God is real.
I was wrong. So, *so* terribly wrong. My entire life, wrong. Every atheist I ever defended in internet arguments, wrong. Every priest I mocked on Twitter, right. Every time my grandmother told me to go to church and I pretended to be sick — *she knew.* She always knew.
God is real and I am going to hell.
— My browsing history — I whispered to the dark floor, hugging my own knees. — My browsing history. My bookmarks.
— *Are you done yet?*
I looked up.
She was sitting on a throne that looked far too expensive for such an empty room. Blue hair. Blue eyes. The expression of someone who would genuinely rather be anywhere else in the universe.
And a can of Pringles in her lap, from which she pulled chips one by one with the clinical patience of someone who had seen too much and was impressed by absolutely nothing.
Aqua.
Not the real Aqua — some still-functional rational part of my brain processed that this was probably a ROB, a Random Omnipotent Being, who had taken this specific form for reasons I preferred not to analyze too deeply. Probably because I was a smelly otaku and this was the most efficient shape for communicating with me without triggering an immediate breakdown.
The breakdown came anyway.
— Seven more minutes — I said.
I breathed in.
*Okay. Okay, okay, okay. You died. That happens. People die all the time, it's completely normal, it's part of the human experience, the Stoic philosophers—*
— MY BROWSING HISTORY — I screamed at the floor again.
The sound of chips being chewed echoed through the empty room.
— Look — said the not-Aqua, in the tone of someone closing a meeting that had already run way too long. — I have places to be. Prayers to ignore. A schedule. So if you could, please, pull yourself together.
Something in her tone — dry, bored, mildly irritated — worked better than any philosophy would have. I breathed. Once. Twice. Straightened my back. Ran a hand down my face.
Okay. You're an eighteen-year-old otaku who died in a humiliating way and you're now standing before a divine being. Be professional.
— There — I said. — I'm fine.
— Miracle — she muttered, tossing another chip into her mouth. — Now. Since that horrifying display has finally concluded, I'll continue with the explanation.
She snapped her fingers.
Two wheels appeared out of nowhere — one on each side of the throne, tall, glowing, colorful like something out of a game show. My eyes locked onto them immediately with the pavlovian instinct of someone who grew up watching anime at three in the morning.
The left wheel had franchise names. I could read some of them: Naruto. Sailor Moon. Bakugan. Pokémon. Avatar. Berserk.
The right one had character names. Guts. Mewtwo. Yugi. Giratina. Goku. And several others I couldn't read clearly before she started talking again.
— You, Enrico Ramirez — she said, with the forced solemnity of someone reading an official document they find completely ridiculous — have won the award for the most pathetic death in the last five hundred years.
I opened my mouth.
— Orgasm Induced Aneurysm — she completed, enunciating each word with the precise cruelty of someone whose day was going very well because of this.
Silence.
— So...the limit is forty seven...— I murmured, barely above a whisper, more to myself than to her.
The not-Aqua looked at me with an expression I could only describe as profound corporeal disgust. The kind of look someone gives an insect they don't even want to kill because they don't want to get close enough.
She breathed through her nose. Decided to move on.
— Regardless — she said, in the voice of someone actively letting something go. — Due to your abject death, you have been awarded an opportunity. You will be transported to an alternate world, where you will receive powers and a new physical form, both determined randomly by these two wheels. The world, by the left. The powers and appearance, by the right. Any questions?
I looked at the wheels. Looked at her.
— Isn't this extremely cliché?
She stared at me for two full seconds.
— Fuck you.
And she spun the left wheel.
---
Time stopped being real.
The wheel spun and spun, names blurring past too fast to read, and I realized my jaw was clenched. My hands half-closed. My heart — which technically wasn't beating anymore — somehow found a way to accelerate.
Naruto would be manageable. Pokémon would be incredible. Avatar I could navigate easy—
The wheel started slowing down.
Not Berserk not Berserk not Berserk—
The arrow crawled past Berserk — too slowly — and I caught the not-Aqua leaning slightly forward on her throne, eyes lighting up with a glow that was pure institutionalized sadism.
It stopped.
Invincible.
The not-Aqua deflated like a punctured balloon. Literally and visibly. Her shoulders dropped. The Pringles lowered. She stared at the wheel with the expression of someone who had just lost on a scratch card.
I stared at the name.
— Invincible — I repeated out loud.
Nothing. Not an anime. American comic? TV show? I had never read it, never watched it, the name activated absolutely zero files in my mental database — which was enormous and highly specialized in Japanese fiction.
— Hey — I said. — I don't know this world.
— Not my problem — she answered, without blinking.
— But how am I supposed to—
— Not. My. Problem. — She was already turning toward the second wheel. — Next.
---
The right wheel started spinning.
I leaned in slightly. Names flew past. I tried to read them. Guts. Mewtwo. Yugi. Giratina. Goku— and there, in a slot I caught for half a second that made my stomach drop:
Pico.
From Boku no Pico.
I recognized the name at the exact same moment the not-Aqua rose slightly from her throne — barely, almost imperceptibly, but I was observant — with the posture of someone who was genuinely, secretly, hopeful.
The wheel slowed.
The arrow drifted toward Pico.
Reached Pico.
Passed Pico.
And stopped.
Perfect Cell.
— FUUUUUUUUUUUUCK — the not-Aqua exploded, hurling the rest of the Pringles sideways with a violence that echoed through the empty room. The can hit the invisible floor and rolled. She stood upright on the throne, pointing at the wheel like she was considering taking it to court.
I, on the other hand—
— LET'S GO!!!— I shouted, jumping.
'Whatever world I'm being sent to,' I thought, with the serene clarity of someone who had just drawn the best card in the deck, 'is going to be an absolute cakewalk.'
The glow started before I could say anything else.
It came from inside me — or wherever "I" existed in that moment — and began taking shape. I felt my body change. Grow. My muscles compressing into something that wasn't human but was better than human, engineered for absolute lethal efficiency. The tail. The wings folding at my back. The dark green carapace.
I raised one hand in front of my face.
Green fingers. Articulated. Strong.
Okay.
I put on the sunglasses — which had materialized from nowhere, because I was a divine being now and I deserved sunglasses — and let out a laugh that came out exactly as unplanned and completely as intended:
— Aha-ha.
The not-Aqua was looking at me with the expression of someone having a very bad day that was still getting worse.
— Yeah — she said, in the flat voice of a verdict. — Whatever. I hope you die in a supernova.
A portal opened behind her. Purple. Round. Humming with the energy of a destination I didn't understand yet but toward which I was inexplicably confident.
— Hey — I said. — That's not how a ROB is supposed to behave. Is there somewhere I can file a formal complaint? A form, a hotline, anything—
She raised her hand.
— ALMIGHTY PUSH!!! —
The force that hit me wasn't gradual. It was immediate — a repulsion that caught me like a slap from a giant and hurled me backward, through the air, directly toward the portal.
— YOU BIIIIITCH—
The portal swallowed me whole.
---
Twenty seconds.
For twenty seconds I flew without control through what I could only describe as the inside of a cosmic washing machine — light, color, wind, the sensation of being folded through dimensions that had no equivalent in my previous physical vocabulary.
Then the ground.
The impact was hard enough to crater any normal surface. But I felt no pain — I felt pressure, as if my body had absorbed the blow and filed it under "irrelevant."
Cell was durable. Good to know.
I blinked. I was lying down. On top of something.
Something soft.
I pushed myself up slowly and looked down.
A man. Blue. Unconscious. Aggressively ugly — not the kind of ugly that happens by accident, but the kind that looked like a deliberately hostile design choice. Giant nose. Strange build. Completely out cold from my landing.
I looked around.
Immaculate lawn. Perfect hedges. Architecture that was imposing and familiar in a way that took exactly two seconds to process.
The White House.
I was in the garden of the White House.
There was a man identical to the one beneath me — same blue face, same strange build — standing a few meters away, pointing a weapon at me with an expression that could only be described as total stupefaction.
Behind him, a group of people in superhero costumes were staring in my direction with the collective look of people who weren't entirely sure what they were processing.
Complete silence.
I raised one hand slowly.
— Hello