Shaun Reaper

"What are you fighting for?"
Someone once asked me. I didn't hesitate in answering.
"Everyone!"
I yelled. That was much later in life, a couple years, almost exactly, after I died.

Blinding light filled my blury eyes as I slowly opened them. I was lying down on the the floor of a completely white room that spread up further than I could see. The whiteness lead into a dark oblivion. I stood and traced my surroundings, taking everything in. There was a small square indent where I was standing, and stairs on all fours sides traveling up a few inches. I followed the steps, and across the enormous room. It was as if it were built for giants.
"Shaun Mitchell."
A dark, sinister voice echoed. I spun around, and the room had changed. The indents and stairs were gone. A column stretched up a couple feet from the white floor. Standing next to the column was a man, covered with a black coat that rippled at the bottom. A hood extended and covered his face, but two red eyes glared at me. I felt beads of sweat start to fall down my face one by one as I remained in my position, frozen with fear.
"Wh-What are y-you?"
I studdered, nearly unable to let the words flow out.