I didn't plan on dying today.
To be fair, no one ever does. But if you'd asked me to bet, I'd have guessed it'd be something dramatic—maybe a rooftop gunfight with a bounty hunter, or choking on a burrito the size of a hovercar battery. Not… like this.
"Sign here," the delivery drone chirps, its chipper tone entirely inappropriate for someone about to die.
I shove a greasy package into the hands of some rich kid wearing a VR visor and neon pajamas. He mumbles a "thanks" without even looking at me. Fifth delivery of the morning. My hover-bike still smells like burnt noodles and cheap disinfectant.
Life in Neo-Lagos, 2087 is simple:
Wake up. Deliver food. Get underpaid. Try not to get stabbed.
Oh—and ignore the fact that the sky's been flickering purple like a broken nightclub sign for three days straight.
No one talks about it. We pretend everything's normal. Because in Neo-Lagos, nothing is normal.
I turn back to my bike, thinking about the bills I'll never pay, when the air changes. A breeze that's too cold for the season. The hairs on my neck stand up.
And then I see it.
Not flickering anymore.
Tearing.
Right above the skyline of Tower Block 38, reality unzips itself. A jagged black crack opens in the sky. Purple light gushes out, blinding and wrong, and then come the shapes—silhouettes that don't belong in this world.
I should run. I don't. I just… stand there.
And then I hear it.
A voice. Not from the sky. From inside my head.
"Found you."
My legs move on their own, trying to bolt, but it's too late.
Something hits me—hard. My chest explodes with pain, like someone drove a freight train through me. The world spins, sirens wail in the distance, my vision goes black—
And that's it.
Game over.
Except…
I wake up.
But I'm not in Neo-Lagos. Not even close.
I'm lying on dirt—no, not dirt, something breathing—in a forest where the trees drip red sap, the air tastes like metal, and the moon overhead has teeth. Actual teeth.
And then I see the sign. Floating above me, glowing faintly like a broken hologram:
WELCOME TO AFTERLIFE.
Great.
I died on a Tuesday.