Jake Peralta opened his dark brown eyes.

He gazed at the white wall in front of him, blank save for a sentence written in a large, smooth green font.

'Welcome! Everything Is Fine.'

As he read it, a sense of calm went through him. He knew that this was strange. He knewthat he should be suspicious. He was a detective for god's sake. His brain was telling him to get up, to pull out his gun and look around. He didn't know where he was. He didn't remember how he got there. But, for some strange, unforeseen reason, he knew he was safe.

He was sitting down on a white couch. It was the only thing in the room, except for a brown coffee table in front of him, holding a few magazines all by TIME and National Geographic. The walls were all white and the carpet was dark grey.

He was wearing sneakers, blue jeans, a button-down plaid shirt and a grey hoodie. It was a typical Jake Peralta attire… but he didn't remember putting it on.

A door to his left opened and he tore his eyes away from the words. In the doorway stood a man. He was tall and bald. He had dark brown skin and wore a blue police captain's uniform. He regarded Jake for a moment before speaking.

"Jacob, please, come in."

He stepped back through the door, leaving it open for Jake. Jake stood and followed.

Inside was an office. Shelves at the back, filled with books and files, with a desk in front of it, and a black couch against the wall next to the door. Everything seemed to be in meticulous order.

"Shut the door behind you and take a seat." The man said, motioning towards the chair on the side of his desk closest to Jake. He had already taken a seat on a roly-chair on the opposite side and had taken his police cap off and placed it off to the side on his desk.

Jake sat down.

"My name is Captain Raymond Holt." The man said. His tone and expression had not changed in the whole time Jake had seen him. He reached over the table and held out his hand for Jake to shake.

"Jake… Peralta." Jake said slowly, shaking his hand.

Holt shifted in his chair and began sorting through some papers on his desk.

"Can I just ask…?" Jake began, making Holt look up at him. "Where am I?"

"Oh, yes… you, Jacob Peralta, are dead. You are now in the next phase of your existence."

Jake stared, as though he was trying to make sure he wasn't dreaming.

"Cool… cool, cool, cool, cool, cool." Jake muttered. He took a deep breath. "I have some questions."

"Yes… that is… typical." Holt leaned forward in his chair, resting his forearms against the desk, fingers interlocking to show he was ready.

"How did I die?"

"Ah, let's see," Holt picked up a file sitting in front of him and leafed over it to the correct page. "You were the first responder to a hostage situation at a bank. A group of terrorists had taken half a dozen civilians hostage and were demanding several million dollars plus what they had taken from the vaults. You managed to get inside before they locked down the place and managed to take down many of the terrorists before you found the hostages. As reinforcements entered the bank, the final terrorist attempted to shoot the hostages. You jumped in front of the bullet and saved their lives."

Jake stared slack-jawed at Holt, completely in awe of himself. "So," He said slowly, barely hiding his grin. "You could say I was kind of like John McClain from Die Hard."

Holt stared at him. "… Yes?"

Jake snapped his fingers in triumph.

Holt continued. "You were awarded a posthumous Medal of Valour. Sometimes traumatic memories are removed after death to allow for a peaceful transition, which is why you do not remember."

Jake nodded slowly, his mouth turning to a smug smirk. He leaned back in his chair, grinning to himself.

Holt chose to ignore his grins and continued looking though the papers in front of him.

"Wait a second…" As if he had suddenly been struck by a terrible though, Jake froze, his eyes darting around his sockets. He leaned forward, suspicious. "Where am I? Heaven or Hell?"

Holt sighed and covertly rolled his eyes. "There is no 'Heaven' or 'Hell' as you were typically raised to believe. No religion was completely correct about the afterlife, they all guessed about five percent correct."

Jake nodded slowly, still suspicious.

"When you die you either go to The Good Place or The Bad Place. You are in The Good Place."

Jake let out a breath, relieved. He grinned. "Great."

Holt stood up. "Let me show you around."

Holt walked out of the room before Jake could even stand up. Jake jogged to catch up as they walked through the waiting room and out of the building.

There were standing in the middle of a street in what was obviously a city. Food vendors selling every different type of street food lined the pavement. The buildings were brick and tall. People walked around, pointing at stores and sights. Jake felt frozen looking around at it. He felt as though he had been here before. It looked like Brooklyn.

It looked like home.

He turned to Holt. "It this Brooklyn?"

"No… and yes. This neighbourhood is tailored to the three hundred and twenty two people who live here. And it just so happened that their preference is … Brooklyn."

"Noice." Jake smiled. Now that he looked properly, the street didn't look that much like a Brooklyn street, but it felt like it. It was too colourful, not grey and dirty like a Brooklyn street. The buildings had signed above the doors, but instead of having 'Library' or 'Tech Store' they had names such as 'Your Anticipated Needs' and 'Small, Adorable Animal Depot'. There were big, blooming, green bushes in front of the buildings dotted with bright flowers and each window along the buildings had an overflowing window sill full of flowers. The sky was a bright baby blue dotted with the occasional white, fluffy cloud. The air was clear and fresh, with so smell of emissions or pollution that he had gotten so used to living in Brooklyn his whole life.

There were no cars on the street, and it wasn't made of asphalt or gravel like a normal road, it was made of dark grey bricks in a criss-cross pattern. In front of each food vendor was a set of several circular metal tables with three metal chairs accompanying it, with colourful pillows sitting plumply on each one.

"Come," Holt said, pointing Jake towards a big flat of grass at the end of the street holding a few hundred chairs and what looked like a giant screen floating mid-air in front of them. It seemed to be the beginning of a park. Jake could see stretches of trees and grass in the distance, and even the hint of a lake. "The presentation is about to begin."

All the other people in the street appeared to be walking towards the seats as well. Jake turned towards Holt to ask him a question, only to see that he had completely disappeared. Jake furrowed his eyebrows, took a deep breath and went over to the chairs. By the time he got there, most of the seats were taken, but he managed to find a chair in the middle off to the side.

Next to him was a short and slightly stout middle-aged man with dark hair, pinkish skin and a strangely boyish face. He leaned towards Jake, giving him his hand to shake.

"I'm Charles Boyle." He said and they shook hands. Charles grinned.

"Jake, Jake Peralta."

Holt appeared on the screen, making them end whatever conversation they were about to have and look towards the front.

"Hello everyone." He said in the bland tone he seemed to use every time he spoke. "Welcome to the Good Place. You were all, simply to put it, good people. I can imagine you're wondering, 'How can we be sure of that?' While you were on earth, every one of your actions had a positive or negative value. When you died, all the points you had during your time on earth is combined. Only the people with the highest scores get into the Good Place. You are here because you lived the best possible life you could have. And… you won't be alone. You're true soulmate is also here."

A sharp intake came from the crowd. They all looked around, scanning the crowd for 'The One'. Jake held his breath and looked around nervously. He had a soulmate?Soulmates were real? His locked eyes from a moment with a woman sitting two rows back with light, straight, brown hair and pale, rosy skin and another woman with a head full of dark, black, wild curls and a mean scowl. He turned to the front again, feeling slightly sick. Thankfully, Holt started talking again.

"Welcome to the Good Place. You all deserve to be here. Have a great day. Have a great afterlife."

The crowd started clapping. Jake joined in, ignoring the strange sinking feeling in his stomach.

A few minutes later, Jake found himself walking with Holt through a suburban estate area. It was almost stereotypical: white picket fences, large backyards, perfectly green trees and grass. People stood in the streets talking to each other, in the yards, in the windows. The sun shone lazily through the thick roof of pale green leaves that stretched over the street. Holt guided Jake to a house at the end of the street.

"This is yours."

Jake stared at the house. It was two stories with a large front yard and fence up to his chest. It had a front porch with chairs and a table. It was perfect. He felt as though every part of it had been perfectly tailored to him.

He'd never owned a house before, only ever rented apartments. He'd always wanted to have a house, but had never gotten around to it while he was alive. It was his dream; to have a place of his own without a landlord demanding the rent or refusing to fix the broken plumbing, without sex noises from the couple upstairs or the sound of the man down the hallway learning to play his oboe at four in the morning.

"It's mine." Jake breathed.

"Yes…" Holt said slowly, as though he was wondering whether or not Jake had heard him in the first place.

Jake stepped through the front gate and strode up the concrete footpath, determined to see his house. His hand was on the doorknob when-

"Peralta," Holt called from where he was still standing on the other side of the fence.

Jake took a deep, frustrated breath and turned. "Yes, Captain?"

"Come here. I'd like you to meet someone."

Jake exhaled through his nose and strode (nearly stomped) back down the path. He just wanted to see his house. What was the point of having a house suited perfectly to him if he could never go in? He didn't go back through the gate, instead choosing to stand, leaning over the fence.

Holt looked over to the other side of the street where two women were talking. One of them, Jake recognised as one of the women he locked eyes with at the presentation, the women with black curls and a stern face. Jake didn't know the other. She had her back to him so all he could see was straight brown hair past her shoulders.

"Santiago!" Holt called.

The woman with straight hair turned, said goodbye to the woman she was talking to and walked over, barely containing the excitement on her face of being specially singled out by Holt.

"Captain," She said when she arrived at them. "What can I do for you?" She didn't even acknowledge Jake.

"Amy Santiago," Said Holt. "I would like to introduce you to Jake Peralta."

Amy froze and ran her eyes over him, mouth slightly agape. He couldn't help do the same. She recovered quickly and gave him a small smile.

"Jake Peralta, my name is Amy Santiago and I am your soulmate."