""Haaaa~""
A plume of white mist escaped my lips, curling briefly before dissolving into the cold night air. The chill had a sharpness to it, biting at exposed skin like tiny needles. It wasn't unbearable—far from it—but it had that lingering, persistent quality that refused to let you forget it was there.
((At least it isn't snowing...))
I adjusted my cloak, pulling it tighter against the wind's playful grasp. The cold itself wasn't a problem. It never was. My body was biogenetically engineered for conditions far harsher than this, the cold was little more than an annoyance. I'd operated in places where the air could freeze a man's lungs or melt the flesh from his bones. Arctic tundras, active volcanoes, deep-sea trenches—it didn't matter. Temperature was just another obstacle to overcome.
No, the only thing that bothered me about this weather wasn't the cold—it was the snow.
((Snow complicates everything))