A cold wind blows. Cultures planet-wide had a fear of death, and a sense of mystery and curiousity of the world that waits afterward. Some believe in a guardian God, a shepherd welcoming home the souls of his flock. Some believe in a hateful one, who punishes all equally despite the sins and joys of life. And some believe that the dead remain on earth, watching, guiding, and sometimes… Haunting.
It was a blistering-cold night. Haven was a world away from the desert that surrounded it, but it was still subject to desert weather, and that meant that at night, even in the underground headquarters, the thin blankets were hardly enough to stave off the frost. Jak shivered, tossing and turning, and glaring at his little orange friend, blissfully unaware clad in his own fur coat. Jak tossed the blanket off, frustrated, and pulled on instead a tattered leather coat slung over a chair at his bedside. Pulling his hands through the sleeves, he brought them to his face and slowly breathed onto them, rubbing the frozen breath together before the moisture wicked away what remaining heat he had left. Passing a few other underground agents, he reached into a pocket and pulled out a pack of smokes, heading for the door out.
Rather than open the door automatically, which would have made a loud noise and woken up every agent in the underground building, Jak left the machine off and slowly pushed the heavy metal aside, pulling it closed behind him, and ascended the stairs. The air was stagnant and stale in this in-between passage, caused by the airtight doors. Jak placed an unlit cigarette to his lips, dangling it precariously from his only faintly damp lips, the paper clinging to his soft, feminine lips.
As he shoved the outer door aside, a wave of cold air assailed the hero, almost blowing the cigarette from his lips, and fusing his eyelids together with frost. Rubbing his eyes both from sleep and discomfort, he reached behind him, and dragged the sliding door shut, leaning against it exhaustively. Pulling his goggles down and opening his eyes, Jak reached in his pocket and pulled out a match-stick, striking it against the tough Yakow leather and holding the flame against the end of his cig quickly, as though afraid the cold would freeze even the flame.
He breathed deep, sighing as the warmth from the cigarette seemed to spread like green eco through his veins. The tips of his ears went numb from the cold and Jak absently rubbed them with one hand as he held the cigarette in the other, watching the quiet buildings in the dark. No one goes outside at night in this city, both from fear of violating the Krimzon curfew and from fear of the biting desert night Jak braved in order to enjoy the warmth of a cig. He normally didn't smoke, but on nights like this, the immediate warmth was more of a comfort than most of his friends. Ever since Erol killed himself on his accidentally suicidal attempt at Jak's life, everyone, even Torn, was under the impression that he, Jake was guilty for causing the psychodic bastard's death.
"Why I would feel sorry for that sick rapist is beyond my fathoming." Jak took another drag from the cig, twisting the soft cartilage of his eartip. He chewed the bit of the cig irritatedly and tossed the half-done square underfoot. Letting the smoke drift away, he watched it freeze and float, floating skyward, twisting and changing shape. Whisping like the form of a ghost...
"Oh I don't know… I think we were quite close at one point wouldn't you agree?"
Impossible.
That person didn't exist. Its just a trick of the mind. I'm still asleep and having a nightmare. I'm falling to mind-tricks because of the lack of sleep from the past few days. Dead people don't talk, and they certainly don't talk to him, who has killed so many and seen so many die.
"There are far more impossible things in the world Jak." The name pierces him like no one else could say it. That voice made a name into an insult. Jak flinches, closes his eyes and turns to the door, reaching to open it. "Certainly more impossible than a man with unfinished business attending to it." Shivers ran down Jaks spine, as sensations of a barely present hand caressed his cheek. He was pushed against the wall, and turned as soon as he was struck, his cheek red but thankfully, his time outside made him cool enough to avoid rending warm flesh to the cold wall.
"WHO'S THERE?!" Jak screamed to the empty street, his eyes wildly searching. Hands reached desperately and pulled his goggles down to his neck, Fear laced through his being, more irrational fear than he had ever felt. He was returned to years past, to a time when a mere voice was enough to bring him to tears…
"You make me sad Jak… Can't you recognize the voice of your former lover?" A cruel drawl invades into him, a memory of a man who made his life a living hell. Jak opened the door violently, closing it sloppily behind him, and raced down the staired hall, almost forgetting to open and close the door silently. Breathing heavily, Jak slid to the floor, covering his head with his knees and wrapping his arms tight around himself. It was still late. He had only been outside a few minutes. It was just a flashback, perhaps a memory, or a hallucination: A manifestation of a fear for a man who no longer existed in this world and on this plane.
