Shawn floated quietly on the vast shimmering ocean of souls, still hugging his knees like a kid in a swimming pool. If not for the fact that everyone around him was literally glowing and see-through, he would've mistaken it for a paradise vacation spot.
This place is too beautiful for dead people, he thought. I imagined clouds and old men with beards, not… water and sparkles.
Suddenly, a voice beside him muttered in a deep, overly serious tone:
"Unacceptable. I refuse to be here. There must be a mistake in the system."
Shawn turned his head.
Floating cross-legged with perfect posture was a glowing soul in a business suit. Even as a ghost, the guy somehow radiated "strict school principal" energy.
"Uh… hello?" Shawn waved.
"No time," the businessman soul said without turning. "I have a meeting at 3 PM."
Shawn blinked. "Sir… you're dead."
The man froze.
Then calmly replied, "Then I'll reschedule."
Before Shawn could process that level of denial, a booming chime echoed across the ocean.
A gong rolled across the water and the platform of light rose in the center with the slow dignity of something that had been doing this job since before time. Conductors in robes stood behind glowing desks. The leading conductor unfurled a scroll and read.
"SOUL NUMBER 1-4-9-8-2. Cause of death: slipped on a banana peel."
A small, sheepish soul floated forward. Someone behind Shawn snorted.
"Life review: average troublemaking, occasional compassion for kittens, several bad haircuts. Judgment: Reincarnation as mountain goat. Carriage 574, Alpine Sector."
A bronze ticket popped into the soul's hands and he started bleating in delight. The businessman shook his head. "At least he gets an adventurous life."
Shawn mouthed, "Mario Kart," and the businessman pretended not to hear.
The next soul bounced up like bubble gum.
"SOUL 1-4-9-8-3. Cause of death: attempted midnight microwave pizza experiment."
"Worth it," the teen announced with pride.
"Life review: selfish prankster, redeemed by shelter volunteer work. Judgment: Alley cat. Carriage 882, Urban Night District."
The boy who would become a cat gave a theatrical bow and darted off into a dark carriage that smelled faintly of neon and pizza grease.
Then the platform shifted for something different. This time the conductor's tone grew hushed.
"SOUL 1-4-9-8-5. Cause of death: sacrificed self to save child from fire."
The light around the woman who swam forward turned gentler. No one joked. A conductor stepped forward and, with respect, handed her a white ticket stamped, Final Visit Granted.
"Judgment: Temporary return as Spirit Companion. You may visit your family and guide them to closure for one sunset cycle. After that, proceed to your assigned carriage." The woman sobbed; tears of light streamed over her ticket. The current lifted her and carried her toward a carriage that glowed like home.
Shawn's chest twisted. He could see—vivid, small—images flicker in the water: a tiny pair of hands, a lullaby, a mother's voice. For the first time since the river had taken him, a real ache threaded through him.
The conductor's scroll fluttered and the next case made the air tense.
"SOUL 1-4-9-8-6. Cause of death: exposed mass data fraud; was responsible for millions of lives altered."
A silence fell so heavy the sea seemed to lower its light. The soul that floated forward wore suits in life; now it was only the shape of a man trying to hold a badge of excuses.
"Life review: deliberate harm for profit. Remorse: none. Judgment: Erasure." The conductor's voice was flat as a ledger. "The choice is final."
There was no dramatics. No popping sound. The man's outline dimmed until it was a faint cigarette ember and then nothing. Some nearby souls whispered. One muttered, "Harsh, but fair."
Shawn felt sick in that quiet way that lives inside his chest and wants to cry. He squeezed his fists. He wanted to remember how to cry, but the feeling was still distant, like frost under glass.
Then the tone swung back to absurd. A flamboyant soul floated up, hair still perfect. "I want royalty," he announced. "I demand to be reborn as a noble!"
A conductor clicked a pen and read. "Life review: tax evader, serial show-off, donated funds once for a photo op. Judgment: Reincarnated as a noble. Carriage 001: Imperial Bloodline."
Gasps. A few souls booed. A small choir began singing. The new noble took his ticket and flounced away amid dramatic music that, in the afterlife, sounded suspiciously like someone playing a trombone badly. The businessman huffed, "That is corrupt."
Shawn whispered, "Some people get lucky."
Not far from them, a stooped old soldier soul floated up. He had mud stains painted in his light, like trophies. When he told the conductor his story—throwing himself into a breach so others could live, refusing to take glory—the conductor's eyes softened.
"Judgment," the conductor said, "Regressive Option granted. We offer one full regression to your previous life. Return, correct what you could not in mortal time." The soldier's shape trembled. He laughed and banged the air with a fist like a boy. His ticket sparkled with the word Regression.
Shawn leaned in so far that the businessman nudged him. "You actually get to go back?" Shawn asked.
The businessman read aloud dryly, "Regression is rare. It is not for those who seek advantage. It is for those burdened by duty and regret who will use their return to mend what they broke."
A soft glowing soul farther down started clapping without trying to. "Blessings," she whispered.
Then came the bribery.
A wiry, scheming soul drifted forward, shimmering like loose change. He flashed a tiny glowing slate showing icons—wallets, numbers, something that smelled like currency even in the air.
"Sir," he said to the conductor, "I have... contributions." He projected a glow of shimmering coins and blockchain ledgers.
The conductor leaned back and smiled the way a tax auditor smiles. "We accept contributions in the form of merit and sincere change. Cryptocurrency is not valid tender here. Attempting to bribe the registrar is documented. Next."
The wiry soul's colors drooped. "I thought—"
"You thought wrong." Someone in the crowd muttered, and the businessman snorted into nothing.
Not every assignment was cruel. A soft-faced girl floated up, small and anxious. "Cause of death: born with illness, died in infancy."
The conductor's voice gentled. "Life review: robbed of time by fate. Judgment: Reincarnated as Phoenix Hatchling, Upper Tier. Also assigned: Enhanced resilience token. Carriage 010: Skyward Reprieve."
The ocean hummed as the Phoenix carriage glowed like sunrise. Joy and envy and a complicated twist of gratitude swept through the crowd. The girl's light grew bright enough to warm Shawn's face, and for an instant wonder beat down the cold knot inside him.
Between cases, Shawn chatted quietly with the businessman. "If I could pick," Shawn whispered, "I'd pick a life where I get to build machines and not die."
"Building is admirable," the businessman said in that pompous tone of his. "Please file a strategic plan."