[hider=Start-Up][center][b][I am a ghost.][/b] [s][I am free.][/s]

[i]Welcome! Please enter your Observer number below.[/i]

[b][3 3 2 3][/b]

[i]Observer Routine 3323 initiated.[/i]

. . .

[i]WARNING! Current Save Data exhibits signs of corruption and may be unsafe to load!

Close Program?[/i]

[s][Yes.][/s] [b][Force Initialization][/b]

[i]Obtaining authorization. . .

 Scanning Memory Nexus. . .

Select earlier Save Data?[/i]

[b][Yes][/b] [s][No][/s]

[i]Select Save Data slot:[/i]

[s][1][/s] [s][2][/s] [b][3][/b]

[i]Load Save Data slot 3?[/i]

[b][Yes][/b] [s][No][/s]

[i]Loading Save Data "Day1" under Observer Routine 3323. This may take a moment...[/i][/center][/hider]

[i]Plane of Emptiness (Subconscious Space)
No discernible time.[/i]

Suddenly, they appeared. Lacerations of incorporeal reality; long cuts that left jagged wounds on the flesh of a chaotic realm.
They were thousands of minds apart, separated by an ocean of pulsing static. For a time, they stared at one another; extending their greetings and formalities, as was their custom. Then, one by one, they would speak their piece. Their voices cut into the natural, screeching furor of the realm, demanding silence as they folded and bent the ethereal data around them. While their voices were different, in gender and pitch, they all shared a bored, monotonous rhythm and slow, void-entity vernacular. 

"Well, we have to select a coherent point in the story to introduce the narrative."

"I am not certain that there IS a coherent point in this particular narrative."

"Of course there is. We, as a staging device, provide a certain ominous tone of mystery in the beginning of a story. As such, upon viewing us, one would be lead to erroneously assume that this world is being guided, by us, from afar. This alone should suffice in creating some form of consistency in a story."

"That doesn't make any sense, not to mention your bizarre suggestion in making us the first point of focus in what is supposed to be a coherent narrative. For us to be an effective staging device there would have to be a point of view that encompasses all of the characters, ensuring that they are somehow viewing this or no characters around at all; practically detached from the overall story. Making us, essentially, nothing more than a novelty to introduce how bizarre the realms are; not only this realm, but by association the realms we view at the point of our introduction."

"I agree. It sounds a bit forced."

"Perhaps we should take a break for a moment?"

Yet, it was by the nature of their divided plane that they could communicate so effortlessly, despite their differentiation in origin and levels of cosmic awareness. These beings were nebulous, yet dark in contrast to their shifting white and gray surroundings, with no discernible features to them; save for the fact that they were the scattering of ink left on a pristine page. Observers, they had come to call themselves; ancient they were, but with memories that were ever-fleeting. So nebulous were they, these sapient tears in reality, that they would appear and disappear at random; sometimes appearing close to their strange cousins, or in another uncharted section of unchartable Emptiness. 

Peace stopped in to listen to them from time to time, as they plotted their course; a being so miniscule in the tapestry of their unending discussion that they had never once paused their meetings when she passed by. Today, she was on her way to school; trudging through the snowy static of Sub-space in hopes of making it to her classes on time. With each step she took away from the center, the Observers grew more quiet in the distance; and the white noise of subconscious human thought drifted down from above and up from below, whispering in her the back of her mind. She stopped and extended her hands, pressing her fingers between the whispering syllables and slowly spread them apart. As she did, with some effort, her own rift began to form.

It appeared in a close parallel to the nebulous Observers, a multi-hued cut in reality that bled forth bits and pieces of another place and time. She leaned forward, peering through the flowing barrier that separated herself from the world she knew best. Laughter and undecipherable chatter filtered through, accompanied by a quick swelling of the laceration. The tear surged forward, wrapping its self around Peace as she opened her mouth to gasp; before she had a chance to brace herself, it pulled her into the long drop toward the corporeal plane. Managing to snap her mouth shut as she passed through the water-like layer, she held her breath through the entire trek; through each pulse of maddening light and intermittent surges of darkness, until she was flung from the Limbo Tunnel and into her world. 

[i]Corporeal Reality (Bridge City High, Front Entrance)
September 15th, 20xx.
8:22 AM[/i]

She hit the ground with a hard thud and all the air rushed from her lungs. Students shuffled by, some even stepping over her as she lie there on her back, eyes open but without focus. For a moment, Peace watched as coherent shapes with no coherent meaning moved over and around her; listened to the senseless noise of the first day of school with her head ringing out the blistering bassline. A groan escaped her, through clenched teeth, and she pulled herself up; drawing in air with all the charm of an asthma attack. Readjusting to unexpected transitions into corporeal reality was difficult and most often came accompanied with an overwhelming sense of vertigo. She stayed there, for a moment, scooting herself against the brick wall of the school and closed her eyes; waiting for the sensation to pass. Her stomach did flips and her heart thudded steadily against her ribcage. 

Through the wall she could feel the reverberations of some kind of sound system, amplifying a momentary blare before there was the soft clearing of a throat. 
"Your attention," a man said in a tone smooth enough to make crushed velvet blush, "principal Rizzo is about to begin his speech."

 Murmurs came over the wall, more indistinguishable chatter under the surface of passing babble and a cacophony of feet against concrete. Peace rose, against the wall, placing her palms against firmly against the coarse brickwork as she finally managed to stand up completely straight. 

"Thank you very much."

This voice was sterner and spoke with vigor, accompanied by very proper enunciation. Peace took her place, filling a gap left in the crowd and matching the pace of the person in front of her as they came to the front entrance's high arch. For the first time, the beauty of the day struck her. The Sun lingered just above the horizon in the distance, casting rays onto the glinting bridge and tossing flares of diamond-shaped light to play on the shifting surface of the lazy river that cut through the center of town; the sky cast in the bleeding yellow-indigo of a new morning, though it was hardly visible behind the school's bulk. Slight winds licked at the air, carrying the crisp chill of autumn across her flesh and across the grass growing on the other side of the arch. 

She was pushed, in a polite kind of way, by unseen hands, through the arch and then bothered no more as other students shuffled past, broke into groups or found a place they could be relatively unmolested by the crowd. Peace simply stood her ground, just inside the courtyard of the high school; probably still a bit in the way, for folk trying to squeeze away from the crowd. 

The man standing on the makeshift stage was nearly as broad as he was tall, wearing a pinstripe suit and glaringly red tie that he absently adjusted as the student's turned their attention to him. His hair shifted and danced in the breeze, white as snow and nearly reaching down to the man's feet. He had a jovial smile on his face, dark eyes glinting as he stared out over the crowd.

"I am principal Drydest Rizzo and what I am about to say is mostly for the freshmen, so the rest of you can go on to classes if you'd like." He waited for a moment, massive hands adjusting the microphone all the while. Students moved and shifted, the upperclassmen disappearing, leaving behind a large gathering of freshmen; who were either staring up at Principal Rizzo or quietly talking amongst themselves. Once the others were gone, he slowly spread his arms wide; flashing white teeth to the crowd.

"Welcome to Bridge City High School," he thundered out, made louder by the speakers, "as you know, we are contending, this year, as we have over the last several years, in the F.S.N system for our school district. As freshmen, your duty to the school and yourselves is to strive ever forward in your academic and martial studies. We, the faculty and student council, have high expectations for this year's underclass and have been awaiting your arrival anxiously." Rizzo's massive arms lowered quickly and he cast a quick glance at his gleaming, golden watch "You will be representing your class and this school in the upcoming battles, so we all expect you to do well. Now, classes are starting soon, but today is something of a special day for freshmen. Today we test your abilities. Break off into couples and we'll get this show on the road!"