The air was cold.

He couldn't feel it, not necessarily, but Bon could tell. No telling what day it was. Hell, there wasn't even an indication as to what year it was. How long have they been stuck in there? A year–how about four or five?

There wasn't a whole lot of time to dwell on it all. Even in all of his expertise in the dead and what came after, he'd never expected nor anticipated what came when you inhabit a new vessel for so long. What was once his purely mechanical body became something in between.

Metallic eyes grew nerves, once metal teeth grew enamel, and by God could he somehow breathe. Bon had gotten used to just simply not having to breath. What oxygen was required when you were already dead and possessing a now old and decrepit animatronic?

And yet, through the faint flicker of moonlight slipping down the pines...the fogging of his own breath was unmistakable.

Standing over seven feet tall, one might have mistaken him for a bear standing on its hind legs. Oh but Bon was no bear, and arguably he was somewhat worse than the mammal. Well, he would be if he wasn't as lost as a newborn right now. What was at the forefront of Bon's mind right now was a simple question: How had he gotten out?

He knew the answer to that. Somebody had unlocked his cage door. But who?

What little moonlight that still remained from the passing clouds made his eyes shine. Like an animal Bon tilted his head at unnatural angles to try and find his next victim. He'd come to realize that at first many of his new family members were 'victims'.

They were beautiful now though, so there weren't any hard feelings.

Too bad he couldn't talk just yet. All that came out when he tried were strange gurgles, grunts, and whines. Seems his voice box hasn't turned entirely organic yet–or organic enough perhaps.

Now, where did his little savior run off to?