When I opened my eyes, I found myself lying on a sofa. I quickly sat up and looked around, only to realize the room was completely empty aside from the sofa beneath me. The white room, illuminated by a warm ceiling light, was so silent that I could hear my heartbeat pounding in my ears. I wasn't sure why it was beating so fast, maybe because I had just been burned alive, or maybe because I was somewhere entirely unfamiliar.
I scanned the room for anything that could explain my situation, but there was nothing.
After several minutes, my mind began spinning out ridiculous theories: heaven, hell, limbo, purgatory, until my head started to throb.
The only explanation that made any sense was that I had died.
Maybe this was heaven.
Or, more realistically, given how often I cursed at God, hell.
The emptiness of the room began to claw at my nerves.
"Hello? Is anyone here?" I called out, hoping for an answer, anything to drown out my growing panic.
As if responding directly to my voice, a door materialized out of thin air.
A middle‑aged man stepped through, looking exactly like Keanu Reeves. He held a notebook, wore sunglasses, and carried a calm, friendly smile.
He took a seat on a chair that appeared at the same moment he did. Removing his sunglasses, he met my eyes.
"So, you finally woke up. Don't panic. I'm what you'd call an angel. You've died—but the good news is, you won the lottery."
He twirled his sunglasses playfully while jotting something in his notebook. I stared, speechless, before blurting out the question gnawing at me.
"Aren't you… Keanu Reeves?"
His smile widened. Pulling the chair closer, he leaned in until we were only a hand's length apart.
"Don't I look cool? He's my favorite actor. I'm a big fan, so I borrowed his appearance. We angels get bored up here, so we watch movies. Tons of them. My favorite is John Wick. What about you? Do you like John Wick?"
He looked at me with an almost childlike excitement, or maybe hope. Not wanting to disappoint him, I forced a smile.
"Yes. It's my favorite too."
His eyes lit up like a fanatic who finally found someone to geek out with.
Immediately, he launched into a barrage of questions:
"Which movie is your favorite? Did you ever see him in person? What's he like? How many times have you watched them? What's—"
He spoke so fast I didn't even get a chance to answer. Then, suddenly, as if someone pressed a mute button on him, he stopped. He cleared his throat, straightened up, and spoke in a professional tone:
"Sorry. Let's talk about the lottery you won."
The sudden shift made my head spin.
He continued, "God created a lottery system where certain people who die under specific conditions get selected. And you happened to meet all of them. You were chopping down a tree the same age as you, during the rain, and you died because that same tree fell on you while on fire. Congratulations."
I wasn't sure how to react, but at least I had won something in my life.
"So… what did I win?" I asked, feeling a flicker of hope for the first time in a long while.
"You won the lottery of the afterlife," the angel said with a smile. "It means you'll be transmigrated into a fictional world." He glanced at his notebook. "And it looks like… you'll be going to The Walking Dead. Enjoy."
A red door appeared. He gestured at it.
"Walk through that door, and you'll find yourself in The Walking Dead world. Good luck."
I froze. Horror washed over me.
The Walking Dead wasn't dangerous; it was almost suicidal.
"What!? Can't I pick the world?" I asked desperately.
He shook his head, avoiding my eyes.
"The Walking Dead universe is insane! How am I supposed to survive? Can I at least have a power or ability?"
Again, he shook his head.
"Then how is this a lottery? This sounds like a nightmare!" I snapped. I could barely survive without my phone—how was I supposed to survive a world full of zombies and desperate people willing to eat each other?
Seeing my fear, the angel's expression softened.
"I'm sorry," he said gently. "It's called a lottery because originally, you were supposed to be punished for a hundred years. Now you're free from that punishment."
I blinked.
"What? Why would I be punished for a hundred years?"
He smiled casually, far too casually for such a topic.
"You cursed at God too much. Blamed Him for everything."
That did not calm me down. If anything, it made my anxiety skyrocket. The angel seemed to notice.
"I like you," he said warmly. "So as a thank you for listening to me—and for being a Keanu Reeves fan—I'll use a special privilege to help you. Honestly, I think God wants me to help you, too."
Hearing that, I instantly brightened up. Maybe being a fan finally paid off.
"You can choose any fantasy character's body for your next life," he continued. "But don't choose anyone too powerful for The Walking Dead universe. Someone like John Wick, the Punisher, James Bond—that level is fine. Just remember: you'll only get their body, not their memories or skills."
My excitement dropped instantly.
"What good is John Wick's body without his skills? I'd still be a normal dude."
"It's the rule," he said. "If I gave you his memories, you wouldn't be you. You'd be John Wick."
I sighed. "Okay… then what about Captain America? Wolverine?"
His smile vanished.
"That's too powerful. Pick something else."
I figured as much—
But then a thought hit me.
Agent 47.
A genetically engineered human at the peak of mental and physical ability. Strength, speed, endurance, intelligence, senses, reflexes, superhuman, yet still technically human. Even without his skills, his body alone would give me a massive survival advantage in The Walking Dead.
"I want to be Agent 47," I said.
Silence dropped into the room like a weight.
The angel's expression hardened, and for a moment, he simply stared at me.
Finally, he exhaled sharply.
"Fine. I'll allow it. But the world will be… a little different. To balance it. Be careful."
"Wait—why? Agent 47 isn't that overpowered."
The angel raised an eyebrow as if I'd said the dumbest thing imaginable.
"He's overpowered for The Walking Dead," he replied. "He ages extremely slowly—he can easily live two to three hundred years. Even at sixty, he still looks like he's in his twenties, still in his peak physical condition. He has a minor healing factor, enough to survive multiple gunshots and recover within hours. His instincts let him predict movement so precisely he can anticipate the actions of people hundreds of feet away, even behind walls—practically x‑ray vision. His physical strength surpasses any human on Earth. And his aim? He has never missed a shot in his entire life. And that's just a fraction of what he can do with his body alone. Well, what can you expect from someone genetically engineered to be the perfect assassin?"
He crossed his arms.
"And that's not even counting his intelligence. Instead, I give you an accelerated learning ability, several times faster than a normal human. That's a pretty good deal. Trust me—you don't want Agent 47's actual mind. He was built to be an emotionless killer."
Hearing all that laid out so clearly…
yeah. That was a lot.
But I still felt relieved.
"Thank you," I said sincerely. "For granting my request."
He nodded toward the red door.
Without hesitation, I stood up, took one last look at him, and stepped forward—
ready to begin my new life.