When Rick woke up,
The very first thing he noticed was the absolute lack of pain. Didn't he just a few seconds agogot hit by a massive steel bullbar that shattered his spine, crushed his ribs, and turned his internal organs to mush.
Now? There was nothing. No blood, no ringing in his ears, no smell of burning diesel.
As he looked around, he was standing on a smooth, solid white floor. There were no walls, no ceiling, and no horizon. It was just an endless, blindingly white void stretching out in every direction.
Rick looked down at his hands. They were completely fine. He wasn't bleeding out on the damp pavement.
'I am definitely dead,' Rick thought.
The realisation hit him like a brick, but surprisingly, he didn't feel any panic. He actually let out a long, heavy sigh of relief.
'Thank fuck for that,' he muttered to himself.
He was finally free.
No more dealing with arrogant HR managers like Mr Sterling.
No more getting passed over for nepotism hires.
No more screaming at a computer monitor for an audience of thirty people to scrape together rent money.
And best of all, no more dealing with Emily and her pathetic, drunken drama.
Dying was honestly the best thing that had happened to him all week.
"So, you are the chosen one."
Suddenly a booming voice echoed through the endless white hall, vibrating right into Rick's bones.
Rick snapped his head up. A few metres away, an enormous, grand throne made of solid gold and dark marble had simply materialised without him even realising.
Sitting on the throne was an old man.
Not the same old homeless man he shared his beer with. He looked absolutely nothing like the stinky, ragged homeless guy from the alleyway.
This man wore an immaculate, tailored white suit. He had slicked-back silver hair, sharp features, and piercing blue eyes that looked like they could cut through steel. He rested his chin on his knuckles, looking down at Rick with an amused, predatory smirk.
"Who the hell are you?" Rick asked, taking a step back.
The old man didn't answer, as he just grinned wider and gave a casual, lazy wave of his hand.
Instantly, gravity stopped working for Rick.
"Whoa! What the fuck!" Rick shouted as his feet lifted off the white floor. He flailed his arms, floating helplessly in mid-air like a balloon caught in an updraft. He hovered about three metres off the ground, completely unable to control his movements.
The old man leaned forward on his throne, and flicked his wrist.
In a fraction of a second, every single piece of clothing on Rick's body vanished.
His cheap suit, his shirt, his shoes, and even his boxers were gone.
He was completely butt naked, floating spread-eagle in the middle of a glowing white hall in front of a strange old man.
Rick panicked. He desperately tried to curl into a ball to cover his junk, but an invisible force held his limbs apart, exposing him completely.
"What the Fuck old man! Put my fucking clothes back on!" Rick yelled, his face burning bright red with anger and humiliation, "What kind of sick pervert are you?"
The old man however ignored his shouting, and squinting his eyes, continued inspecting Rick's naked body with a critical, calculating gaze. His eyes dragged up and down Rick's scrawny frame, eventually stopping right between his legs.
"Hmm," the old man grunted, stroking his chin, "Decent height. A bit lacking in the muscle department. But the tool... not bad at all."
Rick's jaw dropped, "Are you seriously reviewing my dick right now?"
"I am," the old man stated matter-of-factly, "You pack a surprisingly decent piece of meat there, boy. Good thickness. You are definitely going to need it."
"You..." But before Rick could demand to know what the hell he meant by that, the old man snapped his fingers.
Gravity slammed back into existence. Rick dropped like a stone, landing hard on his arse on the white floor. He scrambled to cover himself, but he quickly realised his clothes were back. He was wearing his cheap suit again.
He stood up quickly, dusting himself off, his fists clenched tightly at his sides.
"Right," Rick growled, glaring up at the throne, "Let's skip the weird magic tricks. Are you God? Am I being judged after my death?"
The old man laughed out loud, "Judged? Boy, if you were being judged, you would have been sent straight to the boiler room."
"But all that aside, let's look at your pathetic resume, shall we?"
The old man waved his hand, and a glowing golden scroll unrolled in thin air next to him.
"So you are Rick Smith," the old man started, his voice dripping with condescension.
"Well, you had a tragic start."
"Your mother died when you were young."
"Then you were raised in mediocrity. You spent your secondary school years getting shoved into lockers and keeping your head down like a coward."
"But you studied hard, got the best grades, thought that it might help you escape it all."
"And yet you still let a corporate fat piece of shit give your job to his idiot brother-in-law without throwing a single punch."
Rick tensed, "Do you have to read all of it on my face?"
"And the grand finale," But the old man continued, his smirk widening, "You spent years acting as a lapdog for a girl named Emily. You listened to her whine about other men not putting their cocks in her, hoping she would throw you a bone."
"Boy! You were the ultimate, textbook simp."
"I said shut the fuck up!" Rick shouted, his face turning red again, this time entirely from rage, "You think I don't know my life was a joke? I know that, and I am glad it's over."
The old man raised an eyebrow.
"Yes, but you didn't die a complete loser."
[A/N: For every 50 Power stones, I will release a bonus chapter the next day! Keep supporting the story.]