When I opened my eyes, I found myself lying on a sofa. I quickly sat up and looked around, only to realize the room was completely empty aside from the sofa beneath . The white room, illuminated by a warm ceiling light, was so silent that I could hear my heartbeat pounding in my ears. I wasn't sure why it was beating so fast, maybe because I had just been burned alive, or maybe because I was sowhere entirely unfamiliar.
I scanned the room for anything that could explain my situation, but there was nothing.
After several minutes, my mind began spinning out ridiculous theories: heaven, hell, limbo, purgatory, until my head started to throb.
The only explanation that made any sense was that I had died.
Maybe this was heaven.
Or, more realistically, given how often I cursed at God, hell.
The emptiness of the room began to claw at my nerves.
"Hello? Is anyone here?" I called out, hoping for an answer, anything to drown out my growing panic.
As if responding directly to my voice, a door materialized out of thin air.
A middle‑aged man stepped through, looking exactly like Keanu Reeves. He held a notebook, wore sunglasses, and carried a calm, friendly smile.
He took a seat on a chair that appeared at the sa mont he did. Removing his sunglasses, he t my eyes.
"So, you finally woke up. Don't panic. I'm what you'd call an angel. You've died—but the good news is, you won the lottery."
He twirled his sunglasses playfully while jotting sothing in his notebook. I stared, speechless, before blurting out the question gnawing at .
"Aren't you… Keanu Reeves?"
His smile widened. Pulling the chair closer, he leaned in until we were only a hand's length apart.
"Don't I look cool? He's my favorite actor. I'm a big fan, so I borrowed his appearance. We angels get bored up here, so we watch movies. Tons of them. My favorite is John Wick. What about you? Do you like John Wick?"
He looked at with an almost childlike excitent, or maybe hope. Not wanting to disappoint him, I forced a smile.
"Yes. It's my favorite too."
His eyes lit up like a fanatic who finally found soone to geek out with.
Imdiately, he launched into a barrage of questions:
"Which movie is your favorite? Did you ever see him in person? What's he like? How many tis have you watched them? What's—"
He spoke so fast I didn't even get a chance to answer. Then, suddenly, as if soone pressed a mute button on him, he stopped. He cleared his throat, straightened up, and spoke in a professional tone:
"Sorry. Let's talk about the lottery you won."
The sudden shift made my head spin.
He continued, "God created a lottery system where certain people who die under specific conditions get selected. And you happened to et all of them. You were chopping down a tree the sa age as you, during the rain, and you died because that sa tree fell on you while on fire. Congratulations."
I wasn't sure how to react, but at least I had won sothing in my life.
"So… what did I win?" I asked, feeling a flicker of hope for the first ti in a long while.
"You won the lottery of the afterlife," the angel said with a smile. "It ans you'll be transmigrated into a fictional world." He glanced at his notebook. "And it looks like… you'll be going to The Walking Dead. Enjoy."
A red door appeared. He gestured at it.
"Walk through that door, and you'll find yourself in The Walking Dead world. Good luck."
I froze. Horror washed over .
The Walking Dead wasn't dangerous; it was almost suicidal.
"What!? Can't I pick the world?" I asked desperately.
He shook his head, avoiding my eyes.
"The Walking Dead universe is insane! How am I supposed to survive? Can I at least have a power or ability?"
Again, he shook his head.
"Then how is this a lottery? This sounds like a nightmare!" I snapped. I could barely survive without my phone—how was I supposed to survive a world full of zombies and desperate people willing to eat each other?
Seeing my fear, the angel's expression softened.
"I'm sorry," he said gently. "It's called a lottery because originally, you were supposed to be punished for a hundred years. Now you're free from that punishnt."
I blinked.
"What? Why would I be punished for a hundred years?"
He smiled casually, far too casually for such a topic.
"You cursed at God too much. Blad Him for everything."
That did not calm down. If anything, it made my anxiety skyrocket. The angel seed to notice.
"I like you," he said warmly. "So as a thank you for listening to —and for being a Keanu Reeves fan—I'll use a special privilege to help you. Honestly, I think God wants to help you, too."
Hearing that, I instantly brightened up. Maybe being a fan finally paid off.
"You can choose any fantasy character's body for your next life," he continued. "But don't choose anyone too powerful for The Walking Dead universe. Soone like John Wick, the Punisher, Jas Bond—that level is fine. Just rember: you'll only get their body, not their mories or skills."
My excitent dropped instantly.
"What good is John Wick's body without his skills? I'd still be a normal dude."
"It's the rule," he said. "If I gave you his mories, you wouldn't be you. You'd be John Wick."
I sighed. "Okay… then what about Captain Arica? Wolverine?"
His smile vanished.
"That's too powerful. Pick sothing else."
I figured as much—
But then a thought hit .
Agent 47.
A genetically engineered human at the peak of ntal and physical ability. Strength, speed, endurance, intelligence, senses, reflexes, superhuman, yet still technically human. Even without his skills, his body alone would give a massive survival advantage in The Walking Dead.
"I want to be Agent 47," I said.
Silence dropped into the room like a weight.
The angel's expression hardened, and for a mont, he simply stared at .
Finally, he exhaled sharply.
"Fine. I'll allow it. But the world will be… a little different. To balance it. Be careful."
"What kind of little changes are you talking about?" I asked, looking at him nervously. All my future knowledge of The Walking Dead would be useless if everything changed.
The Angel stayed quiet for a mont, as if weighing whether to tell or not. Then, taking a deep breath, he replied, "Both the TV and comic Walking Dead universes will be combined. Also, there will be three changes to the zombies, which I will not tell you. You'll have to figure them out yourself—think of it as a mystery you need to solve."
I was upset hearing that. "Why?" I demanded. "Agent 47 isn't that overpowered."
The angel raised an eyebrow as if I'd said the dumbest thing imaginable.
"He's overpowered for The Walking Dead," he replied. "He ages extrely slowly—he can easily live two to three hundred years. Even at sixty, he still looks like he's in his twenties, still in his peak physical condition. He has a minor healing factor, enough to survive multiple gunshots and recover within hours. His instincts let him predict movent so precisely he can anticipate the actions of people hundreds of feet away, even behind walls—practically x‑ray vision. His physical strength surpasses any human on Earth. And his aim? He has never missed a shot in his entire life. And that's just a fraction of what he can do with his body alone. Well, what can you expect from soone genetically engineered to be the perfect assassin?"
He crossed his arms.
"And that's not even counting his intelligence. Instead, I give you an accelerated learning ability, ten tis faster than a normal human. That's a pretty good deal. Trust —you don't want Agent 47's actual mind. He was built to be an emotionless killer."
Hearing all that laid out so clearly…
yeah. That was a lot.
But I still felt relieved.
"Thank you," I said sincerely. "For granting my request."
He nodded toward the red door.
Without hesitation, I stood up, took one last look at him, and stepped forward—
ready to begin my new life.
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