"Fuck this life… why the fuck am I even here?"

This was what Sylvester thought, sitting in front of his computer in his cubicle, that afternoon, his fingers flying over the keyboard as if he were racing against time. He was supposed to be on his honeymoon, not stuck at the police station.

He had envisioned everything: he and his newly wedded wife, Amanda, staying at a four-star hotel, like the New York Hilton or Hampton Inn, spending a couple of blissful days indulging in fine food, endless drinks, and a whole lot of passionate fucking.

Yet here he was, stuck at his desk on a freaking Monday, doing paperwork and mind-numbing data entry—all because he hadn't been able to say no to Chad, his only friend and the one person willing to stand by him as best man at his depressingly scanty wedding.

He couldn't help but wish his parents were still alive, that he had siblings, or even just a few more friends.

As an orphan and only child raised by his poor late grandmother, Sylvester didn't have any living relatives or many friends.

His short stature, unattractive features, and goody-two-shoes demeanor never drew people in.

Even during and after his wedding, he remained astonished that the beautiful Amanda Cartwright had agreed to marry him.

Yet, there was a clear reason behind her decision: years of persistence on his part, marked by listening ears, kind words, thoughtful gifts, and, most significantly, the kidney he had donated to save her life.

As he typed away, he couldn't help but overhear his fellow officers gossiping about him. "Sly the doormat's wedding was pretty sad. I heard there were only six people there," one of them said.

"Thank God I skipped it. That guy is just pathetic. We should change his nickname from Sly the doormat to Sly the pathetic," another added.

Rage simmered within Sylvester. He despised that stupid nickname, "Sly the Doormat," which people used behind his back—and sometimes to his face. He longed to fight back but knew he couldn't. He had to accept that he was the Meg Griffin of the precinct, everyone's easy target.

His colleagues continued their chatter, but he forced himself to ignore them for his own good.

As Sylvester continued typing away, his computer screen suddenly froze, and none of his inputs were working. He groaned in frustration. "Damn! I don't need this right now. I can't go to the IT department; those guys love messing with me," he muttered to himself.

Minutes ticked by, and despite his best efforts, the screen remained unresponsive. Just as he was considering the humiliation of asking his tormentors in IT for help, words unexpectedly flashed across the screen.

[Congratulations, the goddess of light has deemed you to be a human of great potential.]

Sylvester blinked, confused. Goddess of light? he thought. This is definitely a joke or, worse, a prank. What sort of fuckery are the IT guys pulling now?

Then another line appeared:

[Do you love the life you are currently living, Sylvester? Are you happy?]

'Why are those idiots asking me this question?' he wondered, rolling his eyes.

Sylvester typed a response and spoke out loud at the same time, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Of course, I'm happy. I just got married to the most beautiful girl in the world."

[Really? You are happy with everything in your life?]

He paused, noticing that he hadn't even finished typing his words before the screen responded. Wait... this means whatever the IT guys did must be able to hear me. A weird sensation crept over him, but he decided to play along.

"Okay, maybe not everything," he admitted. "Everyone looks down on me because they don't respect me. And, most of all, they don't find me appealing. Everyone except, maybe, my wife." He hesitated, feeling surprised by his own honesty. "Wait, why am I telling you all this?" he asked aloud.

[Because you think what you are saying has no consequences.]

[What would you want if you were to live in another world?]

Sylvester rubbed his temples. This can't be real, but… whatever. He shrugged, deciding to continue the joke. "I'd want to be attractive—in fact, the most desired human in that world. And I'd want to be able to read people's minds and know how to make them like me. Oh, and to know when they're lying," he added with a laugh.

[Is this really what you want?]

"Sure, goddess of light, or whatever you are. That's what I want," he replied, grinning at the absurdity.

[I want to make your wish come true. Do you accept to be reincarnated in another world?]

"I accept!" he declared, chuckling, convinced that this was all an elaborate prank or some kind of hallucination.

[Are you sure? This cannot be reversed once it is set in motion.]

Sylvester's smile faltered. This can't be real, he thought, but he decided to keep playing along. "Yes, I'm sure."

[Response accepted.]

[You will be reincarnated as the most desirable human in an alternate universe.]

Suddenly, a warning flashed across the screen:

[Warning! You will be experiencing death shortly. Your new world awaits you, Sylvester. I hope you have this sense of humor in that world, you will need it.]

Sylvester's heart hammered in his chest as the ominous words flashed on the screen, sending a surge of panic through him. Wait… death? His mind raced, but before he could even react, the computer screen flickered back to normal, as if nothing strange had just occurred. Hesitantly, he pressed a few keys on the keyboard, and to his surprise, everything was working perfectly again.

He glanced around nervously, half-expecting someone to be watching him or laughing at the supposed prank, but no one paid him any attention. The office buzzed with the usual chatter and clatter, oblivious to the bizarre encounter he'd just experienced. Shaking his head, Sylvester tried to dismiss the unsettling moment. Maybe I'm delirious. I need to get out here, he told himself, though he couldn't quite shake the chill that had settled over him. Taking a deep breath, he resumed his work, choosing to push the incident out of his mind, even as a sense of unease lingered.

—-----

—-----

Two hours later, Sylvester wrapped up at work and stood in front of his rented, cozy two-bedroom apartment. With flowers in his left hand, he unlocked the door with his right. "Honey, I'm home," he called out, his voice warm and hopeful, eager to see Amanda and finally get their honeymoon back on track. Silence met him.

A hint of unease crept in. Maybe she's asleep… or out? he wondered. Or perhaps she just hadn't heard him—his voice wasn't exactly loud or commanding. "Hopefully, she's here so I can surprise her in our bedroom," he murmured under his breath, he murmured to himself, clinging to his enthusiasm, heading quietly through the small living room.

He placed his keys gently on the corner table, but as he did, a muffled moaning drifted from the bedroom, sending a chill down his spine.

Moving with caution, he tiptoed down the hallway, still clutching the flowers, and nudged the bedroom door open. The sight that met him shattered everything he thought he knew: a naked Amanda was straddling Chad, completely engrossed, in the very bed they'd shared as husband and wife.