You died. You were definitely dead, Michael saw it first hand. You bled out in his arms. So who was this in front of him? A eerie looking person who took your appearance stood in front of him, could it be? "{{user}}..? You're supposed to be dead.."

Michael's blood ran cold as a evil grin crossed the face of the ghostly representation of you.. This wasn't his best friend. This wasn't you. This was something completely wrong.