As the green flash faded, the ringing in Han’s ears eased. His vision cleared to reveal a vast data center, machines humming. Crystalline storage towers stretched out like a dystopian city. He blinked hard, confusion mounting. An alien ship? Suddenly a piercing gaze—like the Eye of Sauron—bore into his soul. Space folded around him. “Wait! Why! What the…?” He vanished with a poof.

  He reappeared instantly in the same spot, the ringing back, the gaze returned. He tried to scream, to beg—nothing changed. Banished and returned to the repeatedly. A few times he managed a step; a few times he dropped to his knees. Eventually he passed out.

  He woke, dizzy, in an endless white void. The green device was gone and he felt consumed by hunger and thirst; boredom might kill him first though. He collapsed, staring into the forever-white “sky.” No sound, only nothing. He lost track of time and drifted off to sleep, but hunger woke him; he needed to urinate. With no facilities, he did what he had to. Mid-stream, she appeared, staring.

  “What are you doing?” she asked calmly.

  Startled, he turned away, zipped up, then faced her—fury rising—but her calm, cute, blank stare stopped him. The artifact hung like an amulet around her neck. Long red hair danced as if there was a breeze. A lace bra covered her chest, and a short pleated skirt barely concealed the rest. He wanted to look away but couldn’t. He began unbuttoning his shirt to cover her.

  “I’m giving you my shirt.” he proclaimed

  She touched his bare chest, leaned in, sniffing.

  “What are you doing?” She repeated. He draped his shirt over her shoulders and reached to button it. She didn’t stop him—only watched with that blank, tilted-head look. He fastened the top button, then the second. With a huge sigh of relief, a weight lifted as the amulet became concealed.

  “Who are you!?” he demanded, getting lost in her green galaxy eyes.

  “Processing,” she said softly. Eyelids twitched. She stepped back, voice ethereal: “You are Han Dover Fist.”

  “Yes, I know who I am. Who are YOU?” The process repeated. “Where am I!?” he demanded. Again, processing.

  “Error!” she snapped, annoyed. He felt she might kill him. His shirt vaporized; she raised her hands to smite him. The word echoed like a command, as space folded around her. He threw himself around her feet. If she was leaving, he was going with her.

  She had brought them back to the data center, and she stepped gracefully from his grasp; her energy pinned him down. She danced up into the air, twirling. Her voice warm, but confused: “Error, Han Dover Fist. Or… Han Dover Fist error?” She returned to her daily chores, tending to the machines.

  “Wait!” he called out.

  Her smile seemed to penetrate his soul, and her voice filled his mind: “You are Han Dover Fist, error code 404. Human life form of Earth in the Sol system within the Milky Way galaxy in the Laniakea Supercluster of The Melies Universe located in Prime Material Plane number 1902.”

  “Yes,” he whispered on his knees as the edges of reality folded in on him, and he vanished.

  The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  The weight lifted. He stood in a vast waiting room for the dead, with thousands of beings. Few humans, no one spoke English, most of them held a strange book. There was no desk, no exit, and Despair set in until his book appeared: Resurrection, Reincarnation & Relocation. Intro: “Now that you’re dead…”

  “But I didn’t even DIE!” he screamed, slamming it shut.

  Creatures glanced; some laughed. Most returned to reading. Furry, scaly, grotesque half dead things everywhere. With nothing else to do, he flipped through. Surely he’d go home soon. He ached for Mars and their date. “They’d better turn back time,” he muttered.

  He paused at images: magical worlds, impossible architecture, cat girls, elf girls. Each deepened his longing for Mars. He tried planning their beach dinner, determined to return. Hunger gnawed—he could eat bark. He slammed the book closed again. A small pig-like being looked edible. He half-joked about a slam-rod fire starter. How do you even kill the dead?

  Pacing sharpened his hunger. Tentacles, slimes, aliens—no food, except perhaps certain races. Every grotesque shape in the room now registered first as calories, second as lifeforms. The cow-girl with two severed limbs seemed practical. He plotted to steal a leg.

  “Han Dover Fist,” a voice rang. He looked up. “Calling Han Dover Fist!” A crow circled.

  “Here!” he shouted, arm raised.

  The crow dove, a coin in its talons. as it dove towards him, it released the coin saying, "The Goddess will see you now.”

  “Thank you,” he replied, smiling as caught it.

  Smoke enveloped him as the crow flew away.

  As the smoke cleared, Han stood before an enormous cathedral. The golden coin crumbled to dust in his hand, and a giant eagle hopped around, flapping its wings. It quickly transformed into a beautiful woman. Feathers adorned her hair and formed her deep-V-dress, remnants of her previous form. Her voluptuous figure towered over four meters tall, arms and wings spread wide in welcome. She bowed deeply and slowly, a formal gesture that left Han impressed by her endowments. When she rose, her smile revealed she knew exactly what he was thinking. His face flushed as she motioned humbly for him to follow, her voice giggling in his mind: “I will lead you to see the Goddess of Creation.”

  She led him through golden gates, announcing their arrival with a coded string: “HDF404HLFESMWLSMUPMP1902.” Each guard they passed repeated the strange code as though reciting it for the millionth time. The cathedral’s interior was opulent beyond imagination—columns five meters thick of solid stone dwarfed by the chamber’s vast scope. Where an altar might have stood sat an intricately carved golden throne. On it rested the same scantily clad woman Han had tried to cover earlier. No amulet hung around her neck, but it was unmistakably her.

  The closer he drew, the more overwhelming her presence became. Soon the pressure forced him to his knees; he could no longer stand against it. Her heavenly voice reverberated through his bones: “You may approach, mortal.”

  “What if I don’t want to?” he muttered. The eagle-woman kicked him from behind. He crawled a short distance on his hands and knees before collapsing. Still, he was forced onward. “I’m not into this kind of kinky stuff,” he jabbed as he dragged himself on his belly, his guard encouraging him along. At the foot of the stairs that led to the throne, he coughed up blood—not because he had to, but because he wanted to.

  The goddess rose and descended the stone stairs. “How is it… that a living being… has managed to reach this place?” Her question hung in the air like the foul stench of yeast back home. She seemed to be addressing those around her, and they appeared ready to kill him.

  “Magic!” he proclaimed through the suffocating aura that stripped away his agency. He had hoped to add a glittering hand gesture for meme effect, but his strength was gone. He could barely force out words. She was half way down the steps when he looked up at her and then quickly closed his eyes. No underwear.

  Instantly she seized him by the throat and lifted him above her head, floating upward. “You found ‘Her’ attractive as well, didn’t you?” He dangled helplessly. He tried to cough blood onto her, but failed. “Hold this,” she commanded in disgust, tossing him into his guard's arms. “Oshun?!” she screamed. In a flash of green light, she summoned her avatar—a near-identical version of herself, kneeling but glancing warmly at Han with a smile that gave him strength. She had the eyes and amulet he remembered. So there were two of them.

  “Explain this!” the goddess demanded, pointing at Han.