Yeah, so, okay...I totally should be working on the ending for the Last Thing (it's written, just not typed), but stress hijacked my attention to other things. That, and I finally managed to pick up a copy of Jak 3, so I had to go back and replay from the beginning... Yes, insert slowpoke jpeg here, but I'm totally hardcore fangirling over the series right now. Besides. I've been looking for a good excuse to sit down and do a theme list for a while now. The stars finally aligned; who am I to say no?

So the format is as such. The chapter name is the prompt. It's also listed at the top of each chapter, after which is the game timeline it belongs to. Other notes will be made was we go along. I'm trying to keep these things short; we'll see how well I succeed. I freely admit I've never played Daxter or Lost Frontier, probably never will, but I am also a YouTube addict, so I've watched someone else play both. Let me know what everyone thinks.

~Tawnya


2 A.M. - Daxter

It was always the same nightmare. They were sitting on the beach (that pure, innocent thing that they had spent many days bemoaning its boring qualities because they saw it every day, but seemed like heaven's paradise now), laughing and pushing each other in the waves as two stupid, young boys thought was a fun way to pass the time. A particularly hard shove, a particularly high surf, and like that, the world was gone, washed away as easily as footprints in wet sand. It was cold, suffocating, and dark as the weight of an ocean's water pushed him further down, taunting him with the clear view of light that seemed so close. He struggled to get back up, to get back to his friend, thrashing as hard as he could against the icy fingers crawling up the back of his legs to get free…to absolutely no effect.

Why wasn't the other coming? They had promised to be there for one another, no matter what, best friends until the end of all things. Surely he could see he was drowning. No matter how able-bodied they both were at swimming, there was always a threat in the water, be it lurker sharks, poisonous spiny snails, or simple seaweed to get careless feet and hands tangled in. No one went out alone and everyone was watchful for mishap. But there was no secondary splash, no body pulling itself down to him with strong strokes and firm kicks, no face full of concern and worry. There was nothing.

Fear redoubled his efforts – fear for himself, because of all the ways to die, drowning was not high on his list of preferred methods, but also for his friend. Surely something must have happened, something drastic, to keep him from coming to help. It was the one thing he knew better than his own hand, that only the most dire of things could keep them apart for more than a little while. He needed to get up there, needed to see, needed to know…because they had promised…

His lungs burned with the need for oxygen, his arms and legs leaden and stiffening from the cold that kept seeping in ever deeper. His thrashing gained him a little, letting his fingers brush the surface. So close and yet so far away. He pushed, pushed with everything he had even though it hurt, practically tasting the hope that maybe, just maybe, he could pull through this ordeal in one piece. A little more. Just a little more and...the empty beach stretched out in front of him.

The shock literally stung him, like he'd stirred up a nest of whumpbees and failed to run away fast enough. Where…? Why…? What…? The questions ran thick through his mind, bumping into each other, cutting one another off, leaving a broken jumble for his emotions to trip over. His struggles abruptly ceased and he slipped back under, faster and further than before. The light of the world above disappeared completely. The cold burned into his skin, going past numbing and directly into pain, until there wasn't a place that didn't feel like it wasn't being torn apart. But it was nothing compared to the pain ripping though his chest.

His friend had left him… His best friend, his blood brother, the one who shared all his laughter and most of his tears, who had sworn never to leave his side…had left him behind.

It was the deepest, darkest fear he'd ever held. Not just alone, because he'd been alone before, but left. It wasn't a secret that he wasn't well liked, the random, weird child that had showed up one day from gods knew where and decided to stick around. No family, no home, no origin; just a smart mouth and a stubborn attitude that had earned him only one real friend in the tiny sea-side village of Sandover. A friend, he had thought, who would stand with him, give him a home and a reason to be. Someone who could get past the words he spouted so carelessly and hear what was really being said. It hadn't been so terrifying before, when he hadn't had that reliance there, hadn't know what it was like to have someone beside him. But as they grew up, grew together as few others ever got a chance, it had become painfully obvious he was nothing without the other.

Teary eyes would open and face his accuser in a world made of darkness. Jak stood there, blue eyes piercing, angry in a way that seemed so wrong for the happy child Daxter remembered. He choked, trying to gasp out questions but unable to say a single bloody thing for once in his life, knowing he was only damning himself further but needing to know what happened. Why…?

"You left me to die."

He shook his head, screaming in denial, no longer caring about dying so long as he didn't die with his friend thinking something like that. Never! Never would he—

"You said you'd rescue me. You said I'd be out in no time. I trusted you and you left me to die." Jak's body started to decay before him, stalking ever closer. Daxter screamed again, in terror, in refusal, in hopelessness and sheer agony as his best friend wrapped pale fingers around his throat, leering in with dead-black eyes. "Now, you can die for me."

He'd wake up screaming wordlessly, fur soaked in sweat and shaking like a fall leaf. Then he'd have to roll over and vomit whatever was left in his stomach, which most nights was nothing, sobbing uncontrollably because he just couldn't stop. When everything finally calmed enough to let him move, he'd crawl from the hole he'd curled into in a vain effort to stay warm and safe in the hellhole known as Haven City, hurrying to the nearest bar. The cutie who worked the late shift usually gave him a free shot or two of whatever was the strongest thing behind the counter that night when he came in looking like road kill. The rest of the alcohol he'd need to drink in order to hit oblivion could be charmed out of the other late night customers.

"Well, just like clockwork," she drawled, wiping down the heavy wood bar top as he walked in. "Two on the dot. Better than a timer, that's my best customer. Hop on up, honey, and let mama see what she's got…"


Questions and comments welcome. No, I don't remember where the list came from, other than I found it on Livejournal after link-hopping for three hours. There's sixty-four prompts total. If I find it again, I'll link.