Vanessa Cross had become a master at pretending she was dumb. Not just office-coffee-machine dumb. No, she had upgraded to full-on airhead intern with a resting "huh?" face. Behind that expression, however, she was plotting the kind of exposé that would make even the Grim Reaper sweat (if he had sweat glands).
It all started with Soul Report #479-A, the stubborn ghost who refused to cross over last week. And when Vanessa looked into the report again out of sheer paranoia, she found something that sent her cold.
The death order… had been signed two days before the soul died.
Either someone was really bad at paperwork, or someone had decided to bump people off the waiting list for fun.
She had tried to bring this up during a team check-in.
"Excuse me," she had said, raising her hand in a meeting of junior reapers.
"Yes, Recruit Cross?" said Reaper Supervisor Xandrel, flipping through his pocket grimoires like a man who'd lost all faith in the alphabet.
"Quick question, who signs the death orders?" she asked sweetly.
Silence. Then a slow turn of all bony, robed heads toward her.
"...HR," said Supervisor Xandrel. "Which is why we don't question it."
She blinked. "Human… Resources?"
"No. Haunting Reconciliation. It's mostly possessed spreadsheets and enchanted fax machines, but still. They're very temperamental."
"Oh." She answered speechlessly.
She dropped it there. For now.
---
Thus began Operation: Ghost Whisperer, Vanessa style.
She slipped out of the general office. Yes, the Land of Death has cubicles. Heading for a soul-holding zone in District Nine. Here, souls who hadn't yet processed were given time to "settle their spiritual baggage," which looked suspiciously like drinking endless tea and gossiping in translucent pajamas.
She approached a group of three souls playing a very intense game of "Guess the Cause of Death."
"Hi," she said cheerfully. "Mind if I join you?"
The souls turned, vaguely interested. One of them, an old man with a monocle and a spectral cardigan peered at her.
After a moment of silence, he said to her "You look alive,"
"I get that a lot," she replied.
"So what are you, a reaper recruit? Or one of those Fate Coordination paper-shufflers?"
"Reaper recruit," she said. "I have a question. About your death."
They froze. The monocled ghost tilted his head. "People don't usually ask us that."
"Yeah well, I'm nosy," Vanessa said brightly.
The man who introduced himself as Archibald L. Harrow, deceased admitted something strange: his death date had changed last minute, and his collector arrived early. He hadn't even finished his crossword.
And he wasn't the only one.
In fact, three different souls told her their reaper "seemed confused" or had shown up too soon. Some even said their bodies hadn't technically died yet.
One reaper's name kept popping up.
Reaper Kazen.
Tall. Stoic. Wears cologne that smells like crushed mint leaves and regret.
Vanessa scribbled furiously into her notebook until it caught fire.
Literally. Ghost paper is flammable to lies and suspicion.
---
Back at the Reaper Office, she casually floated into the HR Department, a glowing office full of files, floating paper clips, and at least one haunted copier that screamed every time someone pressed Start.
"Hi there!" she greeted the receptionist, a female demon with six eyes and a bowtie.
"...Are you here to file a harassment report or lose your memories?" the demon asked.
"Neither! Just dropping off a routine report! Totally routine!" she waved the slightly-smoking, forged memo she made to get in.
The receptionist narrowed all six eyes.
"...Proceed."
Vanessa slipped past.
Inside, rows of shelves hissed with magic. Files flew by themselves. A cup of Hellfire Tea floated lazily next to a hovering armchair that rocked on its own.
She was about to snoop through some paperwork when—
"VANESSA!!"
A scream thundered through the HR Department like a banshee's mixtape.
Vanessa was shocked, her soul trembled when she heard the familiar scream. She turned around and promptly choked on air.
"Mira?!"
Her best friend stood at the door, wide-eyed, wearing pajama pants, slippers, and a 'Not Today, Satan' T-shirt. Her soul looked... fresh. Like a slice of spiritual sashimi.
Vanessa dropped her ghost file. "What are you doing here?!"
"I DON'T KNOW!" Mira wailed. "One second I'm trying to wake your dead-weight body up for lunch again and the next I trip, hit my head on your cursed mug, and now I'm in... what even is this place?! Is this Hell? Wait, is this your workplace? Is this why you've been weird??!"
A demon recruit popped their head out from a filing cabinet. "Hey, if you're not dead, you're not supposed to be here."
"I tripped on a haunted office mug!!" Mira snapped.
Vanessa groaned. "Okay okay okay. I'll fix this."
---
Ten chaotic minutes and two bribes. Well, she handed over her last reaper coupon and a ghost donut, and one unauthorized memory-erasure form later…
Mira was taken to the Memory Adjustment Chamber, a glittery pink room with floating disco lights, oddly relaxing jazz, and an animated brain plushie that said things like "Consent is sexy!" before wiping your memories.
"Will she forget everything?" Vanessa asked nervously.
"Nope," the plushie chirped. "Just the traumatic and paperwork-illegal parts."
Mira blinked. "...I want to remember lunch."
"You will."
POOF.
Mira vanished with a shimmer. Back to the Human World.
Vanessa exhaled.
---
Hours later, Vanessa returned to her ghost cubicle, brain fried.
Only to find a sticky note on her monitor. One of those bright pink ones she hated the most.
[HR Meeting. Compulsory. Topic: "Tea, Trust, and Transparency."
Signed: Supervisor Xandrel.
P.S. We know you've been investigating. See you soon.]
Her eye twitched. The teacup on her desk began rattling violently. Was that… blood in the tea?
"Great," she muttered, rubbing her face.
She glanced back at her notes, what remained of them and the ghost testimonies. All fingers pointed to Reaper Kazen, but no one dared say anything aloud.
She couldn't stop now. She had to go deeper.