[ WP ] When you die the afterlife is an arena where you face every insect and animal you killed in your life . If you win you go to heaven , lose you go to hell . Your job was an exterminator on earth .

`` Are you sure I have to do this?'' Steve asked. He nervously thumbed the can of insecticide on his waist. At least they had provided him with that much - the can, and his old work uniform. He wished they had done more. 
 
 `` Afraid so, Steven.'' St. Peter said, laying a warm hand on his shoulder. `` It's the same for everyone, and everything. Heaven may be large, but it is not infinitely so. We're simply running out of space. For what it's worth, I'm sorry.'' 
 
 `` But... everything we've ever killed? Is that really necessary?'' Steven said. `` It seems a little... cruel, if you ask me. Even if they win, hundreds will have to die again.'' 
 
 To Steven's surprise, the angel chuckled. `` Only the ones with souls, Steven.'' He said. `` Just be glad that you are n't a hunter. Or that God, in his infinite wisdom, neglected to give bacteria access to paradise. Truly, *that* would be a match made in hell.'' 
 
 Steven swallowed, then nodded. `` Ok... I think I'm ready.'' He said. 
 
 
 `` Very well then, Steven.'' Said Peter. `` Close your eyes, and we can begin.'' 
 
 Steven closed his eyes. Almost immediately, however, the sound of cheering made him open them again. He was in an arena much like the Colosseum, complete with red-sand floor and stands filled to the brim with shining spirits. They seemed to blend together into a single mass of rainbow hue, so much so that he could n't tell where one ended and the next began. Sensing something was expected of him, he raised his hand, and the cheer redoubled in volume. Strangely, however, he seemed to be alone - not a trace of his competition seemed to be present. 
 
 `` Combatants! Are you ready?'' Cried a voice that echoed from all directions. 
 
 `` I... I am...'' Steven replied. Still, he saw no sign of his opponent. Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he saw it: A singular cockroach, barely an inch long, standing not fifty feet in front of him. 
 
 `` Begin!'' Cried the voice. 
 
 The cockroach rushed him. It tore across the sand, baring down on him with what must have been incredible speed for the species - but it still took several seconds before it could close the gap between. By then, Steven was ready. With instincts born from years of honing his craft, he raised his boot, dropped it... and it was done. The beast was no more. 
 
 The crowd seemed to wince, growing silent for a moment before erupting into cheers even louder than before. 
 
 `` Excellent, Steven!'' Cried the announcer. `` You have beaten your first opponent! Would you like to take a rest, to reconvene on the morrow, or shall you have another?'' 
 
 `` Er, uh... I think I can take another?'' Steven said uncertainly. 
 
 `` He says another!'' Confirmed the announcer. `` Send in the next opponent!'' 
 
 The crowd went wild. 

