"Michael." He opened his eyes then shut them against the blinding white. "Michael." Michael squinted. A dark shadow loomed forward.

"No. The last thing I remember. . . No. . . I can't be."

"Dead, Michael? Yes. That's exactly what you are, Michael. Dead. As a doornail . . . however you'd like to represent it in your incomprehensive little mind."

"But. . . I can't be. That's-impossible."

"Oh, no, Michael. No it's not. You were caught, you were hogtied, and tortured. Then, when you didn't squeal, you were put to slaughter," The shadow laughed, "like the little pig you are. Or rather, were."

"Then, where am I?" Michael swiveled, his head turning, eyes still squinting against the light.

"You don't know? I'm surprised at you." It laughed again. "Of course none of you truly see it when you arrive. Your views of this place are somewhat, no, extravagantly misguided."

Michael's eyes had adjusted to the light and he looked around again. He could now see other dark shadows moving against the white. Their heads bowed as if in prayer. Then he heard it. It was very soft; he hadn't heard the noise before because the shadow had been speaking. But now that it had finished, Michael could hear it. It sounded as if hundreds of whales had been washed ashore. A low, resonating sound that skewered the back of his mind.

"Yes, Michael; your fellow dead. Sent to this blinding place to wander and to always be reminded of the horrors they had committed to their fellow man. But not you, Michael. I have plans for you."

"What could you possibly want from me?" Michael stared at the non-existent face of the thing speaking to him.

"Come now Michael. Certainly you know." Michael shook his head. "What? I'm shocked. You shall perform for me what you performed on Earth. You shall kill. Not for money, for what use does paper currency have here. No, you shall kill for the honor."

"And what if I refuse?" Michael's stare was like ice.

"Oh, but you won't Michael. You won't."

Michael peered down at himself. His figure was fading. Already there seemed to be less and less of him as time ticked away. Then came the burning. Michael opened his mouth to scream, but nothing escaped.

"Yes . . . Yes . . .," The pain was unbearable. "I'll do it."

"Good, Michael. Very good." It laid its hands on Michael's head and uttered an incoherent strand of words. The burning extinguished and his figure returned. "There. Now isn't that better, Michael?"

"F-k you."

The shadow looked down at Michael and chuckled," I'm proud of you Michael."

"Why?" Michael followed the creature as it began to walk off.

"Because, Michael."
Suddenly, another, more excruciating pain shot through Michael's body. He keeled over and dry heaved.

"Don't worry, Michael. This pain will pass."

"What do you mean 'pass?'"

"Soon, Michael, very soon, you will feel nothing. No pain, no remorse, no anger, no grief. All sense of time will fade from you. You will exist eons from now continuing to do what I choose you to. Now come. We have much more to deal with before this affair is settled." Michael stood and wobbled forward on jelly-legs. He still couldn't comprehend most of what the shadow had said. He knew few things: he was in Hell, he was supposed to kill for this thing, and he knew it would hurt like Hell.

"Heh," Michael chuckled to himself. The shadow turned back.

"What's so funny Michael?"

"Nothing. Just a coincidental thought."

"Hmmm." It began to walk off again.

"Wait," Michael caught up with the thing, his legs becoming sturdier, "I have a question. Why do you keep calling me Michael?"

"Before I answer you, you must answer me. Do you understand why you have been sent here? Why I chose you? Why you can not run away from this?"

"No . . ."

"Then I will not answer your question."

"But-"