Peterbilt!

The word was written in white script on a red oval badge, set into the shiny chrome grille.

Wait. Sorry. Let's back this up a bit.

I was halfway across the street when my damn mask slipped up into my eyes again. Fuck masks, fuck the pandemic, fuck it all!

I didn't know if everyone else had this problem or if it was just me. But every fucking minute my damn mask would slip upwards into my eyes. Maybe my nose was the wrong angle? Or my ears were in the wrong place? Whatever it was it made going out a fucking nightmare.

I hated stuff on my face. I hated stuff in my eyes. If I didn't need groceries I never would have left the house this afternoon. But not leaving the house for the past eight days is what led me to needing groceries today.

So I stopped there and adjusted the damn mask again, and that's when one of the stupid elastic loops broke. I had a backup mask in my jacket pocket but fuck it was like one thing after another.

So off came the busted one and I stuffed it into the back pocket of my jeans, then fished the spare mask out of my jacket. I was just getting the damn thing adjusted when I heard the squeal of brakes and wheels to my right.

And the last thing I saw before the lights went out was the Peterbilt logo. White text on a red oval set into a shiny chrome grille.

You can guess how that turned out.

Best thing I can say was at least it didn't hurt.

Next thing I knew, I found myself standing in a small office. The floor was beige carpet, there were two dusty plastic plants in the corner to my right. On my left was an old grey sofa that slumped on one side like the springs were broken. And in front of me was a desk, complete with uncomfortable grey plastic guest-chair before it, and a large luxurious-looking black leather chair behind it.

The walls were painted a sort of industrial off-white colour, that was somewhere between light grey and light beige. And the ceiling was made up of those drop-tile things, including the mysterious brown stains and the buzzing florescent light fixture in the middle.

There were some of those generic motivational posters on the walls, but when I looked closer I realized the slogans on them weren't actually motivational.

Like behind the desk was a picture of a cat hanging by its front paws from a clothesline. I was sure I'd seen that picture before, usually with a caption like 'hang in there' or 'you can do it' or whatever. But the caption here announced 'this cat died in 1978'.

And the one to my left showed a rugged-looking climber partway up some huge mountain. He'd stopped and was looking back at the majestic view. Instead of something motivational about success or not forgetting to enjoy the view, the caption read 'After thinking it over, Larry jumped. Would you?'

"Please be seated."

The woman's voice startled me. I flinched slightly as my head snapped around to look at the desk again.

There was now a smoking hot brunette seated in the chair. She looked a couple years younger than me, I'd guess she was twenty-one or twenty-two. She was dressed in a bright cherry-red dress. It matched her cherry-red lipstick. She was perfectly tanned, and her long auburn hair hung down in waves past her shoulders. Her eyes were dark, but I could swear there was a faint tinge of red in them.

She gestured to the guest chair in front of the desk and repeated "Please have a seat. It's time to get started."

Even her voice was sexy. Her dress had a deep V-neck and she was showing off a ton of cleavage. I was lost and confused and part of me knew I should probably feel scared, but this girl was a total hottie and it was hard to focus on what was going on while I was staring at her.

I shuffled forward and sat down in the indicated chair. I did my best to focus on her eyes and asked "Who are you? Where am I?"

"My name is Natasha," she replied. Then she flashed me a slightly predatory smile and added, "And you are dead. Sorry, I thought you knew that?"

Despite my best efforts it was hard to focus on what she was saying, or the seriousness of the situation. She was hot and apparently hormones were a thing, even when you're dead. Still, my horniness could only do so much compared to the knowledge that I was very recently run over by a truck.

I took a deep breath then sighed, "What happened to the pearly gates?"

Natasha rolled her eyes. She sounded slightly bored as she replied, "They closed that. Covid protocols, something about not having everyone standing around in a line. Plus nobody was respecting the social-distancing rules. Whatever, now all you mortal souls get your own private personal interview."

"Fuck," I sighed and started checking my pockets for my mask, before I realized she wasn't wearing one either. "Wait, if I'm dead what do I care about the stupid virus?"

"No idea," she still sounded bored. "Anyways let's just get on with this shall we?"

I realized there was suddenly an ominously thick file folder on the desk, which she was already looking through. There were several dozen red sticky-note flags protruding from the countless pages, and the woman was flipping through my records and pausing on each of the flagged notes.

She had the documents angled so I couldn't quite see what was it said. Her bored expression quickly disappeared as her eyebrows crept upwards and her lips curled into a grin.

Natasha actually laughed once or twice, and there were quite a few smirks and smiles.

"Um," I asked hesitantly. "Is my entire life that amusing? Or is it just that pathetic?"

"Oh this file isn't about your whole life," she replied. "Not even a portion of it, really."

A moment later she snickered at whatever she found on the next page.

I frowned, "So what is it?"

She turned another page and smirked once more, then finally looked up at me. "This is an excerpt of your browser history."

Oh no.

I gulped, "My browser history?"

That predatory smile was back as Natasha looked at me again, "Not all of it, just an excerpt. Specifically, it's all the TG/TF isekai stories you've masturbated to over the past year."

OH. NO.

I could feel my face going bright red as my heart skipped a beat and my stomach turned over. I almost wished I'd be struck dead on the spot, except that already happened a few minutes ago. I had no idea what to do or say, so I just sat there completely frozen. I don't think I even breathed for the next minute or two.

"Ok," she suddenly announced as she closed the file with a flourish. "I've got a pretty good idea what sort of person you are. Or were."

I gulped again and asked nervously, "Am I going to get into heaven?"

My question was rewarded with a snicker followed by a giggle that quickly became full-on laughter.

It took her an entire minute or two to settle down, and she wiped a few laugh-tears from her eyes. "Oh my goodness that was unprofessional of me. But no. Seriously, no."

"Anyways," she added before I could respond, "Heaven's much too boring. Trust me, you'd hate it."

"You're sending me to hell?" I almost whimpered the question. I knew I wasn't a saint, but I was positive I didn't do anything so bad as to warrant eternal damnation.

"Nah," Natasha shook her head. "Hell's reserved for the truly heinous. You know, like billionaires, venture capitalists, abusive parents, that sort of thing."

I breathed a sigh of relief, then frowned. "Wait so where are you going to send me?"

"Oh don't worry," she fixed her eyes on me and gave me that predatory smile again, but this time it was much more intense. It made me think of the way a cat might look at a mouse. "We're going to send you somewhere much more interesting, and much more entertaining."

That didn't actually fill me with a lot of confidence. "Entertaining, for who?"

Natasha just smiled wider, then everything around me vanished in a brilliant flare of white light.

PurpleCatGirl

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