Un ange... ou presque

Terry Dean: I'm dead aren't I? Where the hell am I? You God?

God: You're not a religious man are you, Mr Dean?

Terry Dean: No but, I did plan to get very religious just before I died. You know, just in case.

God: Yes.

Terry Dean: Left it a bit late, didn't I?

God: Hmmm. Let me put it in language you'll understand. You're on probation, Mr Dean. Think of me as your probation officer.

Terry Dean: Probation officer? Sure.

God: I've been through your sheet, Mr Dean. You have a criminal record that started when you were nine years old.

Terry Dean: Yeah, well... I don't suppose I can lie to you, Sir.

God: You can try. You're almost a mystery. In your entire life you did nothing but take. Yet at the end you gave the noblest gift; you gave your life for another being.

Terry Dean: Well it seemed like the right thing to do at the time.

God: Rubbish! It was instinct. If you'd had time to think you wouldn't have done it. Nevertheless, your instinct has earned you another chance. Probation, Mr Dean.

Terry Dean: How does that work?

God: You will go back and dedicate yourself to helping others. Giving not taking. You will become an Angel of Mercy.

Terry Dean: An angel? Me?

God: Probationary. Strictly on a trial basis. You will not speak of this incident to anyone.

Terry Dean: Your honour, does this happen all the time when people get sent back to help out?

God: From time to time, worthy people are chosen to be Angels of Mercy. But these are difficult times, Mr Dean. In this century you're the first scumbag we've sent back.

Terry Dean: Scumbag? That's a bit much, isn't it? Scumbag?