The Reaper's Name is Kindness

7. Under Review

The glowing archways closed all around them as each of the psychopomps selected to debate 1-8's case stepped through and disappeared to another part of the Between. 1-8 didn't move, they stared in shock and awe at the empty spaces left by the nonexistent archways.

Turning slowly toward Dove the young psychopomp spoke, "What was it you said about not being put back under review? You said you were sure about it, right? Definitely going to be allowed to 'fly solo.' "

"I'm a big enough person to admit when I'm wrong. I honestly expected them to vote in your favor." Dove remained still for a few seconds more. "Welp, no use worrying about it. Let's go, we've got souls to ferry." Dove suddenly animated, their body jumping forward and their arm rising up. The empty space in front of their palm shimmered, cracked, and split open into a fresh archway.

"Wait what? So we're not going to talk about it? Are we just going to act like everything's fine and move on? I thought you would've cared a little more than that." In one swift movement 1-8 was beside Dove, their face mere inches away from the hood cloth of Dove's cloak.

"Oh no, we won't act like everything's fine. We are going to talk about it, but we'll do it on the way to this assignment or afterward. We've still got a pretty important job to do my friend." Dove made to step through the archway, their foot reaching out to graze the blinding light of the gate. Their movement was halted by the form of 1-8 jumping in to block their path.

"We can talk about it right now. The assignment can wait. Feather made me wait on my last assignment." If Dove had any lips, they knew that in this moment they would have pursed them as their shoulders fell in annoyance.

"Neither of us are Feather. Let's go." Dove's skeletal hand grasped a healthy amount of their protege's cloak as they tossed the young psychopomp through the glowing archway, their own body following soon after.

1-8 passed through the blinding light just barely landing on their feet when the light faded and they appeared on the other side. Quickly dusting themself and readjusting their midnight cloak, the young psychopomp whirled around on their heels to face the now emerged form of Dove.

"Seriously! I just want to talk." Their raised voice echoed off the vast corridor in which they found themself, the ethereal walls carrying the sound far better than one would expect.

"Then talk; we have some time before the assignment arrives anyhow," Dove said with the open and formal tone of many other psychopomps that 1-8 had begun to become familiar with in their short time as a reaper.

Dove started down the echoing hall of the Between, their footsteps making small clops as they hit the assumption of a floor. They carried themself not in a hurried manner but in a rather professionally casual upright posture, like how a business partner might take a walk around the office to discuss a topic of interest with one of their clients. 1-8 couldn't say if this was how their mentor has always carried themself, after all, the two had only just met. But the professionalism of Dove wasn't exactly something 1-8 was all too excited about. Feather had been far too overly professional, or was that controlling? It wasn't much of a matter that 1-8 should be thinking about at that moment. They knew it shouldn't be at least. Whether or not they would clash with Dove was a matter for later. 1-8 wanted answers, or to complain, vent, let out their frustrations about the jury's decision. They wanted to know why, why had they decided to put 1-8 back under review and why couldn't they trust that they truly did care about their new job.

"Fine, I'll talk since you so clearly don't want to–" 1-8 paused, expecting some sort of snippet from Dove. When no such brief response came, 18 continued– "why are you so nonchalant about this? I've just been forced to start over all of my training and preparation all because I didn't do things in the way Feather wanted. It's a total abuse of their power and I've done nothing to deserve it! I helped that woman! She passed through the curtain. She made it to the ferryman. I don't understand how they can view that as something worth punishing. I did my job and I did it well." 1-8's shouting carried all throughout the corridor, bouncing up and down the barely present walls and rolling back over the psychopomps as they continued their slow crawl toward an unknown end.