Freak!
Abomination!
Monster!
People say you get angry and…change.
That was cool! Do it again!
When he finally opened his eyes, his vision was filtered red. His temples throbbed; his hands were warm, wet and sticky and he forced himself not to look. He drew in a deep breath and swallowed; he cringed at the metallic taste that wormed its way down his throat.
He had done something bad.
He had done something very bad.
Every muscle in his body clenched as the dark eco began to expel, slowly. It started from his head and migrated down to his toes; each muscle twitched and spasm as it was freed of the putrid eco and when it was finally all gone, Jak fell to his knees and screamed.
He refused to look behind him, refused to confirm his worst nightmare into reality. His vision returned to normal, the colors slowly painting back into the bleak world; the pounding in his head ceased and he was able to hear the bustling of the city once more. The people knew better than to garnish him with attention; they were better off ignoring the mess in front of them. The sight was common these days anyway, and they were safer ignoring it. But Jak's hands were still warm and wet and sticky and as he clenched it into a fist, he heard the leather of his gloves squeak against it.
He was so stupid. He knew what happened when he got angry; he knew that he wasn't allowed to get angry anymore because when he did, people got hurt. They got hurt very badly. And he got angry.
Come on, tall, dark and spooky. We should head back to fat-ass. And I call first dibs on the new gun mod he has for us!
He knew he had heard those words only moments ago, but it felt like years. But that wasn't why he got angry. Why did he get angry?
The weight on his shoulder that he gotten so used to was absent; instead it was in his heart, but it was so heavy.
He had said something back; he couldn't remember.
Ya know, tough guy, I think I liked you better when you didn't talk.
That wasn't why he got angry, either. In fact he thought he smiled at that.
The blood on his hands dried and it cracked with each movement. He still didn't look behind him, but he did look under and the sight of blood—so much blood, too much to be just…-made his stomach clench. He would have vomited if there was anything to vomit. Jak closed his eyes and began to hyperventilate.
Look what we have here.
Not Daxter's voice. And not his either; but it rang inside his skull, rattling against the insides, echoing and echoing. It was its fault; Jak concluded. This voice was the cause of his rage.
The dark eco freak and his rabid pet hamster.
Who was this voice?
Daxter had jumped off his shoulder. Who are you calling a dark eco freak, you tattooed face beanpole?
Erol.
It was Erol's voice.
I'd watch what I'd say if I were you, rat. As I'm sure you've noticed, there are people in this city the Baron doesn't want. He gets rid of them. And I can just as well do the same.
I'd like to see ya try.
Another voice rang in his head; his own, though he barely recognized it. He had never spoken until this city; he never had too. His voice was not a good symbol. He still couldn't remember what he said.
Hmph. You'd both be better off in a cage. We still have yours prepared for you, dark eco freak.
Daxter had snapped. He had never seen Daxter so angry before, but he had jumped from the ground and grabbed onto Erol's face and he began biting and scratching and clawing and indulging in every animal instinct he had ignored since his transformation.
Erol eventually managed to grab hold of Daxter and he threw him onto the ground, hard enough that Daxter could only huff in pain.
And then he snapped and everything turned red and his head began to throb and he couldn't stop himself, couldn't control himself, pull back on the anger even just a little bit and he didn't want to. He relished in the sound of claws slicing through air, ripping through flesh and bone, tearing through nerve fibers like butter. Erol was screaming and Jak enjoyed it and only continued his massacre, blood spurting onto his face, boots, saturating his hands. Erol screamed and he laughed.
Jak? What are you doing? Stop it, Jak! This isn't you!
He had heard Daxter's voice, full of fear and worry, but he didn't listen, he didn't care. Daxter was scared, and Daxter was the only person in this entire goddamned city who wasn't afraid of him, but he was now and Jak didn't care. The bastard underneath him was the only thing that mattered. The bastard that had tortured him, locked him away, and pushed him to the brink of insanity for two years. Jak could now indulge in every fantasy he ever had back in the prison of what he would do to this bastard and even though he wasn't screaming anymore, but just laying, Jak continued to claw and bite and punch because he could and he had the perfect excuse, this bastard hurt Daxter and nobody hurt Daxter—
STOP IT JAK!
And a flash of orange jumped in front of him and he knew who it was, but he couldn't stop himself and it was too late and—
Freak!
Abomination!
He let the tears run down his face, but still did not dare look behind him, at the mess he knew was there. "Dax?"
People say you get angry and…change.
That was cool! Do it again!
You're a—
"Daxter?"
Monster!