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Description
body div#devskin0 hr { }

Every night for him had been a futile tussle of conflicting thoughts, preventing him from even a few moments of some peaceful rest. Yet, tonight was different. Perhaps it was his makeshift bed of sticky crimson, or maybe the dark void he stared in to. After all, with no light in the way and darkness blocking every pointless thought from entering his mind how was it not easy to fall asleep? He couldn't toss or turn either, his stiff body made that action impossible. To top it all off, he had just about given up with this whole life business.
The cold was surprisingly soothing to his torment, lulling him into an painless sleep. That's when his dramatic shivering stopped, his muscles have abandoned warming him. He begins breathing faster, his sense of peacefulness beginning to disappear. It has begun to get harder to breathe, his consumption of precious oxygen decreasing rapidly. The only thing besides the cold he feels now is the urge to urinate, which he's given into. As he uses his pants as his own personal bathroom, he begins to hear things that he hadn't before. Voices he doesn't recognize and the crackling of wood in a fire pit. He digs his nails into the ground, trying to move his limp and stiff limbs to try and reach the fire he heard. He remembers fire, yes, oh it would feel so nice right now. The warmth, it was what he needed.
With his pulse decreasing and exhaustion increasing, he felt it. It was slow at first, dull and barely noticeable, and in mere moments it hit him. It was hot. His skin was burning, cooking him from the inside out. Hot, oh so hot, and he needed to cool down. He didn't want the warmth anymore, oh God no, he didn't. His skin was turning pink, his blood vessels dilating too the point where it had produced an extreme sensation of heat and the only logical thing he could think to do was to peel every article of clothing off his dying body. After his clothing was removed, he began scratching at his skin and pulling at his hair. His stiff limbs seemed easier to move as he tried to cool down. He began pulling at his swollen and bloody eyelids, the work of Kristina.
When the sun had come up, the dying proxy's pulse had slowed to a stop. The cold had claimed yet another victim in the Oregon Project. The victim, his flesh scratched and covered in drying crimson, was glared at by a tall German proxy and her pet, a slightly shorter American crouching by her side. They took a couple more minutes of taking in the body before the taller of the two turned around. She had long awaited the death of the short, curly haired proxy. He'd caused too much trouble with her after he had killed Zacharie and gotten involved with Scout and her pitiful schemes.
"Can I eat?" The shorter proxy rasped, enjoying the stench of the new corpse and the dried blood it laid in. "So hungry."
"You've earned it, Tier." With the permission to indulge in her cannibalistic meal, the shorter proxy began to feast on the dark blue eyes of their victim, making disturbing sounds while doing so. Once finished with her breakfast she thanked the German proxy.
"Thank," She smiles, showing off her crimson teeth with pieces of eye stuck in them. "Wyatt taste delicious."

Description
body div#devskin0 hr { }

Every night for him had been a futile tussle of conflicting thoughts, preventing him from even a few moments of some peaceful rest. Yet, tonight was different. Perhaps it was his makeshift bed of sticky crimson, or maybe the dark void he stared in to. After all, with no light in the way and darkness blocking every pointless thought from entering his mind how was it not easy to fall asleep? He couldn't toss or turn either, his stiff body made that action impossible. To top it all off, he had just about given up with this whole life business.
The cold was surprisingly soothing to his torment, lulling him into an painless sleep. That's when his dramatic shivering stopped, his muscles have abandoned warming him. He begins breathing faster, his sense of peacefulness beginning to disappear. It has begun to get harder to breathe, his consumption of precious oxygen decreasing rapidly. The only thing besides the cold he feels now is the urge to urinate, which he's given into. As he uses his pants as his own personal bathroom, he begins to hear things that he hadn't before. Voices he doesn't recognize and the crackling of wood in a fire pit. He digs his nails into the ground, trying to move his limp and stiff limbs to try and reach the fire he heard. He remembers fire, yes, oh it would feel so nice right now. The warmth, it was what he needed.
With his pulse decreasing and exhaustion increasing, he felt it. It was slow at first, dull and barely noticeable, and in mere moments it hit him. It was hot. His skin was burning, cooking him from the inside out. Hot, oh so hot, and he needed to cool down. He didn't want the warmth anymore, oh God no, he didn't. His skin was turning pink, his blood vessels dilating too the point where it had produced an extreme sensation of heat and the only logical thing he could think to do was to peel every article of clothing off his dying body. After his clothing was removed, he began scratching at his skin and pulling at his hair. His stiff limbs seemed easier to move as he tried to cool down. He began pulling at his swollen and bloody eyelids, the work of Kristina.
When the sun had come up, the dying proxy's pulse had slowed to a stop. The cold had claimed yet another victim in the Oregon Project. The victim, his flesh scratched and covered in drying crimson, was glared at by a tall German proxy and her pet, a slightly shorter American crouching by her side. They took a couple more minutes of taking in the body before the taller of the two turned around. She had long awaited the death of the short, curly haired proxy. He'd caused too much trouble with her after he had killed Zacharie and gotten involved with Scout and her pitiful schemes.
"Can I eat?" The shorter proxy rasped, enjoying the stench of the new corpse and the dried blood it laid in. "So hungry."
"You've earned it, Tier." With the permission to indulge in her cannibalistic meal, the shorter proxy began to feast on the dark blue eyes of their victim, making disturbing sounds while doing so. Once finished with her breakfast she thanked the German proxy.
"Thank," She smiles, showing off her crimson teeth with pieces of eye stuck in them. "Wyatt taste delicious."