Chapter four, The Dark One

‘
Begin Introspection. Serial code: Daxter.
‘

You wanna know something hot that isn’t cool? The freakin’ desert.

    You can turn this world inside out and you won’t find a sandier, hotter place o’ living hell anywhere… I hope. That would be freaky beyond belief.

    And the inhabitants ain’t any better either. Between the metal heads, giant lizards-slash-snakes-slash-insects-slash-unspeakables, marauders and Dark Maker freaks it’s a wonder me an’ Jak even get a chance to sleep around here. You know what, slap the storms into that group of inhabitants. They’re so bad they just gotta be sentient.

    I’m not even gonna mention how much Jak grins at the thought of dealing with all of them. At the same time. Armed with a toothpick.

    And he’d probably win, too.

    People don’t give ‘im enough credit. He’s a freakin’ juggernaught on legs, and all him and me ever hear is “go there, do that, what took you so long” bitchbitchbitch. Okay, not as much as we used to when we worked on making Praxis’ lose his much needed beauty sleep a year ago, but still. Even though Sir Dreadalocks looked like he’d cream his pants in relief of seeing Jak entering my bar when we finally got back into Haven… well, the best we got were a “Jak’s back!” and a “Knew I could count on you” from Ashe’. Gotta love ‘em. It’s all “Yay, our secret weapon is back, let’s celebrate by dropping him into the sewers!”. People, people, people. Erol lets us know that he’s ecstatic about seeing us again, for cripes’ sake. Angry screams and metal heads and armies of KG bots… oh yeah. He’s riled up alright. Lucky us.

    The rest of you? Bow down and lick Jak’s boots. I’m waaaiting. After all he’s done for you, the best you can do is throw him a weapon upgrade and admit that he’s “the man” after how many suicide missions? Pff.

    Oh god, had a Brutter flashback there. That’s a hoot. The only one who ever showered us with gratitude was a frickin’ lurker. Speaking of which, I wonder whatever happened to him… haven’t seen that lug since they rounded up the last lurker slave and headed out of Haven to rebuild their colonies. Bet they’re doing better than us up here though. Meh. Bunch of turncoats…

    Where was I? Oh yeah, appreciation of the Jak.

    Just can’t believe that they let him leave with a few “we’re sorry” and “good work” with a coupl’a gun upgrades on top. Okay, he loves his toys as much as the other evil-masher, but sheez. They think that’s gonna patch up all the nicks he’s gotten? He’s still pissed, dammit! It’s more for his own sake than the people right now, just like when he went joining every fracture of resistance against Praxis to make sure he wouldn’t miss a chance to piss the big bully off.

    Jak wouldn’t admit it but I know he wanted to get back to Spargus after a while. Only reason he kept up with ol’ Haven was that he knew they needed him, and Veger an’ Tinman Erol were out there somewhere. Blondie’s a real good guy, really. Too good to not be told so. Ashelin and Keira wouldn’t die if they’d fawn about him now and then, now would they? A guy needs to know people got the hots for him. He needs a Tess. Tesses are good.

    Uhm… except when they talk about pink houses. Brrr.

    Well hey, not saying I’m not taking care of Jak, but don’t ya ever think he’d like to get a backrub or something from somebody more, ah, life-sized? Hey, hey, I’m a man too! And my pal, who’s very much a man as well, hasn’t gotten as much as a proper cuddle since him and Keira drifted apart. Can’t be healthy, I tell you. No wonder he beats so much crap up.

    Okay, “getting Jak a girlfriend” moves up a few notches on The List. I don’t care how relieved he seems to be to be back in Rock Village 2000, we gotta get him a hug. Gotta get me somebody who can help me help him relax.

    But that better be somebody who knows him well enough to see all those little flinches and twitches and smiles that so very many seem to just ignore, and I’m looking at you, dreadlocked and green peeps.

    This might pose a problem. Gonna have to think about it for a while… especially now that we’re in the wasteland again. Wohoo.

    Y’know, I do have some issues with Spargus being “better” than Haven. There’re no sweet little women, it’s hot, populated with brutes… half of which Jak is at constant glare-war with. Yipyip. Nooo, he hasn’t made any trouble in Spargus, but there are a lot of sour grapes who recall him from Haven and being on his bad “suspect on foot!” side. Why the heck do so many peeps here have to be ex-guards?

    What, you thought Damas would throw people out just ‘cause they worked for Praxis once upon a time in Haven? Kingy would lose half his population. At least. ‘Sides, most of ‘em are probably here because they managed to piss Praxis off at some point, so those guys can’t be all that bad… I guess.

    The rest of them?

    … because they pissed Ashelin and the council off after Praxis kicked the bucket. They… kinda make me a wee bit nervous.

    Ahem.

    Oh yeah. Damas.

    Now I like the big man for picking us up from the big hole o’ sand he calls a kingdom. Really, that was nice of him. Introduction scenes and diplomacy though? The guy’s got a lot to learn there.

    But Jak… oi. The two of them sure had their clashes but… ya know, I really think that if Damas said “Jak, I need you to cut off your left arm”, blond boy’d have the knife halfway through the bone before he got around asking why, and the arm would be on the floor before Damas could cough up an explanation. After that “you’re one of my finest warriors” speech, well… hehe. You could’ve gotten high just being near Jak after that. I almost saw pink lurkers, just ‘cause he was just oozing… content. Perfectly, people. Perfectly, amazingly, mindnumbingly content. Oh yeah.

    It was beautiful.

    Sooo, taking that into account… I guess I can deal with Spargus, sand, thugs and all. If anything can make Jak smile like that, I can even deal with the metal heads. I suppose. And it’s not like Haven is high on my list of things held in the ol’ high regard, not after those bootlickers gave me an’ Jak the boot instead of a fruit basket for saving their sorry asses.

    Okay, so putting up the pluses and minuses on the chalkboard… let’s just come to a conclusion of this ramble, shall we? Hold on tight ‘cause here it comes:

    Up yours, Haven, let the master show you how it’s done. Damas and his kingdom rules.

    But he’ll need a torture chamber to get that much outta me.

‘
End Introspection.
‘

The sand swept past beneath the massive wheels of the Sand Shark, being ripped into a cloud behind the vehicle. A landscape once unfamiliar and hostile surrounded the two men and the ottsel, continuing to spread out in front of them – still a dangerous place, but no longer alien and threatening. Well, not within itself, at least.

    With the sun still not too far from the horizon, the real heat had not yet begun tearing at the day either. It was still bearable.

    The mission was simple enough; find the big bugger that the lizard catchers spotted and deal with it. Those warriors had already tried getting a decent shot at it of course, but the metal head had disappeared in the night.

    Bleedin’ weird behavior for a metal head, as Kleiver so eloquently had put it according to Sig. Probably a big mama.

    This remained the subject for the dialogue in the Shark.

“We’re walking straight into a trap, I tell you!” Daxter proclaimed.

    Again.

    Sig rolled his eye, giving up the “Ignore” tactic.

“Metal heads don’t do traps,” he said. “Nothin’ past digging themselves into the ground.”

“Metal heads don’t have mommies either. They have an army of nannies, as far as we’ve seen. Right, Jak?”

    A mere nod. Jak kept focusing on his driving.

“Yeah, yeah,” Sig had to agree, waving his hand at the sky. “Just like wumpbees, th- whoa!”

    Daxter’s claws alone managed to keep him stuck behind Jak’s shoulder, though there was an unpleasant sound of claws against metal. Blinking in surprise Sig straightened up and rubbed his forehead, even though he had avoided smashing it into the Shark’s frame.

“Rock.”

    Jak answered before the question had even made it into the air. And he hardly moved his lips, either.

“Rock?” Sig repeated.

“Rock.”

“Rock,” Daxter agreed, nodding.

    Sig turned his head, looking at the cloud of dust and sand behind them. He could not remember there being a rock that big around here…

    After a bit of pondering he mentally shrugged the whole thing off. If Jak said rock, there had to be a rock. It wasn’t as if someone like golden boy would jump on his seat or something bad enough to tear at the wheel that much.

    While this kind of confusion did manage to create a pause, it was very brief. The limited view did pose a problem, but Daxter tilted his body until he at least could have a peek at Jak’s face. Seeing that the height of paleness was beneath the danger zone, the ottsel did just what he would have done even if there had been more severe warning signs.

    He launched into another rant, barely giving Sig time to reach his conclusion about the rock issue.

“As I said before the commercial break, metal heads don’t do the whole parenting thing! Their idea of family life consists of a buck load of babysitters and more eggplants than you want to shake an eco poisoned stick at.”

    Sig grunted, wondering if Jak would be angry if Daxter’s mouth suddenly found itself filled with cacti. It was with relief that the veteran wastelander looked ahead, towards the skeletal remains of a city growing closer by the horizon. Only a little while longer, and there would be the peace and quiet of metal head hunting.

“Might’ve been gatherin’ snacks for the small buggers then,” he said, just to shut Daxter up.

    It was instinctual, how he answered. And he always wondered, in retrospect, why he never learnt to just use the silent treatment. Because that “shut up” idea never worked – quite the opposite.

    But if he was perfectly honest, Sig knew that he kept trying because just listening to Daxter for an hour on end would drive him into a homicidal rage that might not be appreciated by the other residents of Spargus. At least not if he did it inside their walls.

    Man, Jak really had to be the proud owner of the steeliest mind in history. Who’d think such a hotshot would be patient enough to deal with somebody like that blabbering pet? Or maybe he had learnt how to turn his eardrums inside out.

    It had to be something extraordinary.

    All these thoughts almost kept Sig occupied enough to block out Daxter’s further ranting about metal heads’ way of life.

    But when a mere half mile remained to the first worn walls of the ruins, Jak made a small motion of his head – not quite looking around, the blue and black just flashed by in the corners of his eyes before he returned to the area ahead.

    Daxter shut up in mid-sentence, shifting his weight on Jak’s shoulder. And Sig’s lips twitched in relief.

    The taller wastelander never bothered to ask, he just assumed that the blonde did not want to be disturbed in case there were vital sounds that needed to be heard. It was the logical conclusion.

    Daxter thought about a warning.

    The white walls rose up before them, shortly surrounding them completely. Every now and again there was a flash of grey-green between the buildings, wild leaper lizards fleeing from the intruding sound of an engine. Daxter caught himself with twitching hands – catching those things were starting to grow on him. Badly. Grimacing, he clenched his fists.

    Jak continued to steer, following Sig’s hand motions to the middle of the dead town. And of course, when the blonde finally stopped it had to be with half a spin, sending the Shark sliding up beside the empty lizard cage.

    The two men exchanged half-smirks. Daxter, meanwhile, climbed back onto Jak’s shoulder while muttering to himself in a hushed whisper.

“Okay, cherries,” Sig said, waving vaguely rightwards towards the northwestern side of the town, “Kleiver said they saw the big’un in that direction, but it slipped off the hook.”

    He reached back for his Peace Maker and leant it against the frame of the vehicle, ready to fire. While he did so, Jak unhooked the flask from his belt and took a few deep, quick gulps. Returning his gaze to the town ahead of them, he moved the flask to the side of his head and held it lightly so that Daxter could drink from it.

    Sig made a thumbs up as the flask returned to its original place.

“Keep your eyes open.”

    Jak gave a quick nod in reply and stomped down on the gas pedal almost before he had changed the clutch to a proper setting.

    And for the life of him, Daxter just could not figure out what there was to grin so much about. Then again he was really too busy trying to remain safely on Jak’s shoulder, to think properly.

    Leaving a brand new cloud of sand behind, the Sand Shark took off in the direction Sig had given.

    It became a short trip, passing only a couple of corners before they spotted their first clue – a splatter of red taking up a considerable area on a white wall. The color was on the sand as well, but darker since it already had dried among the hot grains.

    The engine’s roar fell into a low growl, and in the relative silence three pairs of ears sought to catch any other sound. When there seemed to be nothing, Jak and Sig exchanged glances.

    Without a word Jak turned the ignition off and reached up to grab onto the bare pipe frame of the Shark. He swung himself out of the vehicle and onto the ground, Daxter clutching the shoulder guard beneath him.

    The morph gun was in Jak’s hands almost before his feet hit the sand, obediently folding itself out into scatter gun mode.

    He headed closer to the wall, keeping all senses open for anything suspicious.

    A good portion of the blood was still wet. Looking down at the ground Jak noted familiar footprints, ending just before the crimson in a chaotic pattern in the sand. From it, a wider trail went off, along the wall. There was more blood there, but it had been mixed with the sand – something bleeding had been dragged off.

    There was enough evidence to reach a certain conclusion.

“Leaper lizard,” Jak said over his shoulder.

    Sig frowned and looked around. While he did that, Jak ran his gaze along the trail in the sand. Beside the shallow holes left by the lizard, there were several thin, smooth lines that randomly zigzagged across the bigger trace.

“And some small metal heads,” Jak added, with his gun pointing in the direction of the larger trail.

“Shit,” Sig grunted.  

    He stood up on the Shark’s floor, trying to get a better overview. Jak headed back to the vehicle and climbed into the driver’s seat, but he left the morph gun on his own lap as a safety measure. Sig sat back down and they took off again.

    For once Jak drove rather carefully, keeping his eyes on the trail. But they did not get far like that – just after rounding the corner the clues disappeared in an alley far too narrow for the Shark. Jak hit the brakes again, eyes narrowing in irritation. But Sig was on the ground before the blonde could speak.

“I’ll check it out,” the veteran wastelander said.

    He ignored Daxter’s mute impression of “dying of shock”. It involved a lot of wide eyes, tongue hanging out,grabbing chest, and falling over – straight onto Jak’s idly held up hand, in fact.

    Jak merely nodded at Sig and turned the engine off again while his partner climbed back to his shoulder. A moment later the morph gun whizzed and changed once more, the yellow shine of the blaster mod reflected in the eco ring fastened over Jak’s chest.

    As Sig cautiously stepped up towards the alley entrance the blonde shifted on his seat, preparing to fire at anything that might try to make it out of the alley.  

    The hot sand whispered beneath Sig’s massive boots as he walked, holding his weapon ready for attackers. He stopped beside the entrance, shielded by the wall for the few moments that he merely listened. Eventually he threw a glance backwards, catching Jak’s eye.

    A final nod, and he went in.

    The soft crunch of the steps grew muffled behind the wall, but still managed to hang just within earshot. Sig moved real slow, especially for being him.

    Controlled, shallow breathing hardly moved Daxter’s perch at all. He glanced at Jak, seeing the intense blue of his eyes straining between the slits of his eyelids. The grip on the gun seemed easy, hands knowing they did not have to clench as hard as they used to when the weapon was a novelty. Man, how long ago was that?

    The steps continued. From the sound of it, there seemed to be a few walls left within the broken building, Sig moving between them carefully.

    A drop of sweat began to form from the glistening moistness on Jak’s forehead, a shimmer sluggishly slipping towards his eye. Daxter reached out and swept it away with his small hand, shaking the water off carelessly a moment later. Holding on to the smooth leather of his pal’s goggles he tipped forwards, dropping his head sideways to grin straight into a big eye. A split second only, he wiped another drop away and swung back to where he would not be in the way. The brief glance he got was enough of a thanks.

    Steps.

    They waited.

    Daxter was just about to reach out for another irritating assembly of sweat, when the first shot rung through the air. Immediately the ottsel snapped back, grabbing hold of the shoulder guard beneath him. Jak tensed, a foot ramming into the floor of the Shark.

“Get ready!”

    The shout was hardly finished before a black body shot onto the top of the wall, fangs glistening with saliva and the egg shaped crystal set in its forehead sharply reflecting the sun. Sig snarled in the background, the sound of gunfire never ceasing.

    The beast leapt forwards, long body stretched out against the blue sky.

    One shot was all it took. With a shriek the serpentine metal head was flung in the other direction, the skull gem falling out and landing in the sand a second before the body did.

    Thump.

    Daxter hissed, batting at a long ear with his hand and Jak flung himself forwards out of the Shark, landing in the sand. He rolled onto his feet and looked back just in time to see a dozen claws descending into the driver’s seat, passing through empty air where his back would have been. Screeching in fury, the new metal head struggled to tear itself free.

    Jak shot forwards, the butt of the gun smashing into the monster’s face to the sound of tearing cloth. The dying metal head crashed into the passenger seat and bounced, gracelessly rolling onto the ground on the other side of the Shark. A thump, then silence.

    Heavy steps approached quickly from the ruined building behind them, but a hissing caused Jak to spin around. From the ground by his feet and from beneath the Shark black bodies exploded and he leapt backwards, swinging the gun at the first one to attack. Two smashes followed each other as the beast was hit and crashed into the massive wheel. It snarled, clumsily rolling over to try again.

    The others skittered back and forth, preparing for an assault. Jak stepped back, aiming at the bigger group. Red light fluttered over slick black skin and he pulled the trigger. One of the stingers screeched, its violent throes of pain forcing the others to scatter not to be hit. Never hesitating Jak took aim for another one while they were confused-

    A sound from behind and he ducked, cursing as a flash of black flared past his ear.

“Ah!”

    His head snapped up at the scream, eyes shooting wide open at the sight of orange against darkness. Tiny hands stretched out beneath the metal head that had knocked the ottsel away from his safe shoulder, fumbling at empty air trying to stop his fall.

    The stingers reared up like one single being, beady eyes set on the scrawny body flung towards them.

“Daxter!”

    Jak dashed, the gun falling from his hand.

    A flash of light burnt Daxter’s eyes and he blinked. The darkness above him was gone when his eyelids rose again – all he heard was the smack, a shining fist flitting in and out of his sight so quickly that he hardly could register it. A metal head shrieked.

    He hit the sand, instinctively rolling into a ball.

    The morph gun landed on the ground a little ways away, the sound making him peek upwards.

    The light shattered in a feral snarl, the hands that slammed into the ground changing color in a flare of dark lightning. Claws sprouted from the fingers, digging into the sand in anticipation of black flesh.

    Screeching, the stingers attacked.

    Daxter sharply gasped as a big hand ripped him from the ground, dagger-like claws clashing against each others as the fingers bent. Jak’s roar tore at his ears and the world around him spun, the only stable point the massive chest he was pressed to. He fumbled for support – grabbed a thumb in a sickly shade of pale purple. In the corner of his eye the other huge hand cleaved the air.

    Dark lightning stormed from the free hand, sending the metal heads flying, twisting in pain as they went. Crashing in the sand they kept writhing until Jak’s boot crushed their faces, black blood spilling across the ground. He ignored them after they stopped screeching, throwing himself into their midst when the remaining ones tried to regroup.

    It was over within a minute.

    Daxter looked up as Jak stopped moving, seeing only the pale goatee and flashes of the face as the head snapped back and forth, nostrils flaring in the search for more attackers. Heavy breaths moved the elf’s entire form, but he stood still.

    Nothing.

    There was only the desert wind.

    Finally it seemed like Jak gave up searching, and Daxter let out a sigh of relief as the rough grip of his body loosened a little. In the next moment he blinked, pulled away from the chest. The fingers relaxed, leaning him backwards.

    Claws clashed again, from both hands this time as the big palms met side by side. Daxter kept gazing up at the face of the demon who held him, trying to force his hands to stay unclenched and ears from pressing down against his small skull.

    The eyes watched him, narrowed – two pools of pitch black darkness with only the tiniest reflection of the intense sunlight.

    Even as the face came closer, fangs showing in a tiny sliver between the lips, Daxter sat still.

    He would not believe that this was Jak, not this bloodthirsty berserker.

    But he would not show fear either, would not, would not… for that tiny, frightening possibility that… that it was Jak after all. And Jak might remember, he never said that he did but-

    The head moved, twitching back and forth in small motions. In his dazed state it took Daxter a moment to realize that he was being surveyed.

    That the “demon” was checking him for any sign of damage.

    Like Jak would do.

    A mad thought wondered for a second what would happen if there had been any little wound. Somehow, Daxter had a creeping suspicion that such a thing might have involved that sharp tongue hidden behind the fangs. Hard not to think of Jak as an animal in this form, whether the ottsel wanted to or not.

    Eek.

    He pushed the thoughts away – with a lot of force there, might be added – and wrestled the shadow of a smile onto his lips as he raised a small hand. The black eyes at least seemed to turn towards the O formed by thumb and pointing finger.

“This ottsel be a-okay, Darkie-”

    Another sound and the attempt to calm Jak down went askew as he spun around, a new growl exploding from his chest.

    Sig stood by the entrance between the buildings. He glared back at the demon, never recoiling, though he did hold his gun ready to block an attack. There was a brief silence, the only sound the hissing as the flesh of the last metal head melted into a lump of half gaseous dark eco. The heavy, purplish clouds hung above the sad remains of the beasts, lurching back and forth as the wind pushed at them.

    Finally Sig spoke.

“Chill or it’s the rolled up paper for you, cherry.”

    The words hung in the air for a moment. Then Jak snorted and straightened up slightly, still holding Daxter defensively in his grip. An attempt from the ottsel to get up and climb to his usual perch was hindered by a thumb pressing him back down. Blue eyes nervously gazed up at the black ones.

“Uh, I’m okay, Dee-Jay,” Daxter said, holding up a pointing finger. “You can relax, really-”

    A snarl, and the dark head started turning back and forth again. The ears moved, spreading and pressing themselves against the skull to the turns of Jak’s neck. Sig frowned, gazing about. He could not hear anything, but with the way Jak acted he could not be sure. After a moment he motioned at the ruined building behind him with his thumb.

“There were enough tracks in there to land us an army of critters,” he said.

    His gaze went between the snarling creature and the ottsel in its grip, not entirely certain if either was in any state to listen to him. As he stepped forwards however, the dark eyes turned to him. Sig glared back.

“You watch my back, cherry,” he said. “We’re gonna need a bigger team for this one. And no funny business or I’ll knock you across the desert.”

    Another snort, but Jak set Daxter on his shoulder and nodded slightly.

    He understood.

    Daxter crouched, unsure how to handle this one. It had been ages since he had seen Jak pissed enough to be unable to revert into himself when there were no more enemies in sight. While Sig took out his communicator and started dialing, the ottsel carefully reached out and dug a small hand into the gray hair.

    If Jak even felt the push against his skull, he did not react to it. Daxter frowned but did not press on any harder, just rolled his palm in slow circles, listening to the soft rustle of the hair.

    It took Sig a while to finish, since he was holding the communicator in one hand and his gun in the one he used for hitting the buttons. Eventually however the speakers crackled to life.

“Yea’?” came Kleiver’s gruff voice, “what d’ye want, Sig?”

    It did not sound much better over the hissing line.  

“The big bugger left a present, this place is overrun by stingers,” Sig said, motioning over his shoulder. “An’ they’ve been chomping on the leaper lizards.”

    A growl erupted from the speakers, but Kleiver’s mutterings suddenly grew distant as somebody on his side took the communicator from his hand. A new voice broke through, one with a slighter higher pitch but far more commanding.

“How many?”

    Daxter noticed the twitch of Jak’s ears at the sound of the two brief words, and the ottsel had to beat back an amused grin as the black eyes seemed to turn towards the communicator. Sig straightened up a little bit more, too – as if that would be visible to the face displayed on the screen in his hand.

“I found tracks of at least thirty, your lordship,” Sig said, “and we killed about-”

    He glanced up for a moment, counting the lumps of dark eco floating above the sand, adding them to his own successful hits inside the ruins.

“… ten. There’re probably more of them little bastards though.”

“And the lizards?” Damas asked.

“Remains of two.”

    A pause, then a distant shout surrounded by static. From the tone of it Damas was barking commands at Kleiver and anybody else standing within sight, but the words did not quite make it through the communicator.

    After a few moments Damas returned his focus to the two men and the ottsel.

“I’ll send a bigger team to the ruins,” he said. “Are any of you wounded?”

    The question was simple, yet the tone was slightly beneath neutral. Not condescending, but rather making it clear that the one who asked really doubted that he would receive a worrying reply. And precursors protect anyone who let him down.

    Oi.

    Jak snorted, a smirk tugging at his lips.

    As if.

    Sig did not notice the cocky expression of the dark one, only shook his head.

“No, your lordship. Although Jak ain’t in a talking mood right now.”

    He turned the communicator over, towards the destruction duo. The camera could not possibly catch much that was beyond three feet away, but Damas could at least see a purple-grey blur with an orange smudge on the right side.

    With a grunt, Jak waved his hand. He probably meant as a greeting, but it was a little hard to tell since it was more like a slow lash out. It might have been about as much as the dark eco would permit. Of course, Damas only saw some kind of movement of the haze.

    The thin lips belonging to the King of Spargus twitched.

“I see. Carry on.”

    Another grunt, sounding mildly approving. Daxter straightened up, waving both hands enthusiastically and with his tongue hanging out – safe in the knowledge of the camera’s reach. Even though the ottsel still remained oddly silent, Sig quickly turned the communicator back towards himself to be on the safe side. During that, Daxter ducked as a set of pale knuckles swiped at the air a few inches away from him. The motion was slow though, and the claws aimed in another direction. Jak did not even look at Daxter as the little one crawled back onto the shoulder guard – pale head turning back and forth suspiciously.  

“Should we hang around here until the backup rolls in?” Sig asked the metallic box in his hand.

    He threw a glance ahead, frowning as he saw that Jak had returned to acting as if he heard something. The wind continued to howl, nothing else – until Damas’ voice called on Sig’s attention again.

“No,” the king said, “you three deal with the task you were given. Kill any metal heads you see, but don’t get sidetracked.”

“Yes, your lordship. Over an’ out.”

    Sig turned off the communicator, hefting the folding form back onto his belt. He then took the Peace Maker in both hands and glanced around. Even though Jak’s fingers still twitched, claws clattering against each other, he seemed a little more relaxed now. The head turned with slower motions, shoulders not held quite so high anymore.

“Think you can relax enough to-” Sig started.

    A screech cut him off. Both men spun around just in time to see five stingers leap up from the ground on the other side of the Shark, two of them tearing through the air above the seats.

    Snarling, Jak leapt. He lashed out and sent the closest beast flying backwards in a high arc, its face sliced open so badly that it hardly could shriek in pain. The other one crashed on the ground and skittered around, avoiding the explosion of sand from a bullet missing its mark. Sig cursed and took aim again while Jak spun around, fangs bared in rage.

    Metal clanged and screeched, claws drawing bolts of tearing sounds across steel. Sig missed his second shot too as he spun at the sound, seeing the other three stingers crawling all over the Shark, tearing and biting at everything they could reach.

    They were trying to destroy the vehicle.

“Shit!”

    Sig dashed, swinging his Peace Maker as a club. A smash and a serpentine body crashed in the sand, away from the control board. The other two turned and hissed, leaping forwards – Sig threw up his arm, blocking the attack with his armor made out of skulls of the beasts own brethren. Fangs like metal nails dug into the hard bone and he stumbled backwards, flinging out his arm to keep the furiously sweeping tails away from him. The two long needles at the end of the tails blindly swung, seeking for any weak spot to hit. With a curse Sig rammed his arm against the Shark’s wheel.

    The first smash dazed the two cretins for long enough to let him draw back for a harder hit, and this time one of them let go, slipping onto the ground. He recoiled from it in case it was still alive, not having time to check closer – the other one still moved and he focused on trying to break its skull.

    A hiss from below caught his attention in the middle of his new attack and he stumbled back with a snarl, seeing the moving blackness by his feet. The other one was still alive, and he was off balance.

    The dazed stinger shook, dizzy but prepared to attack anyway. And it probably would have, if it had not been for the black claws slicing it clean in half just as it pulled back to leap. Sig almost grinned, but finished off his own little problem first. The last metal head fell, the wastelander stepping back to avoid the dark eco slipping out of its remains.

    Then he looked at Jak.

    Two dying metal heads hung by their tails in his left hand, pathetically writhing as the last of their lives ebbed. Their skin and flesh evaporated, bones and skull gems falling to the ground while the dark eco flowed into Jak’s hand, tendrils of dark lightning crawling like tiny worms up his arm until they faded away. Daxter crouched during this process, quickly stepping as far away as possible when the eco threads crept too close.

    It was gone.

    Nothing moved, only the wind that never rested. Silence settled, the men and ottsel waiting to see if anything else would dare to challenge them. Moments passed.

    Nothing.

    Jak swayed. Clutching his head he bent over, groaning and trembling as the horns and claws grew backwards, skin and hair reverting into more natural colors. A hand lashed out, grabbing the Shark’s wheel for support. He kept swaying, head bowed low as if he felt sick. Daxter nudged his pal’s head worriedly, increasing the push as nothing happened.

    Frowning, Sig stepped forwards.

“You okay there, cherry?” he asked, reaching out.

    Jak straightened up before the big hand got close enough to touch him, fumbling for the water flask by his side.

“Fine… fine-” he croaked.

    Sweat pearled down his forehead, and Sig scowled deeper. Daxter too frowned, folding his arms over his chest while glaring at Jak.

    The blonde ignored them both, almost biting off the cork of the flask as he tore it out with his teeth. He spat out the stopper and took a deep drought of water, turning his face upwards and by the look of it just pouring the liquid straight into his throat.

“You’re crazy, fighting like that in this heat,” Sig said, narrowing his eye.

    Jak bent forwards and removed the flask from his lips with a hoarse sigh of relief, then glared up at Sig.

“I didn’t hear you protest,” he said.

    They exchanged irritated looks for a moment until Sig finally sighed and shrugged. He reached out and lightly rapped his knuckles against the hot leather of Jak’s goggles, the glare changing into a tired smirk.

    He did not see the flinch.

    Daxter did.

“Just don’t lemme catch you pulling crap like that again, ya hear?” Sig said, stern but no longer angry.

“Heh…”

    Jak managed an exhausted hint of a grin. He raised the flask again, offering it to Daxter while Sig turned to look at the Shark.

“Well, they had the heart but lacked the brains,” the senior wastelander said.

    He pointed with some amusement at the bite marks on the Shark’s pipe frame. It seemed that the stingers were short on knowledge of what was good to attack when breaking down a means of transport. Sig poked at the torn seat, concluding that it was still fit to sit on. He looked around, taking note of Jak’s heavy eyelids and labored breathing.

“Want me to drive for a while, cherry?”

    Jak started to shake his head, but that was apparently a bit more than he could handle for the moment. Groaning he pinched his eyes shut and pressed his free hand against his eyes. Daxter leant forwards, worriedly pressing a hand to a throbbing temple.

    Sig did not have to say “that’s what you get…”, it was understood. And he knew better than to say it, either way.

    Admitting a temporary defeat Jak collected his morph gun and climbed onto the passenger seat, still holding the flask in one hand and taking frequent sips while Sig steered them through the ruins. At the first given possibility Daxter slid onto his friend’s lap, unwilling to be an extra weight on a sagging shoulder. Jak gazed down at him and he made thumbs up, giving the normal side the same kind of reassuring facts as the he had tried giving the dark.

    Jak shook his head lightly, rolling his eyes. He thought it had been stupid of him.

    Daxter grinned, tilting his head in agreement – yeah, it was stupid. Shouldn’t a wastelander like yourself know better, eh?

    There was a pause, Jak squaring his jaw.

    Then Daxter’s grin softened, silently saying thanks for getting his hide saved from being chewed on by half a dozen beasties.

    After a moment Jak smiled too.

    Sig glanced at them, unable to understand the exchange. Yet it was so obvious that there was some kind of communication that he not possibly could miss it.

    He wondered, dreaming for a fleeting moment of the possibility that Daxter might keep his trap shut for a long time to come. But he knew it would not last of course, sighing silently. Ah well. Just the weird fact that Daxter for once was silent was a blessing in itself.

    He could not know what went on in the ottsel’s head as the fuzzy little body curled up on Jak’s lap, making himself as comfortable as possible despite the bumpy ride. The silence lasted and though Daxter found it aggravating to constantly bite his tongue, there was a memory that was stronger.

    A heavy body crashing on the bottom level of a bunk bed, on a mattress just slightly softer than stone. Dreads’n’Knives’r’Us moving about in the background, muttering orders into his communicator every now and then. Still not used enough to that sound to completely drown it out. It doesn’t matter, only important thing is being back, together. Small body able to curl up to sleep above a big shoulder just like two years ago – safe.

“Daxter?”

    Voice hoarse, tired. Still determined.

    Yawn. Doesn’t really want to talk, want to sleep. Sleep right there, in Jak’s warmth and the familiar smell persisting through the metallic tint of dark eco.

“Yeah?”

    Mutter. Already know tattooed wonder well enough to know he’ll love a reason to snarl, keeping voices down. Don’t feel like arguing.

“From now on, don’t talk when there are enemies about, okay?”

    Blink.

“Huh?”

    Big hand lands on small back, protective.

“Don’t let Praxis know you’re intelligent.”

“… oh.”

    Pause.

“Well, you owe me an ass-saving but I see where you’re coming from. Now shut up and sleep, jail breaking and stealing flags is exhausting.”

    Snort. But he’s only almost-smiling for a moment.

“There we are!”

    Sig’s voice brought Daxter back to reality and he sat bolt straight up, bouncing onto Jak’s shoulder without thinking. But there was no protest, Jak only straightening up to see better ahead of them.

    A broad trail crawled out between two buildings and headed down the main road of the ruined city, disappearing into the dunes ahead. The sand had been shoveled up in the middle of the trail, a smooth trench surrounded by thousands of ragged holes as big as a man’s fist. The shadow from the mountain range reaching up beside and beyond the ruins made it easier to see the marks.

    They were quite easy to read.

“Metal-pede,” Jak grunted, squinting towards the dune over which the trail tumbled out of sight.

    Sig’s lips tightened slightly, but he pushed down the gas pedal and they took off along the tracks.

    The trail zigzagged across the dunes, but seemed to follow a rather straight route towards the end of the mountain range. For a job in the wasteland it suddenly seemed like an easy task, at least at this point. The two warriors paused only at one time, changing seats as soon as Jak felt ready to drive again.

    With the new setting they continued, following the trail as it crawled up a slope in the mountains. At the end of the path was a huge hole in the cliff. Jak hit the brakes, narrowing his eyes at the opening.

“Not natural,” he said, raising his hand to move it in a circle.

    Sig nodded, frowning. The entrance was too round, the metal heads must have carved it open themselves.

    Metal heads came in two flavors, really – stupid bastards and clever bastards. Stupid included stingers, seeing how they had attacked the Shark. But metal-pedes were normally not included in “clever bastards”, which would be the ones intelligent enough to open up extra entrances. And they definitely were not smart enough to bring a bunch of babies between one place to another.

    The evidence pointed to a variety of them working together.

    Wonderful. A new hive. Sig stood up, checking the ground around the hole. Rocks and pebbles laid strewn over the ground, having laid there for long enough to be at least partly covered by the drifting sand. It could not be too new, then.

    He sat back down and motioned ahead with his hand, silently agreeing that they should press on.

    Daxter dove for cover behind Jak’s shoulder guard, peeking up most cautiously as they entered the darkness.

    They did not get too far away from the sunlight. The Shark’s headlights shed two pools of light onto the ground before them – two pools that suddenly disappeared into complete obscurity. Jak rammed the brake pedal into the floor, sending all three of them in the car lurching forwards. Luckily he had not been driving too fast, so they got away with just a grunt each.

    The relief only held on for a moment before surprise and growing irritation took over.

    A chasm spread out before them, engulfing the glow of the headlights. Frowning, Jak flipped the switch to turn the lamps to the left and right, catching only solid wall on their sides. And a couple of yards away in front of them, the other side of the gorge.

    He snarled, and so did Sig. Even Daxter let out a sigh of exasperation. So close and still so far…

“We’re gonna need the Hopper to make it inside this place,” Jak concluded.

    All three of them glared at the chasm. It silently glared back. And probably smirked, too.

    What a wonderful waste of time this trip had turned out to be. Getting back to Spargus would take another three hours; finishing this today was not to be thought of.

    Jak was about to start backing outside when Daxter leant forwards past the bigger head and gazed at the blackness in front of them, then looked around quickly. No evil little critter in sight.

    He turned and looked at the other passenger.

“Mm-hm, metalpedes and big holes,” the ottsel said, grinning. “Some bad experiences there I’d say. Wanna hold my hand, Sig?”

    A small hand reached out, fingers wiggling.

    Jak had half a mind to try blocking Sig’s glare, in case this would be the first look to actually kill. The possibility did not seem too farfetched.

    But instead he just shook his head and trampled on the gas pedal, the Shark ripping backwards into the blasting sunlight. As he turned the vehicle towards the horizon holding the distant Spargus, Jak took one hand from the wheel to rub his temple.

“I think I’ll need a drink after this,” Daxter said, glancing at his pal.

    Jak gave a small nod in agreement, while Sig grunted something that sounded somewhat approving.

    The trip back to Spargus would have been silent if it had not been for Daxter. Even with the irritation filling the Shark, he just would not keep his mouth shut. As usual.

    After a while Sig just zoned it out, glaring at the desert and grunting every now and then to avoid imploring questions like “hey, are you listening?”. He threw a glance towards Jak every other minute, shaking his head to himself at seeing the kid’s lips twitch at the babble.

    Those twitches were the only thing keeping a huge fist from rising and smashing down on a highly irritating, fuzzy body. The familiar walls of the desert city were truly a blessed sight.

    The gates began to open as they drew nearer, precursor technology sensing the approach of the two gate passes owned by the wastelanders.

    Finally inside, Sig allowed himself a sigh of relief. But a silent one.

    The fun was not yet over with, and they all knew it.  

    Jak hardly had time to park before a huge shadow lumbered into sight, complete with a none-too-pleasant expression. Before anybody else spotted it, Daxter was standing up and waving at the incoming storm cloud.

    The big, friendly grin plastered onto the fuzzy mug did in no way make any other expression any softer. On the other hand, that was never in the plan either.

“Oh hey, Big K!” Daxter said. “We might wanna consider founding some food aid for the metal heads so that they’ll stop gnawing on the limos.”

    A hand with fingers thicker than the ottsel’s waist curled around the naked frame of the Shark, thumb rubbing against one of the holes left from fangs. If possible, the bushy eyebrows crept even lower.

“You should’a just let ‘em eat yer scrawny butts instead, if ye ask me,” Kleiver said.

“We aren’t asking.”

    Those two words were all that Jak offered. He swung himself onto the ground, careless, still irritated at the waste of time. But Kleiver was not about to let them go that easily, stepping into the blonde’s path.

“Well? Did ya cap the big momma?” he rumbled.

    Jak’s face hardened, but he never even had to consider explaining. There were already detestable excuses in the air, the weight of Daxter’s feet on his shoulders shifting as the voice snapped at the silence.

“Ah, about that… there were some, ah, complications.”

“Really,” Kleiver said.

    A dangerous sparkle of smugness leapt into his eye.

    Kleiver had nothing against excuses. Kleiver loved excuses. They all made such funny squishy sounds under his boot. Jak rolled his eyes, the possible argument already running through his brain.

    Joy.

    Sig got in between, landing his boots on the ground with a determined thud. Resting his Peace Maker over his shoulder, he waved at the direction of the desert.

“We tracked it all the way home, but we gotta get back there with a better car. Unless you wanted us to make Shark pancake at the bottom of a big hole.”

“Watch it, Sig, he might get a craving!” Daxter interjected.

    Kleiver ignored the ottsel, glaring at Sig for a moment. He might as well have looked at a statue. Finally he scoffed and turned back to the Shark, waving his hand at the small troop.

“Fine, ya sissies. Now clear out, we gotta have a look at this baby.”

    Sig caught Jak’s eye as they both took off towards the city entrance, smirks tugging at their lips. Then a familiar voice let out an all too loud whisper.

“Yeah, we really don’t wanna see him kiss the booboos, now do we?”

    A hand shot up to hide a snicker, Jak’s head dipping forwards while his eyes squeezed shut. Daxter grinned, ignoring the non-too impressed rolled eye he got from the last part of the trio. The growl from behind them just made it better.

    The city gate slid open and they stepped through.

    Kleiver did not waste another thought about them as soon as they were out of sight, turning to estimate the damage on the vehicle. A few nicks were hardly anything to lose sleep over, but stingers were small buggers…

    He sat down on a knee, taking his gun from his back. The sand’s whisper was the only sound as he poked the Peace Maker’s head between the ground and the Shark’s underside, holding an armored arm up for defense in case something would leap out at him.

    But nothing attacked.

    Satisfied with that Kleiver stood and looked around, gaze running over the parking lot and the handful of warriors walking about, minding their own business. Not finding the one he looked for, Kleiver raised his voice.

“Zem! Get yer fickle ass over here!”

    A shuffle, screech of tiny wheels. A pair of boots appeared beneath the bulk of another vehicle poised beside the gate. In a clumsy roll the rest of a body followed, held up on a makeshift board on wheels.

    The sunlight sparkled on the sweat covering the man’s brow, adding to the effect of the black stains of oil covering him. He got up, rolling his broad shoulders as he squinted at Kleiver.

“What?” he called.

    He went ignored, Kleiver glaring at the Shark again.

“I said get over here and check the damage!” he snapped.

“On my way.”

    A metallic clatter of a screwdriver hitting similar items, and Zem bent down to pick up his box of tools from the ground. He paused only for another moment to grab the board by the rope fastened in it, hanging it over the edge of the box.

    As he walked he stuck his free hand in his armpit and pulled off the dirty glove, letting out a deep breath while wiping his forehead.

    Skin rubbed sweat away from skin forever darkened and marked by thick stripes of gray tattoos.

    An eyebrow went up as he got close enough to see the bite marks.

“What did they do, park it in a hive?” he asked.

    He dropped the box and board, kicking the latter closer to the Shark. Kleiver shrugged, growling.

“Should really make the nipper fix his own trashing,” he said.

    A roll of his eyes.

“But he’s useless with that,” he added.

    Zem paused for a moment in his attempt to put the glove back on, glancing towards the city gate. His hands clenched, leather crumbling between the fingers.

    Kleiver did not notice his mechanic staring off into space, busy giving the Shark’s frame a second look over. He looked up only when he heard Zem speaking.

“Well, blondie’s a fighter.”

    A dull tone, eyes narrowed towards the city. The statement hung in the air, Kleiver giving the mechanic an odd look.

    It was a pure fact, and yet he made it sound as if it could be questioned.

    The big man shrugged it off a moment later. Most of the ex-KGs had been doing nothing but acting weird around Jak from day one, it was nothing to consider anymore. As long as nobody attacked somebody else, Kleiver could not find himself caring. Bad pasts were rather compulsory if you were a wastelander, causing many of them to avoid each other – often more or less politely.

    But for Damas’ and their own sakes, the majority of them also knew better than to push. All in all things were peachy.

“Yeah, yeah,” Kleiver said, waving it all off. “And if he doesn’t cap the mouth of that rat he’ll get a fur hat to go with his gun one of these days.”

    Zem smirked a little, then laid down on his board to scuffle beneath the Shark. Safely out of sight, shielded by the tough machinery all remains of the smirk dropped and he allowed himself a long, slow sigh. Only after that could he reach up, fumbling over the pipes and once smooth surfaces in the search for holes, scraping his gloved hands against the metal.  
    
‘
Begin Introspection. Serial code: Jak.
‘

From the moment I stepped into the arena that first time I knew that it wouldn’t end well. I had been pissed off for quite a while, and the introduction I got of Spargus didn’t help. So yeah, “bring ‘em on”. I really needed to kill something.

    And it went well for a while… until the cheering got to me. All the whistles and clapping, the shouts – they didn’t care if it were the marauders or Daxter and me. They wanted us to die spectacularly, just like Haven.

    So I flipped. Totally. And let Dark Jak out in front of an entire city.

    And then I stood there on the platform glaring at Damas, waiting for the disgust and hatred I had already seen in the eyes of the weird woman with the face paint.

    Waiting to be called a monster again.

    But they kept cheering.

    And Damas…   

    I have taken orders from a lot of people over the years. Samos, Keira, Torn, Ashelin, Krew, Sig, Vin, Onin… and I have done everything asked of me – because I had promised, because I had to, because I thought it would gain me something.

    But Damas?

    I’m proud to take orders from him. He and his entire city looked at this filthy beast I am, and called it useful.

‘
End Introspection.
‘