“Mike Ray Thompson, before the sentence is carried out, do you have any final words?”

Encased within a glass chamber, a salt and pepper-haired fellow was strapped to a wooden chair with a metallic crown decorating his temple. A dozen or so spectators were present for his execution– most of whom were family members of his victims. He’d killed eleven men, all of whom were college students at a local university.

None but the killer himself knew why the deed had been done. Upon questioning, he’d simply answer with a shrug or say, “It’s ‘cause I felt like it.” Regardless of his motives, he was found guilty and sentenced to death, though he couldn’t give two shits about the verdict, as he’d put it.

The families of his victims watched anxiously; awaiting those final words of his— just wondering what this foul excuse for a human being had to say for himself. Would he beg for his life? For forgiveness? Perhaps even apologize for the trauma he’d placed on these families. Maybe then they could finally move on with their lives.

Yet, his final words wouldn’t grant them such comfort.

“Fuck you.”

The chair’s operator scoffed at the murderer, and one of the audience members yelled, “Go to hell!” as the operator placed his hand on a lever just outside the glass chamber. This compelled the others to begin shouting curses at the killer, who then laughed at their faces as if he had just told the funniest joke on Earth. “I’ll see you all there!” he rebutted, and as those words left his lips, the lever was pulled.

Meanwhile, across the country, Michael Ray Thompson, a young, auburn-skinned man who shared the same name as the cold-blooded killer, was seen driving with pop music blasting and his windows down. It was just before noon, just before three o’clock in the afternoon had he been on the East Coast; it was the exact time of Mike Ray Thompson's execution.

Michael lived about as much of a normal life as one could live. He’d just graduated from college just a year prior and was a salaryman, working at a tech startup company as a software engineer. He had a stable friend group, an okay relationship with his parents, and a love for video games that was a borderline addiction. The only thing missing in his life at this point was a girlfriend in his passenger seat, one he told himself that he oh-so-desperately needed; but as he always told himself, “Good things come to those who wait!”

Unfortunately, that hypothetical relationship with his future girlfriend would never come to exist. As fate would have it, the moment the lever that killed Mike Ray Thompson three thousand miles away was pulled, Michael Ray Thompson was struck by a stolen SUV, killing him before he could hardly register what happened.

-Michael-

As if he’d awoken from a bad dream, Michael’s eyes shot open and he drew in one harsh breath. His vision was blurred, and his body felt as if he’d just emerged from ice water. The cruel air around him was so cold, that he could see the vapor from his sharp breaths escaping between his dry lips.

“Where am I?” he whispered. He felt as if he were ten feet tall; but in reality, he was nailed to a cross and was suspended a few feet off of the ground.

Where the hell…

A voice, one foreign to Michael, could be heard as if it came from the interior of his skull. It was as loud as an intrusive thought, perhaps even louder, and the voice was definitely not his own. It sounded like a hardened, middle-aged man’s, a far cry from his young, meek voice.

“Hello?!” Michael called out, his eyes exploring his surroundings frantically. However, there was no one else inside of the nearly pitch-black prison cell he found himself in. The only sounds he could hear were the clanging of the metal chains that dangled from the ceiling as the chilling breeze snuck through the cell's crevasses, forcing the chains to sway. The air reeked of rotten flesh, though Michael was unsure if it was the cell that smelled that way or his body, which was completely transformed.

Michael's arms and legs were blackened as if he’d been seared by a grill. His veins were visible through his charred limbs, looking more like tubes filled with lava that flowed through his body. He couldn’t see his new body in its entirety, yet he could sense that he was living in an entirely new body. Unknown to him, his hair turned white and a pair of black horns had sprouted from the top of his skull. His unfocused eyes gleamed with a crimson hue and his teeth were sharp like a beast’s.

“What happened to my arm?”

What happened to my arm?

Michael and the voice in his head raised the exact same question simultaneously.

The voice in Michael’s head changed from groggy to aggressive.

Your arm?

“I don’t understand... Where are you!?” Michael’s eyes still searched his surroundings, but he was all alone in the cell, despite hearing the presence of another man.

I’m the one hanging from the cross.

Michael’s brows crinkled. “But… I’m the one hanging from the cross…”

Not funny, kid. Just wait until I can move my body...

‘Wait until what?' Michael thought. 'If he thinks he’s the one on the cross and he can’t move HIS body then that means…’

“Wait a second… How many fingers are you holding up?” Michael asked as he held up two fingers using his blackened and clawed left hand.

Two... but I didn't move a muscle.

“Oh, shit…” Michael was the wittier of the two, almost instantly coming up with a theory of his own. It was with this theory that he realized how dire the situation was. This voice he was hearing was another man trapped inside of his brain! However, he was glad that his previous theory of him having gone completely insane was looking less likely.

“Don’t panic, but I think you and I might be inside of the same body.” Michael braced himself as if any sort of preparation would lessen the blow of the booming voice that resided inside his brain.

What!? That doesn’t even make any sense! Are you fucking with me!?

“N-no! I swear! Look, look! I’ll hold up four fingers.” As he said he would, Michael showed four fingers to the man inside his head.

Why the hell do YOU get to control MY body?

“I- I don’t know, dude! The last thing I remembered was that I got in a car accident. The next thing I know, I’m in here.”

That's right...

“What, do you remember something?”

The last thing I remember...is that I was executed. If you died in that car accident, then you and I are–

“In the afterlife!”

In HELL, you dimwit! We’re in HELL!

For a moment, Michael was appalled. He sort of sneered at first before shaking his head in disbelief. “No… No, no, no. You see, I was baptized as a child and I used to go to church every once in a while. I’m definitely NOT in Hell.” Michael chuckled at the absurdity of it all. “How could someone like me go to hell? I’m a saint! I even gave a dollar to that homeless dude last week. That alone should’ve scored me front-row seats to a Michael Jackson concert in heaven! This is just one big nightmare and I’ll wake up right about…now!”

Michael did not wake up.

I hate to break it to you kid, but you and I are not in a dream or the good afterlife. Trust me on that one. I’m as far away from a devout Christian as one can be.

Even with all of the evidence laid out in front of him, Michael still refused to face reality. “Well, I heard God is a forgiving guy. I’m sure whatever it was that you did, it couldn’t have been that bad.”

Do you wanna know why I was executed?

“Why?”

I killed eleven men.

“Oh my God that’s terrible.”

Eh. They deserved it.

Michael still refused to believe his dire circumstances, shaking his head as he spoke. “Well, this has to be some sort of mistake! There’s no way I belong here with you! I haven’t killed anyone. I haven’t even been in a fight before!”

Sorry, kid. Looks like you believed in the wrong religion. Should’ve banked on Catholicism or somethin’.

“That’s not how this works… Right?”

You askin' me? How am I s'posed to know?

“I can’t believe I'm in Hell…. Why, God!? Why!?” Tears started falling down Michael’s face. That voice inside of his head was silent as he wept, only to chime in once Michael started crying hysterically, sounding like a child who had their candy taken from them.

If you’re just gonna whine like a little bitch, then give me control of the body.

Michael sniffled and dabbed away his tears by patting his cheek on his shoulder. “Can I even do that?”

Do I look like the Hell Encyclopedia to you, kid?

“Right, why am I asking you? You’re just a voice in my head.”

This ‘voice in your head’ ain't just a voice, it's a man and that man's name is Mike.

Michael immediately stopped his whimpering and his eyebrows scrunched once more. “Mike? As in Michael? We have the same name! So then it’s your fault! They must’ve got our names mixed up!

That’s stupid. You think God, or whoever, doesn’t know the difference between two different Michaels? Besides, I’m sure we have different last names anyway.

“Well, what’s your last name?”

Thompson.

Immediately, Michael could feel a pit forming in his stomach. They shared not only the same first name but the same last name as well. “Do you have a middle name…”

Ray…

“WE HAVE THE EXACT SAME NAME! ITS ALL YOUR FAULT! GOD THINKS WE’RE THE SAME GUY!” Michael raising his voice only triggered Mike to then raise his and the two found themselves engaging in a screaming match.

My fault!? You're the DOLT who died in a car accident! A car accident! Look where you're driving next time!

"I was looking! I was T-boned! Look where you're stabbing next time and maybe you won't get executed!"

WRONG! I shot most of 'em.

Michael didn't even know what to say in reaction to this, squinting his eyes and shaking his head. "You say that like it makes it better."

Made it easier.

"Why did fate pair me up with a senile old man..." Michael whispered to himself as if Mike couldn't hear him.

I'm not even close to senile or old. I'm not gonna ask you again, kid. Give me control of the body.

“I DON’T KNOW HOW!” Michael lost his temper and leaned forward, tugging on those nails that kept him in place on the cross. He wasn’t sure how he did it, but suddenly, he relinquished control of his body. He watched as the mysterious man who was once just a voice in his head moved his fingers and looked around the room.