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Ice cream.

One stupid, free scoop of ice cream.

Dhane was in such a hurry to use the coupon that expired at midnight—not to mention his gamer friends waiting for his return—that even though the traffic light had changed and the little walking-man sign glowed from the other side, he failed to do that one simple thing that all kids were taught from a very early age: look both ways.

It didn’t matter how many degrees he had or how many Latin and Greek words he had memorized, or that he was a day late on his review article for the latest role-playing game.

The world didn’t care.

Then again, if it weren’t for the garbage truck—forty tons of metal filled to the brim with everything society deigned to throw away—it wouldn’t have been so bad. In this case, however, the word splat would be the only word adequate to explain what happened.

Dhane sucked in a breath of stale, cold air. It was damn freezing in here! A pitch-black place filled with others, noticeable by their breathing and shivering. One girl was crying about a killer clown.

Tiny balls of light wisped through the air. Someone jumped back, crashing to the ground, and groaned. Then torchlight illuminated the room of gray stone bricks.

More than a dozen people stood within individual chalk circles with fancy symbols encasing them, completely naked. That bit should have been obvious, though when you got smeared by a garbage truck, it often took a few moments to gather one’s wits.

A petite girl—standing five feet away—jerked at her own realization of being alive and bare, and tried to cover her lady bits, all the while glaring at Dhane.

Of course, he wasn’t really staring. It just so happened to be the place he was facing when the lights came on.

What did people say in such a situation? I’m sorry, my dear, for invading your privacy. It was like a line from a movie . . . from the Renaissance. Definitely, not cool.

She had brunette hair with highlights and curls cupping a heart-shaped face, a cute button nose, olive-colored skin, and dark-brown evil eyes. Evil, murderous eyes that screamed, Look away, or I’ll cut your throat!

Yes, that was precisely what they said. It only took a solid fifteen seconds for those thoughts to slush through his brain.

He offered an awkward, “Sorry,” which came out sounding far less majestic than the movie line.

It was at this time he realized how loose he was hanging and the random, roaming eyes of others, all hugging their own forms in odd manners. He mimicked the reaction, cupping his manhood with both hands.

Footsteps scuffed the stone, followed by the tapping of a cane. “Welcome to Olindale,” a withered old man said. “Oh, don’t be embarrassed. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before. There are robes next to each of you.”

He had wiry white hair jutting in all directions. The only place it didn’t grow fervently was the man’s pale dome. Everywhere else was covered in the stuff and sliding down the front of him like . . . melted ice cream.

Oi. A simple hankering for ice cream and even death wasn’t strong enough to curtail it.

Death. . . .

Am I really dead?

Next to Dhane’s circle was a nicely folded robe of thick brown material. Little candles around his circle had, at some point, been lit, casting a modicum of warmth in the frigid room.

He pulled the material over his form and immediately felt better. It was a night and day difference, from being on the verge of hypothermia to that comfortable sensation of waking in the morning swathed in blankets.

“I am Gameus, god of games and of this realm,” the old man said and sighed. “Yes, you have died. Yes, this is one of the many heavens. Yes, somehow, I got stuck with a bunch of nerds.

“You know—and bear with me, I’m in great need of a good rant—the games used to be of warriors who risked their lives to fight monsters in the arenas or stand upon their chariots to face off with other brave men.

“Now? Now . . . games have an all-new meaning. My heaven has radically changed since your kind started showing up. It’s quite rude if you ask me. I mean, this is my realm.

“And so, before I give you your starting items and send you on your adventure, please sign my petition. I only need two million more signatures. Maddeningly, of course, the choice is yours. I cannot revoke your free will, but I can promise that gods make far better friends than foes. . . .”

Gameus let that last line linger in the silence as he eyeballed each of his petrified audience. Then he smiled and continued walking through the room, only to stop at a pile of ash and bones contained within a chalk circle.

“PIP!” he yelled, voice rocking the room, eyes glowing blue. A stone brick cracked.

From the shadows, tendrils of smoke formed into an imp. It was two feet tall with red leathery skin and impractically tiny bat-like wings. “Yesss, Master?” it said in a high-pitched, wobbling voice.

“How many times must I tell you the symbol crosses at the arch? AT THE ARCH! Look at this,” the god said, grabbing the imp by the neck and shoving its head close to one of the symbols.

“Yesss, yesss. I sees the problem. I goofed, that I did.”

“Goofed? This soul, who was it. . .? Amber. Guild master of the Razor Wolves, killed by dislodged air-conditioning unit, is going to hell because you goofed!” Gameus stared for a moment, then sighed. “Bah, fine. It’s just one less signature for my petition. Grab a broom.”

“Yesss, Master.”

Gameus raised his hands in front of himself as if lifting something. The entire wall on one side of the room opened, stone grinding upward. Sunlight poured through the opening, illuminating a rectangular stretch of land enveloped in clouds.

There were mountains and forests and an ocean far, far below. It was dizzying to see it. Dhane wanted to grab something just to make sure he didn’t slide off the world.

“Please follow me,” Gameus said and stepped outside, tapping his cane as he walked.

Pip already had a broom, sweeping the remaining bits of Amber into a dustpan. Everyone shuffled forward, watching the little imp with a mixture of curiosity—for when had real imps existed?—and horror.

Gameus took a seat on a stool outside, waved a finger in the air, and a cardboard box appeared next to him. “Form a line, if you will.”

Dhane found himself at the front of that line, nobody eager to take up the ten feet in front of him to be first. He closed the gap, thinking it wiser to follow instructions than annoy the god.

Gameus held out a clipboard with a #2 pencil attached by a string. Dhane took it. The top of the form was a request to exchange Olindale’s god with another god, one better fit for the position.

He peered over the clipboard.

Gameus peered back, tapping a long fingernail on the side of his cane.

Dhane signed his name—Dhane, with an H, certainly not Dane, without an H, like mundane or Great Dane; no, he wasn’t a dog—and paused at his last name. What was it again?

“I . . .” he started, though Gameus held up a hand to silence him.

“We strip you of your last name. It makes the transition easier when you can’t think about your past family members, friends, kids, significant others, and the like.”

And it was true. Dhane couldn’t think of his mother or sister. He had a mother and sister, not a father. But they didn’t have names or faces or really any emotion attached to them whatsoever.

He also had a girlfriend, one that he could still feel an inkling of deep affection for, though just as he had felt it, the sensation evaporated.

Wasn’t heaven all about being together with those you loved? But even as that thought struck, he didn’t quite care. Those no-named, no-faced people were in the distant past, in a distant world.

“So . . .” he started, though Gameus held up a hand to silence him again.

“You can choose anything you wish or just sign your first. If you should ever come up with your last name, it’ll automatically be added to my petition. Now, go ahead and pass the clipboard down the line.”

Dhane looked at his name and found it completely satisfying. He passed the board to the next person in line: a tall fellow with blond hair and a broad chest. The guy tore the clipboard away without so much as a thank you.

“Listen up,” Gameus said. “This world is unlike that of your world. There is no sickness, no excrement. Even garbage cleans up itself. But you’ll figure this stuff out on your own, I am sure. For the sake of time, please limit your questions.

“When you are done signing my petition, you’ll receive one of these ancient and magical relics.” He held up a device.

“A phone?” Dhane asked.

“What? No! It’s not a phone. It’s ancient technology that, once you bind to it, will forever be attached to your soul.

“Now, tell me, would you like the one with an apple on the back or the one with a robot?”

Dhane took the ancient and magical device, then moved to the side so the line could progress.

Hello, Hola, Bonjour, Konnichiwa.

Yup, it was definitely an iPhone, an iPhone in heaven. He tapped the display, and it flashed through a dozen setup screens within a second before showing the home screen. There were a number of apps: Inventory, Map, Character, Party, Waypoints, Contacts, among others.