Absolute black.
It wasn't the comforting darkness of a power outage or the heavy-lidded black of falling asleep after a long day on the water. This was deeper, more complete—a void that swallowed every sense. No chill of the ocean lingering on his skin, no burn in his lungs from the final desperate gulp of air, no distant roar of waves. Just nothingness, stretching in every direction that didn't exist anymore.
Dante drifted in it. Or hung. Or simply existed. There was no body to tell the difference.
He waited for the inevitable rush of memories, the life-flashing-before-eyes cliché he'd seen in movies. Grandpa's weathered hands guiding his small fingers around a fishing reel. The thrill of his first solo catch—a scrappy bonito that fought like a marlin. The quiet satisfaction of signing those divorce papers, walking away without a backward glance. Even the rogue wave, towering and indifferent, crashing down like the universe's final verdict.
Nothing came. No montage. No regrets piling up like unpaid bills. Just silence so profound it almost had weight.
This is death, then, he thought. Quieter than fishing at dawn.
The idea almost made him smile. Almost.
Time didn't pass here—or if it did, it passed without markers. Minutes? Years? Irrelevant. He tried to summon anger, fear, anything human. But even those emotions felt distant, muffled by the void.
Then, without warning, a voice pierced the black.
"Oooopsie daisy! Oh no, oh no, this is not good. Not good at all!"
It was bright, feminine, and bubbling with energy—like a radio host who'd downed one too many espressos. The voice didn't echo; it simply arrived, filling the emptiness with its cheer.
Dante's consciousness recoiled. Who—?
"Hellooo? Earth to Dante Reyes? Or, well, not Earth anymore, I guess. Are you in there? Signal check! Over!"
The voice had a playful lilt, with a hint of synthetic smoothness underneath, like an AI trying too hard to sound relatable. It reminded him of those automated assistants on his phone, the ones that always misunderstood his voice commands and apologized way too enthusiastically.
He focused, pushing the thought outward like casting a line into deep water: Who the hell are you?
A delighted squeal responded. "Yay! Contact established! Hi hi hi! I'm the Caretaker System, official designation CS-47. But that's so stuffy, right? You can call me Carey. Most hosts do. The chatty ones, anyway. You're... hmm, more of a strong silent type, aren't you?"
Caretaker System. The words sank in slowly. Like a computer program? He'd died and ended up in some kind of cosmic customer service queue?
Carey barreled on, unfazed by his silence. "Okay, first things first: super, super sorry about the whole... you know, drowning incident. That rogue wave? Total glitch. Like, universe-level oopsie. You weren't scheduled for checkout yet. Not even close! Your timeline had you pegged for another thirty, maybe forty years. Plenty of time for more fishing trips, maybe a quiet retirement on some beach somewhere, watching sunsets with a cold one in hand. The works!"
Dante absorbed that. Scheduled. As if his life had been a calendar entry someone had accidentally deleted. A flicker of irritation sparked in the void—the first real emotion since arriving here.
Why tell me this? he thought.
"Because rules are rules!" Carey replied cheerfully, as if reading his mind directly. Which, he realized, she probably was. "When there's a premature termination due to systemic error—and trust me, rogue waves popping up on a flat-calm day qualifies—we trigger the compensation protocol. It's standard! Very generous, actually. Full reincarnation package, new world, new body, zero baggage from the old one. No fine print that bites you later. Well, okay, there's some fine print, but it's mostly legalese about not trying to blow up planets or enslave civilizations right out of the gate. Boring stuff."
Reincarnation. The word hung there, absurd in its casualness. Dante had skimmed articles about it once, late at night when insomnia hit. Soul transfers, other worlds, all that fantasy nonsense. He'd dismissed it as wishful thinking for people who couldn't handle the finality of things. Like him, out on the boat, accepting the ocean's moods without complaint.
But now...
He probed cautiously: This some kind of joke? Hallucination before the lights go out for good?
"Nope nope nope! One hundred percent legit. You're in the interstitial buffer right now—the waiting lounge between your old life and whatever comes next. No outdated magazines or stale coffee here, though. Just you, me, and a whole multiverse of options!"
Dante's mind churned. Options. Another life meant another round of everything he'd escaped. Crowded cities, endless digital noise, people with their demands and expectations. He pictured it vividly: another apartment with thin walls, another screen glowing with deadlines, another set of voices pulling him away from the quiet he craved.
No, he thought firmly. If this is real, I pass.
Carey paused, the bubbly energy dipping for the first time. "Aww, I get that vibe from you. Earth was... intense for quiet souls like yours. All that buzzing and rushing. No wonder you spent so much time on the water. Fishing's basically meditation with a chance of dinner, right?"
He didn't respond, but the accuracy stung a little.
"That's why the packages are customizable!" she continued, perking up again. "We've got everything. Want epic fantasy? Swords, magic, destined hero stuff—dragons included. Modern world with tech and cafes? Slice-of-life, low stakes, maybe open a little bookshop or something cozy. Or high-stakes action, espionage, cultivation realms where you punch mountains for power levels."
She rattled them off like menu items.
"But for you... I have something special. Something perfect."
Dante waited. He could feel the hook being baited.
"Imagine," Carey said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that somehow still sparkled, "your own private tropical atoll. Completely untouched. Crystal-clear lagoons teeming with fish—every species you could dream of, biting whenever you cast. Palm fronds rustling in a perpetual gentle breeze. White sand beaches, fresh coconuts, natural springs for water. Golden sunrises, fiery sunsets, stars so bright at night you can read by them. And zero people. No cities for hundreds of miles in any direction. No boats, no planes, no notifications pinging in your head."
The image bloomed in his mind unbidden. Warm sand underfoot. The soft tug of a line going taut. The sizzle of fresh catch over an open fire. Silence, pure and unbroken.
His resistance wavered.
"It's yours forever," Carey pressed gently. "Immortal-ish body, no aging past your prime, no sickness. Just peace. Eternal vacation."
Forever alone, a part of him whispered. But the rest—the part that had spent years seeking solitude—answered: Yes. Exactly.
What's the catch? he thought, suspicion creeping back.
"Always a smart question! There's a starter skill to help you thrive. Totally optional, themed around your passion. Called the Divine Tidal Gacha. Catch fish—or anything, really—and they convert to Tidal Essence. Spend it on gacha pulls for tools, upgrades, maybe even companions if you ever feel sociable. It's fun! Like opening mystery tackle boxes, but with potential for epic stuff."
Companions.
The word landed heavy. People. Gods knew what else. Drama imported straight into paradise.
Dante's mental walls slammed up. No. I don't want companions. I want quiet.
"Understood!" Carey said quickly. "The atoll's fully self-sustaining without ever touching the gacha. Abundant fruit groves, easy fishing, natural shelters. The skill's just... there. A bonus. In case eternity gets monotonous after a century or two. You can ignore it completely!"
He weighed it. The lure was strong—the description of the atoll felt like it had been pulled straight from his deepest wishes. And if the gacha was truly optional...
Fine, he thought at last. I'll take it.
"Eeee! Processing now! Body rebuild: prime physical condition, young adult age for that perfect energy level. Keeping your general look—rugged fisherman aesthetic suits you. Any tweaks? Beard longer? Muscles bigger?"
No. Just... quiet.
"Quiet mode: activated. No unnecessary pings. Transfer initiating in three... two... one..."
The void began to warm, light bleeding in from the edges—soft, golden, inviting.
"Oh! Almost forgot," Carey added with a giggle. "Your gacha luck parameter? Cranked to maximum for optimal user enjoyment. If you ever pull, you're in for some wild surprises. Byeee!"
Dante had a split-second to wonder what that meant before the light engulfed him, pulling him toward something new.
Something peaceful.