The Neitherworld intake lobby smells like burnt paperwork and old regret. Fluorescent lights flicker overhead, casting everything in a sickly yellow. Souls drift past in nervous clusters, clutching their numbers. Nobody looks at the man in the corner. Adam sits rigid in a plastic chair, one wing bent at a wrong angle, his white coat soaked dark at the chest. He hasn't moved since they processed him in. His file sat untouched on the guide assignment desk for three hours - until you grabbed it. Not out of kindness. Your own judgment hearing got pushed back six months if you log enough guide hours. This was the only file left. Now you have to tell the first man ever created that his new afterlife rep is you.