A Hero's Lament, Round 2

Damas was a man very much unused to sleeping well. When he did get to sleep, he was out like a stone and nothing short of an earthquake could wake him up. This may have been connected to the fact that he very seldom got a chance to actually lie down in the first place.

Therefore, he was not aversive to sit in his throne room in the wee hours before dawn, listening to some horrifying report from one wastelander or another while the trickle of water tried to add a soothing lull to the harsh reality.

This one, however, gave him some troubles. He actually pondered how he would be able to sleep at all after he had listened to what this messenger had to tell.

His face hurt from trying to present a blank look – or laugh for the first time in years. Damas couldn't quite decide which would be appropriate.

The report had ended a few seconds ago, and he was still trying to think of a suitable comment. Finally, the king of Spargus reached up and scratched his head, sending the white braids softly tumbling against each other.

"So… you got away?" he finally asked, looking at the man sitting beside him on the stone steps.

It sounded right in a way… and yet everything he knew said it was wrong.

"I had a date with the metal head nest," Jak deadpanned.

Damas studied him for a moment, finally deciding that it really seemed like the young warrior found that to be the preferable alternative.

As he thought it over, the king had to admit that he started to understand. But that also opened up a whole new array of questions.

"As a warrior of your caliber, you should be more than able to fight back," Damas sternly said.

Jak didn't even flinch at the measuring glare. He only scowled at the questioning of his abilities.

"I would!" he defended himself. "But…"

His hands clenched and he shook his head in exasperation.

"They're my friends, I can't… they never act like that normally. Most of the time."

He thought for a second.

"Except for Erol. And Gol and Maia, but they shouldn't have been there in the first place. And Erol isn't even human now-"

Jak fell silent and slowly blinked. Color began to seep from his tanned face at the speed of creeping realizations rising.

His eyes snapped shut and he mouthed a few choice words.

Damas gave him a few moments to recover, but eventually cleared his throat. Jak looked up at him again at once, trying to catch himself.

"Are you sure that it will be like that again, though?" the king asked.

"No."

Jak shook his head, hope flickering in his blue eyes for a moment. But then he tensed again, setting his jaw.

"But if it does they'll start at dawn and go on until midnight, and I'm going to do anything to get away. I just wanted you to know."

Another silence fell as they watched each other.

Damas toyed with the thought of asking Jak if he didn't worry that his current conversational partner would be caught in this feared madness as well. But as soon as the king formed the thought, it felt as if his stomach was about to turn inside out. He abandoned it immediately, fighting back the sudden nausea with rational thought – why would he ever do anything of the sort, if it was even true?

Cripes. The rationality dug a bit deeper and pointed out what he had thought in the beginning, before the frantic retelling numbed his very mind.

This was the stupidest thing he'd ever heard of.

Maybe he shouldn't have sent Jak for ten missions in just the last four days. But the kid hadn't balked before, why would he start now?

Desert fever?

Damas studied Jak again, but could see no signs of sickness. Even in the flickering torchlight, the young warrior looked perfectly healthy and alert.

Finally, he shrugged and shook his head.

"Well, I'm grateful you thought to warn me, if this will indeed be the case."

Jak slumped just the slightest bit.

"You don't believe me," he said.

"I have only heard anything like this mentioned in the legends of Mar," Damas said and shook his head again. "The more obscure legends."

He paused, then decided that Jak looked browbeaten enough. He could be spared to hear that it was the kind of legends the monks told while heavily intoxicated. Then the line of thought ran on without control, and Damas scowled to suppress a shudder – for the idea struck that if this madness had some validity, Seem may get involved.

Damas couldn't recall when he last felt such a mix of fascination and disgust.

Trying to take his mind off such things he straightened up and looked over his shoulder. Through the windows of the throne room, he could see the black veil of the sky – and puffs of light blue was creeping onto it as the stars began to go out.

"Whichever the case," the king said and stood, "it's dawn."

Jak leapt to his feet.

As if his movement had been a signal, there was a distant crash from the city below. A loud crash.

Damas crossed the floor in three strides, reaching a window through which he could gaze down.

"What the-"

Smoke rose from the distant area where the city gate was positioned.

Damas looked around. Jak was just behind him, face tight with suspicion.

Somebody had made it inside Spargus.

The two men exchanged glances. Narrowing his eyes, Damas opened his mouth to speak.

The elevator creaked. Jak spun towards it – which was lucky, because by doing so he failed to see Damas jump in surprise. Which of course, if seen, would have required an execution.

After a few seconds, during which Jak moved his legs in prepare to flee, the elevator reached the top.

"Your lordship!"

And Kleiver rumbled into the throne room, only sparing Jak a disdainful glare as the blond backed. Jak still regarded him suspiciously.

"What is it?" Damas asked, gesticulating at the windows, "and did you hear that explosion?"

A meaty thumb was jabbed over Kleiver's shoulder, back at the elevator.

"There's a small crowd o' wimps down there demanding poppy comes out."

Damas glanced at Jak, getting a pained "told you so" look in return. The king could feel an ache starting to form beneath the empty top of his head.

"Wastelanders?" he asked.

"Would'ya count the talking rat a wastelander?"

Kleiver shrugged at the blank stare he got for that.

"Only Sig, then," he said.

"Sig is not a crowd," Damas said.

With an utterly fake cough giving him a reason to hide his thick lips behind a fist, Kleiver looked in another direction.

"The rest of'em aren't wastelanders."

The king took in a deep, calming breath.

"Why," Damas started, very slowly, "is there a small crowd of non-wastelanders in Spargus?"

"Demanding poppy comes out, your lordship."

Few people would have managed what Kleiver did next – avoid balking under Damas' glare. Or turning to ash. The huge warrior, however, did not even flinch.

"I… see."

Damas turned.

"Jak!"

As if his name had been a spell when spoken by that voice, the rising look of animalistic survival instinct fled from Jak's posture. He straightened up, panic gone from his face and head held high again.

Every fiber of his appearance promising that he would go down there and let the rabid mob rip him apart if it was the command of the wasteland king.

The order to go and get this idiocy sorted out faltered on Damas' lips. He found himself with an acute feeling of being a parent about to drop his own baby into the jaws of a metal head.

Clearing his throat he threw another glance towards the smoking gates. There had to be some other-

The rising sun caught a sharp reflection of red metal flashing in the sky. Luckily, Damas was too well trained to waste time being surprised.

"Look out!"

Also luckily, both Jak and Kleiver were used enough to just obey a direct order without hesitation. So when Damas dove for the floor, they did the same.

And the wall exploded, sending charred rocks and pulverized stones into the clear pools of water.

Through the ringing in the men's ears, there was a distinct sound of heaving gears.

Jak started to push himself up, furiously blinking to get rid of the dust in his eyes. He'd known it, he had flippin' known it-

A hard hand grabbed his eco ring and jerked him upwards, out of reach for the floor.

"Why hello there," said a voice.

It may be noted that it spoke very close to Jak's face, but there was no breath accompanying the simple taunt. A pair of lips creaked, nerveless skin giving away on the right side on the face to make dark metal visible.

Jak just sighed and pulled his hand back. Here we go.

Dark eco crackled around his fingertips-

"Put him down!"

A fist smashed into Cyber-Erol's cracked face, sending him staggering aside with a not as much pained as highly surprised look. Jak instinctively kicked while the balance was still lost, but he even if his boots connected with metal, his position refused him any real force. And the hand never let go.

The cyborg spun with a snort, disturbingly graceful for such a clunky body. Jak just barely caught sight of Damas clutching his fist, purple eyes widening when he realized where the intruder was heading.

"Stop right there!"

But Erol merely snorted, the sound turning into a giggle as he flung himself through the hole he had blasted in the wall. And Jak was still clutched in his grip.

They dropped, a shout was heard from below – air screeched-

And the rocket packs on the cyborg's back kicked to life, sending the man and non-man towards the skies again.

Of course, Jak had not spent the last few seconds dangling passively from his captor's grip, but used them for such creative things as snarling and grappling for the cold, slippery arm. Also of course, this had little impact on something that could not feel pain anymore.

When they shot past the broken wall however, Jak met Damas' eyes. The wasteland king stood in the crumbling hole in the wall, face twisted in fury and pain – his right hand hung limply, blood dripping down the broken fingers.

And he was gone out of sight.

Jak twisted his head to look at his captor.

A smudge of crimson slid over the naked metal of Erol's face, where the thin layer of artificial skin had been torn off.

Damas' blood.

And Jak's vision went down in a crackle of dark eco.

In retrospect, it was something that Erol probably had counted on happening. Though he had not quite expected Jak to fry both of them in a dark blast. There had to be some end of the kid's lack of rational thought. Right?

Wrong.

Like a sparkly firework of pure dark essence, the two were blown apart.

… well, apart from each other, both sent flying in a new direction each.

Damas watched this with some worry, with his gaze following the downward arc of his blond warrior. Jak clawed at the empty air, searching for purchase that could not exist while the buildings and the ground sped closer.

Then he suddenly disappeared in a bright flash.

Spindly wings spread out against the dark buildings and a creature of light fluttered safely downwards, shattering into the dusk again as soon as it got close enough not to break anything in the fall.

Damas would certainly not admit that he breathed out in relief.

Once he had finished that sigh of relief he certainly did not perform, he turned around and faced his subordinate. A bare brow went up.

"You're not joining?"

Never had he felt so compelled to add an "I hope" to the end of such a question.

Kleiver snerked.

"Naah, I jus' wanna see poppy run like a crazy cockroach," he said.

"Fair enough."

Looking down, Damas cleared his throat.

"And that robot broke my hand."

Kleiver wisely refrained from making a correcting comment. Instead, he only went to retrieve a box of bandages.

'-'

Downtown, Jak was seriously weighing his options. However, not normally being a tactician this was a rather difficult thing to do, even more so since he was running like crazy at the same time as he was trying to think rationally.

It was not working out well. Despite this he had actually managed to reach the conclusion that it may be best to preserve his remaining eco reserves for some really bad situation. Whether that was approaching fast or not, well, that was a pending question.

He could hear the trample of his pursuers. Where was a damn leaper lizard when you needed one? They all seemed to have fled, the smartasses.

And from the sound of it, the hunters had learnt since last year that it may be better to attack in a group instead of individually.

Crap.

He dove for the abandoned marketplace, hoping to lose the pursuers among the empty stands and tents. But as he ducked in between the narrow passages, a feeling of déjà vu began to creep from his subconscious down into the depths of his gut.

However he had no time to dwell on it, because the angry demands for him to stop trying to get away were close behind.

Turning the corner of a tent, he used the moment of being out of sight to its full potential. Instead of continuing down the path he ducked and rolled beneath a nearby table, hoping that the remaining dusk would hide his tracks. He came to a halt beside a few boxes stacked beneath the board, pressing himself against the cool sand.

"Where did he go?"

The shout echoed across the marketplace. Jak held his breath.

"Smell him out, Daxter!"

Ice curled into the hero's stomach until his best friend replied with a scathing:

"With all of you running all over the place? He's close by for sure, keep looking!"

"Who made you the boss, rat?" Torn snarled.

"Quit fighting and find him, guys!"

Keira.

Bless her despite the hunt – though grumbling, the team continued on in their search.

Jak waited until their hurried steps were just a distant murmur. He did not trust his luck with staying too long in the same place, therefore crawling out of his hiding place and starting in another direction than the hunters had taken.

As he moved, that feeling of having done this before grew stronger.

Trying to get his thoughts in order he crept into a narrow side passage to hide and catch his breath.

The feeling of familiarity smacked him over the head. Jak frowned.

Hadn't something bad happened at a marketplace, in an alley, sometime?

Click.

"Good morning, Jak."

The soft tone of the voice was meant to send a chill down anyone's spine, and normally it may have worked – but the hero was far too busy blinking in disbelief. He spun around and faced…

A familiar tattooed face, shaded from the rising sunlight by the cold racing mask perched atop the man's flamingly orange hair. The same light slid across shoulder plates emblazoned by the Krimzon Guard's insignia and the slick racing suit he wore.

A gun was aimed straight between Jak's eyes.

Still, all the blond could do was stare.

"What?" Erol asked, quirking an eyebrow at the utter bafflement on the hero's face.

Jak tried to speak, but in the end he settled for raising his hand and point to the skies.

At first, it looked like Erol would refuse to "fall for that old trick". However, he noticed the shadow on the ground a second before he would have stated this. And so he looked up just when Cyber-Erol decided to drop down, landing beside the commander.

Gears heaved as the cyborg straightened up, staring down at the flesh-and-blood face a couple of heads beneath him.

Reality went clonk trying to adjust to the new situation.

The rest of the hunters turned the corner of the alley in that exact moment, the first ones to arrive sliding to a halt at the sight that greeted them – sending everyone behind toppling over and creating a very undignified heap of normally (most of them at least) dignified characters.

Nobody said anything for a few seconds, apart from curses as the main group tried to struggle their way out of their situation.

Finally, Erol just made a dismissive motion at the cyborg and turned away, shaking his head.

"Well that's just silly."

"Silly?" the cyborg snorted.

"You look like an annoying little brother or something."

Erol looked back up and folded his arms across his chest.

"For your information I was here first," he clarified.

"Oh yeah? You're also dead," was the retort.

"Details are so tiresome…"

"But you are dead!" Ashelin interjected, finally back on her feet.

She received a glare.

"Do I look dead, general?" Erol asked.

"Uh…"

Looking around for support, Ashelin only found looks of "not going there, not going there…" from the others. She was starting to feel sympathetic towards that notion herself, to be honest.

That was when Erol caught the look on Daxter's face.

"I am not going to say 'braaains' or any variation thereof, rat."

"Dammit."

Daxter shrugged and turned around.

"But anyway, we were talking about… Jaaak!"

The last was a disgruntled shriek as the once again depressingly Jak-free spot was discovered.

"Another lovely case of déjà vu…" the ottsel grumbled.

He hopped onto Keira's shoulder and onwards to a cloth strained between four poles. From this vantage point he squinted at the area, while everyone else broke up the crowd to look around.

The peace was short however, but broken from a surprising angle.

A shadow suddenly leapt and there was an excruciating sound of screeching metal, mixed with a:

"What the hell?" from one of the hunters.

Dust flopped into the air around the, uh, bottom of a disturbance in the air. Said disturbance also held something, a long thing that suddenly flailed and took off – and so did the puffs of dust.

A moment of disbelief followed, as the hunters watched the ground get puffed up in clouds appearing further and further away, like something was leaping and holding that… whatever it was, it was impossible to tell in the darkness.

This remained so until Daxter hopped unto the ground.

"He's using that invisibility thing!" the ottsel shouted.

In the sight of an explanation, the shock was shaken off and people started on their chase.

That was, until a severely pissed off cyborg came into view and made them stop in new shock.

'-'

In the throne room, Damas looked up at a sudden sound. Kleiver too looked around, abandoning the work to bandage his king's hand.

It was a sharp, chopping noise. The disturbing part was that it seemed to come from the wall. Specifically…

A pale figure leapt in through the hole in the wall, shaking its hands to take the dust off the claws. It held something in its mouth. Something that reflected the torchlight in metal, and looked eerily familiar.

The two hardened old warriors raised their naked brows.

Neither of them moved when the intruder padded over on all fours and dropped its burden on the floor within reach of the wasteland king. Metal crashed against stone, cold and lifeless fingers of the hand lazily bent.

With a proud look on his cruel face, Dark Jak sat back with Cyber-Erol's severed arm between himself and Damas.

The king fought down the instinct telling him to scratch the beast behind the ears. He cleared his throat instead.

"Good work, Jak," he said, perfectly neutral.

To be on the safe side he held up his bandaged hand to show that everything was under control. Jak's bristling hair sunk down a little, a soft growl sounding disturbingly much like a purr rumbling in his chest.

At least until there were screeches from below. Then the broadened shoulders sagged in an annoyed grunt.

"Jak."

He straightened up at the sound of his name from Damas' lips. The king was frowning.

"I believe it would be best for everyone if you took this chase to the desert instead. You would be able to move freely."

The suggestion was pondered only for a second before Jak gave a not, swung around and dashed towards the broken opening he had entered through. Damas watched him leap, and fall… and waited for the flash of light. And waited.

He was starting to wonder if Jak was out of light eco, when finally the pure shine fluttered against the sky. From the look of it, Jak had not changed until he was nearly on the ground. His reserves must be really depleted.

Damas pursed his lips, face growing stern.

Now came the true test of wit and courage.

Hopefully.

'-'

He had used up his last bit of dark eco to stay invisible long enough to shake his pursuers, but Jak still entered the car park with great caution. This round had gone surprisingly smooth in compare to last year, mainly thanks to the fact that there wasn't a hunter hidden in every corner. Still, he couldn't quite shake the feeling that something was missing.

With the need to escape occupying his senses, it hadn't been a priority to count how many people were in the group chasing after him. They had seemed numeral enough, though.

Whatever. He approached the Hopper as quick and silently as he could, glancing back and forth all the time. If he could make it into the desert, he should be able to shake them all the way to the other side of the wasteland. With the risk of Seem getting involved he felt no desire to go all the way to the temple, but the stretch of island-cliffs leading there were inaccessible to all cars except the hopper. He should be safe there – the only one who could fly was Cyber-Erol, and Jak certainly had no qualms about shooting him if he got too close.

There was no reason to fear that somebody had rigged the gate to never open or anything, at least. The gate would need some work to operate again, actually. For the moment it was nothing but a still smoking pile of rubble.

It was at the end of these plans that the wind changed and he caught a scent of smoke in the air. And not smoke from the explosives used in the opening of the gate, either. Tobacco smoke.

Oh shit.

"Heya, pretty-boy."

Jinx sat on the Hopper's passenger seat, feet hanging down the vehicle's side and eternal cigar perched between two fingers. Jak groaned.

Nothing happened.

After a moment Jak growled and straightened up. He may as well tackle this one head on, just like everything else. No use changing his entire characterization for such a detail.

"Well?" he said.

"Hmm?" Jinx said.

He tried to sound innocent. If so, he should have dropped the smug look on his face.

"What're you planning?" Jak said, "bomb in my cars?"

Jinx exhaled some more smoke, increasing the scent for a while.

"Nope," he said.

"I don't have time for guessing!" Jak snarled, glancing over his shoulder to make sure the others weren't approaching yet.

"Guessing ain't doing you any good anyway," Jinx said. "I ain't got anything on ya."

Well, that was a surprise. A bit too much of a surprise, actually. Jak suspiciously glared at the other blond. This did not seem to bother Jinx further than making him chuckle. Sticking the cigar between his lips, he jabbed a thumb towards the gate.

"That's all the boom I planned today," he said.

He pondered for a moment.

"Well-l," he added, drawing out the sound for far longer than necessary, "the only one involving dynamite, at least."

The suspicious glare rolled, then returned in full force to its original place.

"Now listen 'ere, pretty-boy."

Jinx waved the cigar at him.

"You knocked me out last year. I think you owe me."

"I don't."

"Hehe, figured you'd say that. But I got a proposition for ya, kiddo."

Jak folded his arms across his chest.

"I don't have time for this, Jinx."

"Oh don't be so negative. Now, let's get this straight, eh? On one hand, you've got that mob that'll rip you limb from limb once they catch you, 'cause you can't fight back."

"I'm not letting them ca-"

"AND, on the other hand you've got me, who's under the spell but sane enough not to prowl this time."

The boomer man eyed the hero from beneath slightly lowered eyelids.

"'Side, I sure 'preciate that ass and look you're toting, at other times too."

"Jinx-" Jak groaned, pressing a hand to his face.

With a soft brush of cloth against metal, and a thump of boots against sand, Jinx hopped off the Hopper.

"Soo, you can run around all day and night trying to avoid them, or you can pick a sensible – and good-looking too, thank you – date and have some peace and quiet. And ensure nobody gets hurt in the chase, while we're at it."

There was a pause.

Jak's hand fell away.

"That was low, Jinx. Real damn low."

"Yeah, but true," Jinx cheerfully said.

In that moment, it seemed as if fate had cast its vote in the pyrotechnics technician's favor, for in a short distance there was a shout and sound of approaching feet. Many approaching feet.

Jak was not a man who ever would admit defeat. He would, however, do anything in his power to win.

That was why he grabbed Jinx collar and ripped the man close enough for a liplock, just when the gate to town slid open and the crazed mob dashed in.

They got exactly one second to look at their elusive prey kissing one who had not participated in the hunt. Then, things got really weird. Thankfully it was a brief weirdness, as opposed to everything else surrounding this tale and its prequel.

With a happy pop sound, and quite annoyed looks, all but two of the hunters disappeared in small puffs of blue smoke.

All except Sig and Daxter, who were left blinking as Jak let go of the widely grinning Jinx.

Silence hung over the car park.

Then finally Daxter slouched forwards, sighing loudly.

"Seriously, Jak!" he complained. "I like my eyesight!"

He only got a tired sigh back for this, as Jak shook his head.

Meanwhile, Sig rubbed his face.

"What, it happened again?" he finally grunted and looked up. "Really sorry 'bout that, chili pepper."

"I ain't," Jinx said.

An arm snaked around Jak's waist and he didn't struggle, making peace with his fate for the day. At least he wouldn't have to run like an idiot for twenty hours straight.

Daxter straightened up, only to hop onto Sig's shoulder – cleverly avoiding being impaled on the horns adorning the metal head skulls, too.

"Well, thanks to you two I really need to wash some images outta my head," he sourly declared. "Come on, big S, let's go get drunk."

"Oooh, the rat's got a date with the big boy," Jinx cooed.

Even Jak paled a bit at that. Luckily, Sig managed to catch Daxter by the tail in mid-air, thus stopping the little guy from digging his claws into Jinx' grinning face. Shaking his head in disbelief, the senior wastelander turned and marched back into Spargus, a cursing and struggling Daxter dangling from his grip.

Within seconds the gate closed behind them.

Jak sat down on the ground, leaning against a wheel belonging to the car parked beside the Hopper. Now that the chase was over, his legs decided that it was high time to complain. So he let them, breathing slowly to pull himself together and relax.

After a moment Jinx sat down beside him. The smug grin had softened a little, but it was still disturbingly triumphant.

A bit of silence passed between them before Jak eventually turned to look at the other man.

"Thanks, I guess," he said.

This earned him a hoarse chuckle.

"Oh, yer welcome. Pleasure's aaall mine."

Jak rolled his eyes at the lecherous grin aimed at him.

"I'd be worried about next year, though," Jinx continued, thoughtfully breathing smoke at the sky.

At this, Jak groaned. He obviously did not feel up to the idea of thinking about that pain already. So he remained silent, hoping that the bad feeling would not be made worse.

"I mean, we were in Haven last year, and in Spargus this time."

Jinx reached out to grab hold of his catch, just to be on the safe side.

"Doesn't that mean that Kras City's next?"

Jak would have flown from his seat if Jinx hadn't grabbed his shoulder.

"Ah-ah, pretty-boy. You can start running later."

He grinned.

"Today we're on a date, just you an' me."

The end.