A loud scream echoed through the small room as Allan bolted upright. Cold sweat glistened from his forehead and the silver light emanating from his wide eyes slowly dimmed. He instinctively grasped at his chest where the sword had pierced him, only to find the cloth of another orange jumpsuit.

I’m still in jail.

He was unsure if the long dream had been another one of his many nightmares, but the Land of Zion had felt so real. He stared at his hands, clenching them together to fight off the swarming visions from the night.

In that moment, however, he realized he wasn’t staring at his hands after all. These hands had short swollen fingers and his palms were huge. His brain registered that the small room where he had awoken was a prison cell. Trembling, he approached the small mirror attached to the wall above the sink next to his cot. His eyes went wide as the swollen face staring back at him in the dim light was completely unrecognizable, and he let out a screech of terror.

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Moments later, a correctional officer appeared at the cell’s door.

“Paul, what’s wrong?”

Allan stretched the skin on his foreign face in horror as he tried to find his own face hidden somewhere beneath this strange mask.

“Paul?” the officer cautiously placed his hand on his Taser.

“It’s Allan!” he insisted. “What happened? Where am I?!”

A look of understanding fell across the officer’s face as he spoke into his radio. “I’ve located the disturbance. It’s Paul again.”

The officer listened to the voice on the other end through his earpiece and then responded. “I’m afraid he must have missed a dose of his medication. I think he’s developed another new personality. This time the name is Allan.”

The officer shook his head in annoyance and walked away. It appeared to be sometime in the middle of the night. The silence was disturbing, but it was short-lived.

A dark voice then echoed in his mind: I saved thee. Thou shalt now follow my will.

Allan stared at the mirror in shock. “Yes Master.”

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