with an easy grace, "vending machine. That's... unique."

Rory opened her mouth, then shut it again. What could she even say? "Yeah, well, it wasn't my plan."

The stranger chuckled, a sound that seemed to ripple through the air around them. "No one ever plans for these things. That's what makes them so delightfully unpredictable."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "You're enjoying this way too much."

"Oh, I assure you, this is far from the most entertaining thing I've seen today. But don't let that diminish your accomplishment."

He gestured broadly to the gates behind him, as though the very fabric of the afterlife was waiting on Rory's decision, held in the balance of this moment. "Welcome to the afterlife. Or, at least, the waiting room of it. You have a choice to make."

Rory crossed her arms, trying to grasp some semblance of control in a situation that seemed more and more like a fever dream. "A choice?"

The stranger nodded, his expression becoming just serious enough to make her stomach knot. "You can move on—whatever that means for you. Eternal rest, bliss, all that boring stuff. Or..." His eyes sparkled with something dangerous. "You can choose to live again. But not in the world you know. A different world. One with a bit more... flavor."

Rory frowned. "Flavor?"

"A world of magic, adventure, danger. The kind you've read about in your books. Think dragons, spells, sword fights. Quests, if you're into that sort of thing."

Her first instinct was to scoff. Of course this would happen to her. Die in the most embarrassing way possible, and now she's being recruited into some kind of fantasy RPG. But there was something in this strange man's gaze—something that told her he wasn't just some overconfident bureaucrat of the afterlife. No, he was offering her more than a second chance.

And somehow, the idea of eternal rest sounded dreadfully dull.

"Alright," Rory said slowly, "what's the catch?"

The stranger's smile widened, but his eyes didn't quite follow. "The catch, my dear Rory, is that nothing comes without a price. But we'll discuss that later."

She raised an eyebrow, but before she could question him further, he extended his hand to her, his long fingers curling in invitation. "So, what will it be?"

Rory stared at his hand for a long moment, then glanced back at the gates, the endless sky beyond them. The unknown stretched out before her in every direction.

Well, at least this way, there'd be dragons.

"Alright," she said, reaching out to take his hand. "Let's do this."