Christopher's Office
Scene: A Pristine White Office
In a spotless office where white was clearly the dominant aesthetic, two men sat across from each other, separated by a sleek black desk. One wore a look of utter confusion, while the other grinned like the Cheshire Cat, barely suppressing laughter as the bewildered young man tried to process the absurdity of his situation.
Alistair's POV
I stared at the man in front of me—who claimed to be a high-tier cosmic being—with an expression that practically screamed, "Are you serious right now?" The whole thing felt like someone trying to convince a grown adult that Santa Claus was real, punctuated with a casual "Trust me, bro."
"Before you say anything else, let's make sure we're on the same page," I said.
Chris leaned back in his chair, arms folded behind his head, and dropped his grin.
"Shoot, kid. Better for you be clear now than a lost little lamb later."
I grimaced at the "lamb" comment and pointed a finger at him. "So, you're saying you're this cosmic powerhouse offering me a job... that you can't do yourself?"
Chris casually summoned a steaming mug of coffee, took a sip, and let out a sigh of bliss.
"First off, kid—it's not that I can't do it. It's that I'd rather not."
"And why is that?"
"Three reasons. One: it's way more entertaining watching you do it. Two: I've got other things to handle if you take the offer. And three: if you perform well after your reincarnation, you'll either come back to me after you die again, or when you hit the universe's ceiling of power—whichever comes first—and I'll evaluate your performance."
He set the cup down and gave me a serious look.
"So... what do you think?"
I leaned back, thinking. Anyone who watched anime, read fantasy novels, or even dabbled in fanfiction had imagined this scenario: reincarnation with powers. My life before was good, but yeah, I always dreamed of flying, having super strength, or doing cool magic tricks. This offer was tempting—very tempting. But my business instincts were screaming that something was off.
"If I were to accept... what exactly are the terms?"
Chris summoned a sleek black briefcase, opened it, and handed me a packet of papers.
I took it and read aloud:
"If [Insert Name Here] accepts the offer from Christopher the Precursor—Master of Time and Space, Being of Creation and Destruction, and most importantly... 'Cosmic Daddy'—to be reincarnated, said individual will be placed into a universe with all necessary tools for survival. Upon death or reaching the growth ceiling of that world, the individual will be offered a mid-level position in Reincarnation Inc."
I raised an eyebrow at the cringe-worthy company name.
Chris coughed awkwardly. "Still a working title. Ignore that for now."
(Author's Note: Open to name suggestions.)
I smirked and kept reading.
"Depending on performance, profit, and commentary from observers, the individual's rank will be determined. Upon employment, they will receive accommodations and retain all powers/skills from their new life, upgraded to god-tier levels depending on results. Any person with strong emotional or intimate connections to the individual may also be elevated to reside with them as subordinates or companions, to ensure psychological stability and spiritual wellness."
The rest of the contract resembled a standard employee contract document—benefits, compensation, growth opportunities, even flexible hours. Surprisingly... solid.
"I've got more questions."
Chris waved his hand, summoning lemonade and a tray of pastries.
"The treats don't do anything—just tasty."
I took a bite. He wasn't wrong.
"First off... why me? Out of everyone in the omniverse, I don't seem that special."
Chris snapped his fingers. A family tree and lineage chart hovered in the air.
"You, and the Maxson family in general, are special. You're descended from one of Adam and Eve's unnamed children. Your lineage is marked by divine grace, absurd luck, and long life. Your ancestors rarely faced destruction—and even when they did, they bounced back stronger and tighter than before."
I raised a hand.
"Hold up. If my family acted wrathfully after my death... wouldn't that endanger their souls? Like... hell-level consequences?"
Chris gave me a look like I'd just flunked a basic math test.
"Kid, your family is connected to God—the God of your multiverse. No way demons or enemy deities are laying hands on your people. Even when they're wrathful, they get a pass. Honestly? Heaven uses the excuse, 'Must be that old distant Cain blood acting up again,' anytime someone questions it."
"Sounds... like divine favoritism."
Chris shrugged. "Gods aren't perfect. They all play favorites, no matter how 'impartial' they claim to be."
"So why did I die then? I was supposed to live past 100, like my grandparents."
Chris snapped again. A hologram of Robert—my personal Judas, in all his greasy glory—appeared above the desk.
"You got caught up with him. Robert is what we call a Fateless One."
"A Fateless One? Sounds... intentionally ominous."
Another hologram appeared, this one of Emily—curves and all—wrapped in glowing chains, suspended above her like a cursed marionette.
"You see, Emily is bound by fate—those chains represent it. Robert? Nothing. No chains, no destiny. He's invisible to fate-weavers. That makes him immune to direct influence by gods... and incredibly dangerous."
I stared at the contrast—Emily practically in bondage, Robert looking like he just won the lottery.
"So, is being Fateless a blessing or a curse?"
"Both."
"Explain."
"Fateless Ones can warp others' destinies. They're unpredictable. They can lift people up or drag them down—save lives that were destined to end or cause early deaths by accident or design."
"Like me."
"Exactly."
"Sounds broken."
"Oh, it is. George Washington? Fateless. So was Alexander the Great. Napoleon. And, unfortunately for your world... Hitler. When Fateless Ones act, the cosmos takes notice—and quietly braces for impact."
"Is this... cosmic balance?"
"Pretty much. It's the multiverse's way of shaking the board when things get too predictable."
I sighed. "So aside from Robert killing me, why am I here instead of heaven?"
Chris smirked. "Because my dad—who knows your Multiverse's God—set this up as compensation. You were one of the chosen. When you died, he called in a favor. That brought you here."
"And how does that involve you?"
"My dad's grooming me to take over the family business. This omniverse is my sandbox. I set up shop here to find worthy candidates. You? Perfect fit. My intern was supposed to collect your soul, but... she messed up."
"Messed up how?"
"She dropped your soul. Couldn't find it. Panicked. Called me. I found you and placed you on my pristine white couch to recover."
I raised an eyebrow. "Pretty sure that couch was black."
"Nope. It was white. You made it black."
"How?"
"Ever watched Adventure Time?"
"Too childish for me."
Chris summoned a screen and played a clip featuring a lich talking about time, nothingness, and eldritch horrors.
I fell silent.
"Yeah," Chris said. "Your soul got exposed to that kind of void energy. Even with divine grace, you were affected. That couch absorbed the residue."
"What would've happened if I wasn't healed?"
"Best case: lingering madness, aggression, instability. Worst case? Let's not talk about it. Let's just say your soul becomes a beacon for entities that don't belong in your new world."
I swallowed hard. "You need a new intern."
"Can't. She's being trained to be my assistant. Plus, she'd cry, and then my dad would take her side, and I'd be the bad guy. Your situation, while unfortunate, was fixable—and compensated."
"Is the compensation coming after the reincarnation?"
"Yup."
"Can I at least punch your intern once? Emotional damages?"
Chris laughed. "Sorry, kid. She could erase your soul with a blink. Besides, she's already being punished. And don't get greedy—I'm already giving you more than most ever get."
"Worth a shot," I said with a shrug.
Chris grinned. "Do well in your adventure, and you might just get your shot at revenge."
That alone made the offer more tempting.
"Alright, next question. What happens if I say no?"
Chris's expression went stone cold. His glowing eyes locked onto mine with divine pressure that made me feel small.
"I reviewed your soul—your possible futures. You were destined for greatness. But you can't return to your universe. You've lost your brand. If you refuse my offer, I'll have to kick you out—and with your luck, you'll run into things that make eldritch horrors look like Teletubbies."
I winced.
"Like a pretty girl in Dubai, huh?"
"Yep. And that's me sugarcoating it."
I nodded. "Okay... final question: where do the profits come from?"
"Divinetube."
I stared blankly. "Like... Godtube? From Dragon Ball Super?"
"No. That's the knockoff. Think of Divinetube like divine YouTube. Gods need entertainment too. If you perform well? You get sponsors. Merch. Fans. It's capitalism with cosmic flair."
"Religion is just... divine fandom?"
"Bingo. The most entertaining stories become religions. It's less theology, more storytelling."
I sighed. "Alright... no more questions."
Chris clapped his hands. "Finally! Kid, this conversation felt like reading an entire Harry Potter book in one sitting. Now—do you accept the reincarnation and job offer?"
I looked him in the eyes and smiled.
"Well... I'd rather not be crowned King of the Dumbasses across all existence—so yeah. I accept."
Chris snapped his fingers. The face-down cards on the desk flipped over, each one showing a different world.
"Perfect. Let's begin—choose your world."