Air rushed into Jacob's lungs with a violence that burned his throat. He gasped, his body convulsing as if he had just broken the surface of a freezing ocean. He coughed hard, his hands scrambling for purchase, but he found nothing to grab.
"Fuck!" he choked out.
He wasn't in his bathroom. He wasn't on the floor.
Jacob blinked rapidly, trying to clear the static from his eyes. His vision swam, unable to find a focal point. Everything was white. Not the soft white of a painted wall, but a luminous, infinite white that seemed to stretch on forever. He was lying on it, or perhaps floating in it. The surface beneath him felt solid enough to support his weight, yet when he pressed his hand down, it felt like touching compressed air.
He pushed himself up to a sitting position, his head spinning with the vertigo of a long, feverish dream.
"Where am I?"
He turned his head. A few yards away, the white space was interrupted by a blurry shape. Jacob rubbed his eyes, and the form resolved into an old man sitting cross-legged on nothingness. The man was looking at him with a calm, unreadable expression.
Jacob scrambled to his feet, testing his balance on the invisible floor. He approached the stranger cautiously.
"Hello? Sir, do you know where we are?"
The old man did not answer. He didn't even blink. He just stared at Jacob with eyes that looked like cracked glass.
Jacob frowned. He waited five seconds. Then ten. Still nothing.
I wonder why this old dude is ignoring me, Jacob thought, frustration bubbling up. Could he be just as lost as I am? Whatever it is, he seems like a rude bastard.
"Hahaha!"
The laughter erupted from the old man like a sudden clap of thunder. It didn't sound like a frail wheeze. It sounded deep, resonant, and amused.
"I have been called many things over the eons," the old man said, wiping a tear from his eye. "But 'rude bastard' is a first, even for me."
Jacob froze. The blood drained from his face. "Did . . . did I say that out loud?"
"In a manner of speaking," the old man chuckled. "It has been a long time since someone gave me a genuine laugh. I suppose I will answer your questions properly instead of reciting the standard orientation script. You earned it."
Jacob took a step back, his mind racing. He can read my mind? Or was I mumbling? I must be hallucinating.
"It is not that I can read your mind," the old man said, answering the unvoiced question immediately. "Nor were you mumbling. In this place, there is no difference between thought and speech. The barrier you are used to does not exist here. Whatever you think projects outward. It takes centuries of practice to learn how to keep a secret in this realm."
Jacob clamped his mouth shut, trying to empty his mind, terrified of thinking anything else offensive.
"Relax," the old man said, waving a hand. "To answer your first question, this place is what you might call 'Heaven', and I am what you might consider a god." He paused, tilting his head. "Though in reality, this is not Heaven, and I am not a god. Think of me as a localised administrator. I have supreme power within this domain. I can create worlds, though I cannot create a universe. We are currently in the space between galaxies, a void that connects the realms."
Jacob absorbed this. It sounded insane, yet the sheer reality of the white void made it hard to argue. "Okay," Jacob said slowly. "Thanks for the honesty. But why am I here? The last thing I remember was... I was in my bathroom. I slipped."
The old man's expression softened into something sympathetic. "You are here because you hit your head. You severed an artery and died before you hit the floor. Since you have no memory of the pain, it means it was instantaneous."
Jacob opened his mouth to argue, but the protest died in his throat. The logic held. The slip. The loss of balance. The blackness.
So I'm dead, he thought. The realization hit him with a dull thud. It actually makes sense. How could a place like this exist on Earth? Why would I hallucinate a cosmic administrator? But . . . why just us? If this is the afterlife, where is the line? Where are the pearly gates? Why is a supreme being acting as my personal welcoming committee?
"You catch on quickly," the old man said, answering the thoughts again. "No one gets used to the telepathy right away, so don't worry about it. And you are right. Someone of my station is usually too busy to handle individual arrivals. This is not a waiting room for the afterlife, Jacob. This is a processing center. An intermediary. You are here to be reborn."
"Reborn?" Jacob repeated. He felt a strange mixture of relief and anxiety. "So, reincarnation is real. I assume that takes energy. How do you choose where I go?"
"It takes immense power," the old man agreed, nodding in satisfaction at the question. "Not just to transport the soul, but to integrate it into a new body without shattering the mind. We have to suppress your memories for a decade or you would go insane trying to operate the brain of an infant. As for the destination, that depends on the positive energy you released into the universe. Your karma."
Jacob winced. Karma. Great. I spent my life in a dark room playing a farming simulator. I never volunteered. I never donated to charity. I was a drain on society.
"How do you determine it?" Jacob asked, his voice resigning. "And be honest. How screwed am I? Is there any chance for a decent life, or am I coming back as a cockroach?"
"Karma is not just about charity," the old man corrected. "It is calculated based on contribution. Learning, exploring, educating. I have a formation around your planet that calculates the value of a soul's impact automatically. According to the audit, you have approximately twenty-three thousand karma points."
The old man paused for effect. "That is above average for an Earth human."
"Above average?" Jacob blurted out. "How? I never did anything useful! I was a hermit!"
"I admit, I was curious myself," the old man said. "So I looked into the logs. It appears that the bulk of your points came from the 'forums' of that simulation you obsessed over. You wrote thousands of words of technical guides. You explained complex logistics, broke down mathematical formulas for others, and taught new players how to succeed. You educated thousands of people. That generates positive energy."
Jacob stood stunned. My guides. The spreadsheets I made for crop rotation. Helping random noobs understand the market. It was the most validating thing he had ever heard.
"So," the old man continued, "because your world is a Tier One civilization, the karma cap is usually around fifteen thousand. You have exceeded that. At twenty-five thousand points, a soul qualifies for a Tier Two world. A world of magic. Closer to the source."
Jacob's heart hammered against his ribs. Magic?
"However," the old man said, "you are at twenty-three thousand. You qualify for a wealthy life on a standard Earth-like world. You would be comfortable. Happy, even. But no magic."
Jacob felt a sharp pang of disappointment. He was so close. To have the door to a fantasy world cracked open only to have it slammed shut because he didn't write a few more guides was agonizing.
So I miss out on magic by two thousand points, Jacob thought bitterly. Just my luck.
The old man smiled, his eyes twinkling. "I figured you would be disappointed. So, I have decided to make an executive adjustment. I am awarding you two thousand personal points."
Jacob looked up sharply. "What? Why?"
"For having the guts to call me a rude bastard," the old man grinned. "Do you have any idea how boring it is to have people fall to their knees and weep constantly? Your insolence was refreshing."
The old man stared off into the white distance for a moment, looking nostalgic, before snapping his attention back to Jacob.
"So, the option is yours. I can send you to a world of magic. But be warned. You are barely scraping past the entry requirement. You will not be a prince. You will not be a chosen one. You will be born to peasant farmers in a backwater village on the outskirts of civilization. The best I can promise is that your parents will not be evil, and you will not be an orphan before the age of ten. After that, you are on your own."