[ 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 .

The words “ FINAL ROUND ” scrolled across the bright marquee hanging from the ceiling of the arena, and the crowd became abruptly silent, the echoes of the last cheer reverberating against the walls. The lone man in the corner held a hunting rifle, but was otherwise unequipped for hunting, dressed only in streetclothes: a faded t-shirt, sneakers that were probably once white. He looked up and saw his opponent, made out a figure in the opposing corner. 
 
 His body stiffened. In the opposing corner was himself. Another version of himself, like the one he saw in the mirror when he brushed his teeth ( in his living moments ), but this time not flipped. The man thought of how, looking at pictures of himself, there had always been a moment of misrecognition: No, I part my hair the other way; my mole is on my left ear. Breaking the faraway standoff, the doppelganger moved forward in a slow walk, rifle in hand, but not at the ready. 
 
 The man raised his weapon at the advance, but could not get his hands to stay still. It was like the first time his father let him hold a gun on a hunting trip. His father taught him gun safety, how to hold a rifle, how to wait for a deer, and shoot. Without his father here to steady his aim, he struggled to keep the grip from slipping. 
 
 When the doppelganger was within comfortable speaking range, he smiled, and spoke for the first time. “ You ’ re shaking. ” 
 
 The man replied, “ Shouldn ’ t you have your gun up? I ’ m go—I ’ m going to try to kill you. ” 
 
 “ Are you, now? ” The copy snickered. “ I thought we were going to do a duet or something. Just like in colour guard at Davidson? Except you ’ d have someone to actually do a duet with this time ‘ round. We didn ’ t have the best of luck with finding partners, now did we? ” He twirled the rifle around a bit. 
 
 The man kept staring, unmoving from his corner, kept holding up his rifle half-ready to shoot. “ Stop it. I ’ m pointing a gun at you. How can you be joking when someone ’ s pointing a rifle at you like this? How can you be calm in a situation like this? ” 
 
 “ It ’ s ‘ cause I know you don ’ t have the balls to pull the trigger. I ’ m you, remember? ” 
 
 The man flinched. 
 
 “ You only got that exterminator job because the boss owed your family. That little voice in your head that you think people don ’ t hear? You vocalise everything it says; it ’ s because you talk to yourself on the train that people give you the side-eye. You ’ re just too stupid to figure it out. I know everything that you do and more. And I know I won ’ t need this. ” The doppelganger dropped his rifle on the floor. It clattered for a bit before coming to rest shortly, the loudest sound since the match started. 
 
 The man ’ s eyes widened, and he took a step back, but his copy just took two steps forward. 
 
 “ You hardly deserved to live and you hardly deserved to die. You fail at everything. Remember the time you laughed at that guy because you thought he was joking when he said he was going into modelling? Or the time you choked in front of your fifth grade class when you were giving a speech about how cake was better than pie? How about the time you tried to kill yourself the second time and failed? Thought about turning around, going back to video games and pizza and whoops! Slipped on the fucking railing. Did it hurt when you hit the ground? Or did it hurt more when you realised that no one could save you now? I bet you were calling his name as you— ” 
 
 A rifle fired. The gunshot seemed louder than normal in the spacious arena, now quiet again; ears strained to listen, and necks craned to see what was happening between the two men in the corner, what the outcome would be. 
 
 “ Wow. You couldn ’ t even shoot a guy if he was standing two feet away, huh? ” 
 The man closer to the centre of the arena punched the farther one in the chest, causing him to fall to the floor, dropping his gun on the way down. The one still standing rubbed his knuckles on his shirt. 
 
 The man on the floor felt the wind get knocked out of him, and had only managed to recover enough to prop himself up on one arm before the clone pushed him down again with the sole of his sneaker. 
 
 “ Does this seem familiar? ” The copy forcefully brought his foot down on the man ’ s ribcage. 
 
 “ Did you scream like a girl? ” He kicked the crumpled man from the side. 
 
 “ Did he call you faggot? ” Kick. 
 
 “ Poofter? ” Kick. 
 
 “ Fairy? ” Kick. 
 
 The man on the floor coughed and wheezed, felt drops of something warm on his forearm. 
 
 The man above him paused, breathing raggedly and standing above his victim, before bending down to turn him so that they were face-to-face, and choking him, snuffing out what life was left. He offered little resistance, pawing weakly at the hands around his neck before falling limp. 
 
 The man took his hands off the corpse ’ s neck and watched as the body faded away like those of the insects and game before it, then looked up to see confetti falling from somewhere above, like light rain.
