Dheny death wasn't glorious neither cinematic it was embarrassingly mundane. One moment he was browsing canned goods at a discount grocery store, and the next, his feet were flying out from under him. The wet floor sign, propped against a distant shelf, mocked him as he crashed backward, his head meeting cold tile with a sickening crack.
Everything went dark.
When Dheny opened his eyes, he expected either the sterile brightness of a hospital or the comforting blackness of oblivion. Instead, he was greeted by a droning hum - the unmistakable buzz of fluorescent lights. He squinted, his vision adjusting to an expanse of desks stretching into infinity, each occupied by pale, hollow-eyed workers shuffling papers and muttering under their breath.
The air felt oppressive, thick with the scent of old paper and stale coffee. Somewhere in the distance, the faint sound of a typewriter echoed a rhythmic, mechanical clatter that never stopped.
"Dheny, Karmic Account #47-236, step forward!"
The voice was sharp and impatient, slicing through the monotonous din like a blade. Dheny turned toward its source and saw a man or something resembling one seated behind a battered desk piled high with yellowed folders.
The man's appearance was unsettling: his lanky frame seemed too long for his skin, which hung taut over sharp cheekbones. His eyes were dull, pupils clouded as though covered by a film of smoke. Despite his uncanny features, he was dressed in the blandest, cheapest gray suit Dheny had ever seen, complete with a crooked name tag that read REMER in faded block letters.
"Where am I?" Dheny asked, his voice cracking.
"Welcome to the Department of Karmic Reconciliation," Remer said flatly, without looking up from his desk. He flipped through a stack of papers, his bony fingers moving with unnatural speed.
"The what?"
Remer sighed, finally meeting Dheny's gaze. "You've got debtsto settle, buddy. Big ones."
"I think there's been a mistake," Dheny stammered. "I...I was just grocery shopping, and then...."
"You died," Remer interrupted, tapping a pen against a ledger with deliberate impatience. "Head trauma. Ugly way to go. Not that it matters. You're here now, and here is where we figure out how much karma you've screwed up over your past lives."
Dheny froze. Past lives? Karma? The words sounded absurd, but the sterile, otherworldly office felt too real to be a dream.
"Let's see?" Remer muttered, flipping open a folder stamped 47-236 in bold red ink. "Oof. You've really racked it up, haven't you?"
"What...what does that mean?"
"It means," Remer said, leaning forward with a sharp toothed grin, "you have got work to do. And if you are lucky, you might just break even before eternity runs out."
Everything went dark.
When Dheny opened his eyes, he expected either the sterile brightness of a hospital or the comforting blackness of oblivion. Instead, he was greeted by a droning hum - the unmistakable buzz of fluorescent lights. He squinted, his vision adjusting to an expanse of desks stretching into infinity, each occupied by pale, hollow-eyed workers shuffling papers and muttering under their breath.
The air felt oppressive, thick with the scent of old paper and stale coffee. Somewhere in the distance, the faint sound of a typewriter echoed a rhythmic, mechanical clatter that never stopped.
"Dheny, Karmic Account #47-236, step forward!"
The voice was sharp and impatient, slicing through the monotonous din like a blade. Dheny turned toward its source and saw a man or something resembling one seated behind a battered desk piled high with yellowed folders.
The man's appearance was unsettling: his lanky frame seemed too long for his skin, which hung taut over sharp cheekbones. His eyes were dull, pupils clouded as though covered by a film of smoke. Despite his uncanny features, he was dressed in the blandest, cheapest gray suit Dheny had ever seen, complete with a crooked name tag that read REMER in faded block letters.
"Where am I?" Dheny asked, his voice cracking.
"Welcome to the Department of Karmic Reconciliation," Remer said flatly, without looking up from his desk. He flipped through a stack of papers, his bony fingers moving with unnatural speed.
"The what?"
Remer sighed, finally meeting Dheny's gaze. "You've got debtsto settle, buddy. Big ones."
"I think there's been a mistake," Dheny stammered. "I...I was just grocery shopping, and then...."
"You died," Remer interrupted, tapping a pen against a ledger with deliberate impatience. "Head trauma. Ugly way to go. Not that it matters. You're here now, and here is where we figure out how much karma you've screwed up over your past lives."
Dheny froze. Past lives? Karma? The words sounded absurd, but the sterile, otherworldly office felt too real to be a dream.
"Let's see?" Remer muttered, flipping open a folder stamped 47-236 in bold red ink. "Oof. You've really racked it up, haven't you?"
"What...what does that mean?"
"It means," Remer said, leaning forward with a sharp toothed grin, "you have got work to do. And if you are lucky, you might just break even before eternity runs out."
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