[ WP ] When you die , you do n't go to the afterlife of you 're religion , you go to the afterlife of the religion whose tenets you followed most closely , knowingly or not .

The city hums with life. The people oozing by like a faceless blob. 
 
 On good days I dive into the grime, and pull out society's cancerous refuse. Other days I acknowledge we've lost a member of blue. He crossed the line, and went dirty. There's no coming back once you're a crooked cop. 
 
.55. My birthday was only a few weeks away. Retirement teased me with daydreams of fishing out by my cabin, yet haunted me at the same time. As a child I was lucky to know my calling. As a man it defined me. My ex wives can attest to that. 
 
 I was framed. I never stole the drugs from evidence. I never fed info to the local dealers. What I did do, was take my trusty glock -and two decades of tactical experience- and visited those that dared tarnish my good name. 
 
 When I had taken out the crew in a whirling din of smoke, profanity and lead, I lay bleeding on the concrete of the ruined warehouse. 
 
 I did n't call it in. No point. The wall of blue had long since turned their back on me. Even the medics would surely be `` late'' to arrive. 
 
 This is how my final act played out, I thought. 
 
 I was surprised when I woke up here. This giant Hall, with many doors. Food of gluttonous proportions provided in mountains. Enough booz to make an alcoholic blush. Every day I join the legion of warriors to enact moments of glory. They did n't take kindly to me using my gun, so now I'm learning how to swing an axe. 
 
 Apparently this place is run by an old man, and his son. I picked up the son's hammer the other day: he was n't too pleased. I have a lot to learn, but it does n't help that I ca n't speak their language.
