Passing over the threshold of the dreaded right-hand corridor revealed nothing unusual. As far as hallways went, it had a high-end office feel, complete with canvas paintings and living plants. He suspected that the first door to his left lead into the receptionist's administration area where they could interact with the registering students behind the safety of their glass partition. He peered down the hall, checking for signs of seating or even a hint as to where this waiting area might be located.

Moving slowly down the hall, he stuffed his hands into his pockets while keeping an eye out for helpful non-existent signage. He was flagged for something. He wondered if his father was angry enough to prove that he could make Seth's life difficult. He didn't exactly leave his father on the best of terms; their last argument had been about his potentially enrolling in the E.M.I. Upon graduation. His father's adamant disapproval of the plan instantly solidified Seth's plan to enroll. It wasn't like he could avoid war duty.

There was one other possibility. His term project may have been flagged as a weapon. He had been meticulously gathering components over the summer at great expense to his credits account. Though the project had yet to be assembled, the combined elements may be just enough to flag him as a potential threat, assuming they knew what he was attempting to build. He only brought with him the parts he couldn't get at the school, which he had bought from a black market dealer specializing in demon components. If that was the reason he was being held then he might be able to explain his way out of it. Worst case scenario, he'd be exiled as a terrorist and sent to the war fields. Not much different than his current fate.

Had his project been the case, wouldn't he have been flagged before boarding the train that morning? There was no sense worrying about what it could be. He'd have to wait to see why they were detaining him. Whatever it was, he was sure it was some misunderstanding.

The hall took a sharp left turn, revealing the space he was meant to seat himself. It was a small seating area, meant for four people. A set of two doors suggested the presence of two offices. Seth glanced back down the hall he had come from, noting doors on either side at regular intervals, each one bare of nameplates or signage. He noted a faint yellow veil shimmering along the doors, as well as the faint buzz of electricity that marked the presence of the security fields. These energy fields were different from the demon wards. The security shields were barely seen when active. For the most part, the barriers interacted with the access permissions inside a person's implant. People without the required personnel chip were barred from certain areas. It was hard to come up with a list of places where these security fields didn't come into play.

Seth took a seat, debating if he should knock on one of the doors to signal his arrival. He thought it best to stay put. It was lunch time now; people would be leaving for lunch or arriving from it. He sat back and waited. Twenty minutes later, he took up pacing to help pass the time. He knew that pacing would suggest to anyone watching him that he was nervous, perhaps going as far to assume that he was getting increasingly agitated. He tried to look inconspicuous, first by checking the authenticity of the potted plants followed by considering the meaning of various abstract paintings.

By the time he had reached the reception area, no one had entered the hall, nor did anyone leave the hall. He tried to step over the threshold into the open space ahead of him. His efforts were rewards with a nasty shock. Realizing he was now a forgotten captive of the administrative staff, he called out. "Hello? No one seems to be back here."

The screens were empty of activity. He couldn't hear the chatter of the receptionists. He did what anyone would do in this situation, he yelled louder. "HELLO! SOMEONE PLEASE LET ME OUT!"

Still no one. He half expected a voice to thunder down at him over the speakers, but nothing came. He searched for a clock, light, anything that would tell him roughly what time it was. He could only see the shimmering veils of the demon wards ahead and an empty train station. Someone was bound to be arriving soon. He waited. Someone was bound to come along soon.

He had taken to sitting near the threshold; legs stretched out as he leaned against the wall. He didn't know how long he had been sitting there, wishing he had brought something to occupy his time. He toyed with the idea of carving his name into the frame as some sort of reminder of his existence to the outside world. He heard the sound of stilettos on the laminate surface of the inner office. "Hello!" He tried again.

There was a pause. "Someone, please!" Seth called.

The sound of hurried heels echoed across the room. The door to his left unlocked and opened. A younger administrator peered into the hall, spotted him and glared. "The waiting room is up the hall to the left. It's impossible to miss." She spoke to him in such a way that she thought he was intentionally dense; it was a tone his father often used on him when Seth couldn't answer questions that he found simple. "I know that," he couldn't help but snap. "No one is there."

"Do you have somewhere else you need to be?" She spat at him. "You'll wait where you are told. Someone will be along to collect you at their convenience, not yours." She slammed the door behind her.

'I'm not some criminal!' he wanted to shout, but decided that it would only make him look guilty. 'So much for prime training slots,' Seth sulked his way back to the waiting room. Erick, Seth's default second in command after Wallace, would be thrilled to take Seth's place as captain. For all he knew, Erick was the one who had him flagged hoping to get him kicked out of school.

Seth remained seated in the designated waiting area. Hours passed at a high-velocity speed that glaciers were renown for. He debated napping but suspected that someone would be along the instant he dozed off. He compromised by pretending to sleep, just in case interrupting to sleepers was an actual job. He conjured up the vestiges of his nightmare, opting to analyze them into less frightening imagery.

The image of the child dashing toward the undead remained burned in his mind. What if he wrote a different ending for the girl in his dream? Was she really running toward them, relieved to have found survivors? What if she knew they weren't what they pretended to be?

He focused on the memory of the dream. He focused on his feelings at that moment. What he wanted was to protect that child. What if it was that desire that allowed for this memory to cling to his consciousness? What if he was never meant to protect her? He imagined the nightmarish scene all over.

The girl was running ahead of him. What if instead she could defend herself? He chased after her, knowing that the road beneath his feet would pull him away from her, as though something was preventing him from helping her. He stopped; the shape of her lost in smoke and rubble. He felt himself wishing that these thought were true. In the haze of shifting memories, there was no way for him to witness the end of this dream. The was no way for him to reassure himself that his wishes had rewritten that little girl's fate. Normally he'd feel relaxed with his new endings, and he'd be free of the emotional burden that came with the nightmare. It wasn't the case this time.

He happened to glance at the ruined building nearby the remains of the bold word 'Clearwater civic center' had fallen in parts to the ground.

His world shook.