The Swarmer had smelled it hours ago. Now it came closer, a wonderful mixture of blood, sweat and exhaustion, begging to be devoured. Patiently, listening to the approaching tapping of feet the Swarmer waited - then, a pebble clattered, right next to its hiding place.
Screeching, the monster sprung, claws and open mouth with teeth aimed at the victim's face.
Ratchet didn't stop or even turn around at the wet smack of the body hitting the wall or sound it made when falling down (like a water balloon to hit the ground). Walking towards the spot of sky shining through the hole, he allowed his wrench to rest easy, swaying with his steps. The metal shimmered with a net of red lines: some of them dull and dark, some glistening in the dim light from the outside.
A tickling sensation rolled down his face; he wiped his cheek, leaving a smudged stain on the back. Looking shortly behind him, then back at the glove, he sighed. It wasn't like this was the only place on him - he needed desperately to wash himself. Heck, even a pool of mud would do it. Everything better than having the stench in his nose and walking around like this to see for everyone-
The last anger and tension drained away, anxiety to take their place. He didn't want to imagine Clank's face if he now appeared in front of him, like he had done on Hoolefar Island, and saw how much blood was on him, leading him to be scared for Ratchet's health and asking what hap-
Bile taste rose into his mouth. No, he really didn't want his best friend to see him like this.
This would probably stay the only time when he was glad Clank wasn't here with him, even after all the time in the caves where he had felt like going mad of loneliness.
Echoes of a raspy voice haunted him. Back then, it had been a nuisance when Qwark spoke in that melodramatic voice into his ear - but that one word Qwark said, that one hurt because it was true, a trait of him now. And it came back at him in the darkness and the silence where only he and his thoughts were.
"Aloone."
"Aloooone."
"Aloohoooone".
It had felt so good when the first Swarmer attacked him and he smashed it away.
The Lombax shuddered. Now that the adrenalin wore off, his consciousness fully registered the rotting smell on himself; it would only get worse with time, the thought making him cringe.
Suddenly, eyes caught a spherical shape in the corner of his view. Ratchet's breath stuck in his throat as two green lights looked over him, at the stains on his suit, but mostly at his face, terrified at the sight of the Lombax...
He jumped away from the stone, the two smooth spots on its surface now shimmering innocently at him in the dim light. He ran. Just run and get out, out, or you will get truly mad inside here.
At his frantic escape, a trail of red booth prints vanished behind him into the darkness of the caves.
This oneshot was inspired by the picture of the same title from the great artist oOwhiplashOo on DA (check her pictures out, the Ratchet&Clank ones are either lovely, cool or plain hilarious). My piece should catch its intense, slightly oppressive atmosphere, which it did - though, went to a different route somewhen. One I found actually better, though it wasn't what I wanted to achieve. Most of all bugs me the ending, because it's seems so plain to me, both in details and in style. Still, I have to say I'm satisfied with the result.
I intend to re-write this one, extending and showing more in what a trance-like state of anger/fighting Ratchet is the beginning, how the atmosphere changes for him through the plot, but most of all how much he misses Clank and what this is doing to his mind. I'd appreciate suggestions, tips and critiques for this, so feel free to tell me your opinion (not as flames, please).