Sound
Summary: Jak takes comfort that he can at least hear about outside the prison. Set in Jak II. Rated T for language and torture.
Disclaimer: Why do I have to disclaim on a website called FanFiction, which everyone can access free of charge? ಠ_ಠ
He could still hear.
Yes, it was muffled, but he could hear what was happening through The Walls of Solitary Confinement: the steps of The Guard, their radios and static commanders, and their conversations.
"…sister just had a new baby."
"Congra—!"
"—Riya been doing?"
"A little cold but…"
"—so I says to her, 'Listen, I ain't no piggybank!'"
"Yeesh, women, right…?"
Just bits and pieces but it was still there. Outside.
On the long walks to The Chair, The Guard speaks freely, even though he hung between their arms, limp and ragged like an old, broken doll.
"So I heard you're in line for a promotion."
"Yeah, might be."
"Heh, excited much?"
"No, I'm not. I'll be leading people on missions to Metal Head nests if I do."
"…Ah."
He heard a lot about these Metal Heads—awful, evil, motherfuckers they sounded like, which seemed to be impressive coming from The Guard. He would smile, on the inside of course, at the irony about Monsters talking about Monsters. But he was grateful. There was still an Outside. Someplace not Inside. Someplace Away. Not Here.
When they'd strap him to The Chair and all he had to stare at was The Prong, their footsteps and voices would fade away.
And he'd be Alone.
It wasn't the fact that no one was there. He would love that; he could use such a break. A real breather, and he could sigh gently in peace and relax.
It was what happened after Being Alone.
There, two pairs of footsteps, one very heavy, the other lighter. His muscles became tense, he could feel his bottom lip begin to tremble; he could only close his eyes, hoping his brows didn't furrow or that he'd begin to tremble. He had to hide The Fear.
He couldn't though. He tried so many times, so many, many times.
"So…"
His breath silently hitched in his throat. He couldn't breath already.
"Shall we begin?"
And the pain would rush through him—cold pins, attacking his muscles, his stomach, heart, skin, brain. As if sharp needles of ice were trying to escape his body, almost like a butterfly from a cocoon. Sometimes, he'd wish the ice would rip him asunder, put him out of his misery of having to bear with The Anticipation, The Build Up, The Pain, The Praxis…
"Nothing! I was informed that this one might be different!
"He is surprisingly resistant to your experiments, Baron Praxis. I fear the Dark Warrior program has failed…"
The Pain fades, he waits for The Guards to come and drag him back to Solitary Confinement, eyes closed as if asleep, peaceful, though deep inside, he is Angry.
But he can still hear.
"Ding, ding... Third floor... Body chains, roach food, torture devices…"
LOL! It's funny, this is the first angst-thingy I've written. I just find that weird in a humorous way. :P Anyway, I wrote this because recently I've been replaying Jak and Daxter series, and I noticed how Jak seems to know what the hell a Metal Head is and some of the basic plots in the city, even though he was in prison for two years and was actual in Haven City itself for about two seconds. It was a bit weird to me, but then I thought, "Well, he must have heard it from the Guards." Viola! Angsty fic is full of angst! :D Don't worry, I'll probably gonna post something humorous soon if I get my ass in gear. I ain't no angst peddler...
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Angst. *pfft* It's just a funny word.