Nothing.
Mick floated in the dark. That's all there was. Just dark, going on forever in every direction. He couldn't feel his body. No pain where the barbell had caved in his skull. No weight. No temperature. Just... existing, if you could even call it that.
So this was death. Huh.
He tried to move his hand out of habit, but there was nothing to move. No hand. No arm. Just the idea of himself, drifting. He didn't have lungs anymore, but somehow he was still here, still thinking.
The memories came in pieces. The stage. The crowd. Mara's face when she looked at Liam instead of him. The way that barbell had been positioned just wrong enough. They'd watched him rehearse. Multiple times. They knew exactly where he'd step.
Six months he'd known them. Six months of thinking he'd finally found his people.
The thought should've made him angry, but anger required a body. Instead, it just sat there. A fact. Mara and Liam had killed him, and he was dead, and that was that.
Time didn't mean anything here. He just drifted, thinking about all the stupid choices that had led to that stage. The surgery he'd starved himself for. The surgery he never got. The people he'd trusted because he was desperate to trust someone.
Then something changed.
A line of light appeared in the distance. Thin at first, like someone had taken a knife and cut a slit in the darkness. It grew brighter, wider, and Mick felt himself being pulled toward it. Not physically. He didn't have a body to pull. But his consciousness, or whatever he was now, started moving whether he wanted it to or not.
The light swallowed him whole.
When his awareness came back, he was standing. Actually standing, with legs and feet and everything. He looked down at himself. Same body he'd had before, clothes and all. The relief was immediate and weird. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed having a body until he had one again.
He looked up.
Flowers was everywhere. Weird ones, colors he'd never seen before, stretching out in all directions. White marble pillars rising up into clouds that glowed from the inside. The air smelled clean. Too clean, like someone had bottled every pleasant smell and pumped it into the atmosphere.
This couldn't be heaven. No way. He'd been a mediocre person at best, and he'd died with his dick out in front of three hundred people. There had to be some kind of mistake.
"Human."
The voice came from everywhere and nowhere. Smooth, confident, with an undertone that made something in his gut tighten. He turned around.
She was sitting on a throne.
That was the first thing his brain managed to process. Throne. Ivory and gold, carved with designs that hurt to look at too closely. But the woman sitting on it...
His brain short-circuited.
He knew that face. He'd jerked off to that face more times than he could count as a teenager. Had kept her magazines hidden in his closet. Had memorized her filmography. Everyone who'd grown up when he did knew that face.
"No," he said out loud. His voice cracked. "No, that's not... you can't be..."
Angela Rose smiled at him. Not the porn smile, the one she'd used on camera. A real smile, the kind that had shown up in her interviews, the ones where she'd been funny and sharp and human.
"Can't be what, sugar?"
His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. "Angela Rose is dead."
"Very dead," she agreed.
"You died when I was seventeen. Car crash. I remember reading about it. Everyone was... the whole industry mourned you."
"They did. It was sweet."
He stared at her. Then at the throne. Then at the flowers and the glowing clouds stretching into infinity. Then back at her.
"But you're... you're in heaven?"
"Last I checked."
The words came out before he could stop them. "You were a pornstar."
Her eyebrow raised. Just one. The expression was so familiar it made his chest ache. He'd seen her make that exact face in a hundred interviews.
"And?"
"You..." He gestured helplessly. "You had sex. On camera. For money. With hundreds of people. Millions of people watched you..."
"Billions, actually. We went international."
"And they just let you in? Here? To *heaven*?"
Angela's expression shifted. The amusement was still there, but something harder moved underneath it. "Let me in?" She leaned forward. "Baby, they offered me a job. Judge of the sexually departed. Turns out the guy upstairs cares more about honesty than hypocrisy."
She stood up. That's when Mick noticed the two stone statues flanking her throne. Not decorative. They were holding...
Jesus Christ. They were holding her breasts.
He'd thought they were big in her films, but in person, they defied physics. The statues were literally there to support them. They had to be. There was no other explanation.
"You spent your whole life being told that what I did was sinful," Angela said. She started walking toward him, and the statues moved with her, their stone hands never leaving their position. "That pleasure was shameful. That sex work was degrading. Right?"
Mick nodded. He couldn't look away from her face. Or her chest. He was trying to be respectful, but his eyes kept drifting down and...
"I brought joy to millions of people," Angela said. "Never lied about what I was doing. Treated everyone on set with respect. Paid my taxes. Donated to charity. Was kind to people who needed kindness." She stopped in front of him. "Meanwhile, the priests who molested kids? The CEOs who destroyed lives for an extra percentage point? They're burning. So you tell me. Who deserved heaven more?"
The logic was airtight. Mick's entire worldview was reshaping itself in real time. Everything he'd been taught, everything he'd assumed about morality and worth and sin...
"You're thinking very loudly," Angela said.
"What?"
"Your thoughts. They have a voice here. Heaven's quirk. I can hear everything going on in that head of yours."
Horror washed over him. Everything? Every single thought?
"Every single one," she confirmed.
Oh no.
"Oh no," his voice echoed through the space, except he hadn't spoken. The thought had just... manifested as sound.
"Oh *no*," the space repeated cheerfully.
Fuck.
"FUCK."
His hands came up to cover his mouth even though it didn't matter. Angela was laughing, actually laughing, and it was the same laugh from her blooper reels, the ones where she'd cracked up at someone's joke between takes.
"Don't worry," she said. "You're not the first person to have impure thoughts about me in the afterlife. Won't be the last."
"I'm sorry, I just..." He was blushing. Actually blushing. He was dead and somehow still capable of embarrassment. "You were my favorite. When you died, I kept everything. Every magazine, every video. You were a legend."
Something softened in her expression. "Were?"
"Are. You are a legend."
"Better." She studied his face for a long moment. "Tell me about your betrayal, Mick."
The question hit him in the chest. "How do you know about..."
"I see what brings souls to me. The people who died because of sex, or shame, or cruelty wrapped up in desire." Her voice was gentler now. "I saw what they did to you. How they planned it."
Mick's throat tightened. Six months. He'd trusted them for six months.
"They weren't your friends," Angela said. "They were using you. Waiting for the right moment to tear you down in front of everyone."
"I know." His voice came out rough. "I figured it out right before the barbell hit. Saw Mara's face. She wasn't even surprised."
"I've been there," Angela said. "Different circumstances, same feeling. There were always people waiting to see me fail. Waiting to tear me down because I was successful and happy and didn't apologize for either." She reached out and touched his shoulder. Her hand was warm and real. "The difference is, I'm offering you something I never got. A second chance."
She started walking around him, and the statues moved with her, perfectly synchronized. "What did you really want, Mick? Not the surface stuff. The surgery, the money, the survival. That's all true, but it's not the core. What did you *want*?"
He thought about it. Really thought about it. "I wanted to matter. To be someone people remembered. To make people feel..." He struggled for the word. "Special. Desired. Like they were worth something."
"Good answer."
Angela gestured, and the air shimmered. Images appeared, floating like memories. Women. Older women. Beautiful in ways that magazines didn't celebrate anymore. Sitting alone in houses that were too big, too quiet. Wedding photos on the mantle. Kids grown and gone. Husbands who'd left for younger models or just... left.
He'd seen those faces before. At the club. The women in the back rows who tipped well and smiled sadly. Who touched his arm gently and told him he'd do great things. Who looked at him like he was a person, not just a body.
He'd never been able to pay that kindness back.
"They deserved better," he said quietly.
"They did." Angela's smile was knowing. "And you wanted to give it to them. That's why you're here."
The images faded. "I'm offering you The Sinful System. It grows stronger with every taboo you break, every boundary you cross. But here's the catch. Your power comes from empowering them. Every woman you make feel beautiful, desired, seen... that feeds your strength. You help them, you help yourself."
Mick felt something stirring in his chest. Hope, maybe. Or purpose. "And me? I'm dead. Broke. I've got..." He gestured vaguely at himself. "Nothing."
Angela's smile turned predatory. "Oh, honey. You'll have your system. Your wealth. Your confidence." Her eyes dipped down deliberately. "And yes, your equipment will finally match your ambition."
That... actually sounded incredible. Better than anything he'd had in life.
"Good. Then let's seal the deal."
She gestured, and the stone statues stepped forward, carefully lifting her breasts toward his face. They were enormous up close. Impossibly soft looking. Perfect.
His brain stalled out completely.
"Power's been in my tits since the beginning, darling," Angela said. "You want the system? You know what to do."
He stared at her. Then at the statues. Then at her breasts, hovering inches from his face. "You're serious."
"Dead serious." She grinned at her own joke.
A laugh escaped him. It was absurd. All of it. He'd died humiliated, and now he was in heaven about to suck a dead pornstar's tit to gain magical powers. If this was a hallucination, it was the weirdest one he'd ever had.
Fuck it. He was already dead.
He leaned forward and made contact.
The taste hit him first. Sweet, like honey and something else he couldn't name. Then the warmth. Then the *power*, flowing into him like electricity through water. Angela made a soft sound above him, and something fundamental shifted inside his chest.
Light erupted in front of his eyes. Blue. Brilliant. A progress bar appeared.
[Analyzing...]
[1%... 20%...]
Angela's hand was in his hair, stroking gently. "That's it, sugar. Don't stop."
[45%... 70%...]
He tried to pull back, overwhelmed by the sensation, but her hand pressed him closer. "Oh no you don't. You drain me till it hits one hundred."
[85%... 95%...]
His vision was going white. The power was too much, too intense, filling every corner of his being.
[100% Complete.]
He pulled back, gasping. The taste lingered on his tongue. Angela was smiling down at him, lazy and satisfied.
A new screen appeared.
[Do you wish to accept The Sinful System as your ultimate companion?]
[YES] [NO]
At the bottom, in flashing red text:
[Warning: If accepted, you will live by sin, and grow by sin. Without sin, you cannot advance. Without sin, you cannot survive.]
Mick stared at the warning. Live by sin. Grow by sin.
"What does that actually mean?"
"Exactly what it says. You want power? You pay the price. No half measures. No backing out when things get uncomfortable." Angela floated back to her throne, the statues repositioning her carefully. "You'll have to break rules. Cross lines. Do things that make normal people uncomfortable. That's how the system works."
He looked at the warning again. Then at the [YES] button.
He thought about the laughter on that stage. The humiliation. Two years of starving himself for a surgery he never got. Mara's face when the barbell fell. The betrayal.
Then he thought about those kind women in the back rows. The ones who'd smiled sadly and tipped well and treated him like a human being.
He was already dead. Already humiliated. Already had nothing. What was left to lose?
And if he could make those lonely women feel seen, feel wanted, feel alive again... wasn't that worth whatever price the system demanded?
He pressed [YES].
[You have successfully accepted The Sinful System as your companion, Host.]
[Current Status of Host:]
**Dead**
**Broke**
**9% Sins Committed in Previous Life**
**Penis Size: 2.8 inches**
**Betrayed by Trusted Allies**
Even dead, the system was roasting him. Fantastic.
Angela snorted. "Don't sulk. That changes very soon."
[Ultimate Goal: Restore confidence and desire to abandoned MILFs worldwide. Transform the overlooked into queens.]
Alright. He could do this.
The screen faded. Angela was settling back onto her throne, looking satisfied. "Any last questions before your grand adventure?"
He grinned. Felt lighter than he had in years. "I think I'm ready."
"Excellent." She raised her hand, and reality began to tear open behind him. A portal, swirling with light and color. "Oh, and Mick?"
"Yeah?"
"Make me proud out there. Show them what a real legend looks like."
The portal pulled him in. He fell through infinite light, through colors that didn't have names, through the screaming void between life and death.
In the distance, he heard a baby crying.
Here we go.