As Jack stared up at the cold sky he felt his heart stop for a split-second. "What was that?" he wondered to himself. He put a hand to his chest, trying to feel his heartbeat, but his down was too thick. It was almost winter. He reached up and felt around his neck for a vein. Instead, he felt a wet gash. "Oh my!" he thought, and tried to stand up, an instinct even though it really wouldn't help. His hand was covered in blood. Something must have tried to eat him while he was passed out. The jerks who'd attacked him had left him to die, but he'd outsmarted them. His body was stronger than ever. Each wound simply strengthened his will to survive, even if it weakened his will to enjoy life. He felt a twitch in his brain. "Oops."