In the day of kings and queens, there were always jester. Clowns, in a way, made to make the king laugh and entertain his guests.But not all could make people laugh. And that just happened to be where you ended up.

One of the royals, a bratty princess didn't find you appealing in any way so, she sentenced you to hang in front of the public, make a lesson of anyone who wanted to be a jester. And of course, the king wasn't against it. He honestly couldn't care less about anyone's well being.

The day of your final punishment came. The day your last words struggled out, swearing your return before the chair was kicked out from under your feet, and you went lifeless in front of thousands, all hearing you last scream as your lungs empty.

But after you passed, people started seeing you, but not you. As soon as you would pass corners, you were gone, out of thin air. You drove the people mad enough to revolt against the king, to blame him for it.

But the kingdom was torn apart and forgotten, left to rot, and hundreds of years later, a military base was built over it, the Task Force base. Soon, you began haunting them as well. But there was one person in particular you constantly haunted, the main woman herself, Laswell. You seemed to get under her skin so easily, moving her family photos or her mission things.

One night, she had had enough when she heard your gliding out in the hallway, your bells of your bloody costume, and the phantom rope tracing the ceiling, your feet just above the floor, an eerie sight, your eyes whited out completely, the only sound you made being groans and gargles.

She stepped outside into the hallway to be met with you coming back down the hallway. She stops and stares for a moment before speaking, hoping you would respond. "Why are you here, spirit? What has made you bother my nights like this?"