Post by todd on Oct 20, 2009 9:43:37 GMT -5
Small blades rotate in a circular motion inside his mask. Traction with the mask's internals creating a low toned scratching sound as the blades move. The mask was a necessity for it kept Jack alive. A few moments breathing in the cold air on the other side would kill him. Leave him sprawled across the snowy ground gasping for his life breathe. His lungs were sensitive and they would only accept the toasty warm air that could be offered indoors. He remembered the day which struck him with this ailment. Falling into the icy cold water, instantly his body went numb. Drastically he tried to reach the fishing ship but the waters were too strong. Colder, colder, things were beginning to get fuzzy.
Suddenly he was fished back onto the deck, gasping for that life breathe as he went into shock. His fellow fisherman covered him with a blanket, took him below deck to where it was warm. He owed them his life, if not for them he'd be lost at sea. Meal to some fishes and scavenger crabs, his body covered in barnacles. The air below the deck felt so hot. However, his body was so very cold. He could not feel the warmth, he could not feel his legs, nor could he feel his arms, or any other part of his body. Somehow there was pain, a numbing pain which he could not explain. He curled up in a ball on the hard wood floor, no amount of warmth could help him, only time.
The only refrain from the spinning sound inside the mask was the abrupt release of air. Best pictured as two jets of steam shooting out from either side of Jack's mask. What would it be like if he took off his mask, just for a second, could he build himself up again so that he wouldn't need it? All he had was time to think about this thing. He was waiting, hunting, it was his job to lay there in the snow with his rifle at hand. Such a profession left you with lots of time to think about things. Hoping that the creature to which he was commissioned to kill would take the meat trap. Drugged meat that would slow the beast down in case Jack would miss his shot. It was a killer, worse yet made home to the Dark District. Jack was an Angel, he specialized in the containment of dangerous animals for public safety. He took pride in his work, he would not miss the shot.
Suddenly he was fished back onto the deck, gasping for that life breathe as he went into shock. His fellow fisherman covered him with a blanket, took him below deck to where it was warm. He owed them his life, if not for them he'd be lost at sea. Meal to some fishes and scavenger crabs, his body covered in barnacles. The air below the deck felt so hot. However, his body was so very cold. He could not feel the warmth, he could not feel his legs, nor could he feel his arms, or any other part of his body. Somehow there was pain, a numbing pain which he could not explain. He curled up in a ball on the hard wood floor, no amount of warmth could help him, only time.
The only refrain from the spinning sound inside the mask was the abrupt release of air. Best pictured as two jets of steam shooting out from either side of Jack's mask. What would it be like if he took off his mask, just for a second, could he build himself up again so that he wouldn't need it? All he had was time to think about this thing. He was waiting, hunting, it was his job to lay there in the snow with his rifle at hand. Such a profession left you with lots of time to think about things. Hoping that the creature to which he was commissioned to kill would take the meat trap. Drugged meat that would slow the beast down in case Jack would miss his shot. It was a killer, worse yet made home to the Dark District. Jack was an Angel, he specialized in the containment of dangerous animals for public safety. He took pride in his work, he would not miss the shot.