Sorry about that folks... I finally noticed I put up Chap 1 twice! bad self
Disclaimer: I own nothing of Jak series
Chapter 2: A Happy Reunion
Down in the garage, the racers were putting the finishing touches on their Class 1 vehicles. Razer was lounging in the sear of his red and black Howler 99, dangling his brown boots over the ribbed side. The usual cigarette placed between his fingers every now and then touching his lips for a long drag, which in turn cam out as a puff of smoke. He was attempting to make the perfect smoke ring, and used a headlight on the roll cage as a target for his practice. He had nothing better to do with his time.
On either side of him, Razer could hear the oaths rising from his subordinates, Edje and Shiv. Along with a few others of the drivers that once worked for Mizo, Shiv and Edje had turned to Razer after the untimely end of their boss. Shiv was the most noticeable, with severed ears and a flame tattoo over his left eye. Edje appeared to be whole, save for the inked flames that reached from wrist to elbow, a mark of Mizo's reign in the sport. Across the garage, Razer could hear the muffled grunts of Cutter, a muzzled man who also joined in Razer's uprising. A smile spread over the Northerner's mouth as he blew another ring; this year it would be nothing but him and the track. With no Mizo to send him on any fool's errand, Razer was free to play out his every whim, knowing well he had plenty of finesse and muscle in this town to get whatever he pleased. Yes, this season would be a good season indeed.
Razer straightened in his seat, sliding back so he could see over the controls of his racer to the rest to the garage. Below, he noticed an orange haired racer strutting across the front of his lift in a yellow and black racing suit. He was quite smaller that any of the other drivers, but he all but made up for it by a rigid frame of muscles that were barely visible under his rubber and padding. Razer smirked villainously; he prided himself in the ability to size up any opponent for their potential. This fellow, however, was something else.
In one graceful motion, Razer slid himself over the die of his Howler to land softly on his toes. Rather than approaching his target, Razer took the darkened route behind the other cars, casually dodging puddles of oil and gasoline along with scattered tools. Between the cars, he could see the man level with his long strides. In front of him, Razer saw an amber Road Blade resting on the garage floor. He paused in the shadows next to the streamline car, taking another puff from the glowing cigarette in his dainty yellow fingers.
The yellow clad man appeared in Razer's view. From the close distance, yellow eyes glinted like polished gemstones, cold and hard. The countenance on his face was as solid and immovable as the metal skull mask on his brow. Orderly tattoos of gray covered his entire face, reaching to the very tip of his pointed ears. Razer continued to watch in silence as the man chose a heavy wrench off the tool cart and proceeded to lean over the front of the car, diving to the inner workings of the engine until only the think, orange, spiked tips of his swept back hair showed over the fender line.
Razer saw his opportunity to approach the cat-like man and stepped out of the shadows. He could not help but trace the curve from back to legs and everything in between with his eyes. A knot of appreciation for the man's figure in the skin-tight suit caused his heart to skip a beat. Razer felt his fingers tingle with the urge to caress those lines with even the slightest touch, but a deep breath brought him enough sense not to ruin any chance of a heated reunion turning into a scorching burn. The opportunity to reach out gone, Razer moved up the yellow suit, taking in every stretched sinew and allowing his itching fingers to run along cold steel instead of warm rubber. A sigh behind his closed lips placed him on his elbows at the rim of the engine; head cradled in the palm of his hand, which still held the dwindling cigarette. "I was wondering when you would come back to me, Erol…" Razer cooed in a charming, dreamlike state.
The sounds of work beneath the engine ceased at Razer's words. Erol slowly, cautiously withdrew his head and arms from the inside of the vehicle. Emotionless face did not looking at the speaker until the last moment when he little by little turned to Razer; yellow eyes narrowing in threat. "You really think I came all this way just for you, Razer?" Erol sneered in the aggressive tone that Razer loved to hear.
"Well," Razer began; thick accent rolling the words off his tongue. "I might not be the only one…" He trailed off, thinking, hoping rather he was one of the higher priorities on Erol's list. He knew, though, Erol would never admit to such an idea.
"For your information," Erol straightened to his full height of about four inches shorter than Razer, making up for the distance with the daggers in his gaze, which had been sharpened from a lifetime of being looked down to. He was quite formidable, even dangerous, and he made sure to make the fact well known. "I have a score to settle. Believe it or not, it's hard for any of the Krimson Guard to find any livelihood out of the service, let alone an ex-commander…" Erol stalked back to his tool cart, tossing the wrench onto it with a heavy thud. "I've already taken back my title as Haven City's champion speeder racer." He continued in a triumphant declaration. "Now it's time to take this city's championship, and perhaps an unofficial claim as the top speeder driver in this Hell-hole…" A disgusted glower was over Erol's face, contorting as he gazed across the dark, dirty garage that was bustling with pre-race activity.
Razer's smirk soured at Erol's ambitions, but then again Erol was racing alongside Razer in this competition. He recalled how Erol had gotten his start in speeder racing, despite their mellowness compared to combat racing. Since then, an underworld of speeder racers had formed in Kras City, a scene Razer avoided, considering the sport weak in having small, fast speeders and no weapons. "Such a shame," Razer came up behind Erol, placing a yellow gloved hand on the tool cart to block Erol's path. "You'll have to go through me to get it, because the Kras City championship is mine…" He flicked away the forgotten cigarette and set his other hand on the vacant side of Erol, flattening the ex-commander against the tool crate.
"I already know that won't be very difficult," Erol hissed, undaunted by Razer's closeness. His breath, rather, came in deep smoldering inhales at the surprised urge to attack his fellow driver. A fact that showed clearly in his twisted face and burning gold eyes as he steadily stared into Razer's pools of deep, ocean green. "This time," he huffed, "I'm here for Jak."
Razer's lucid expression vanished into one of shock. He instinctively released his hold of the tool cart and took a step back in confusion. It was obvious Erol had some sort of grudge against this Jak, closer to death sentence by the look on his face, but Razer was having trouble connecting the title-stealing driver to the commander. "Jak? The Kras City champion Jak? My Jak?" Razer gestured with a yellow glove to himself and his scarlet racing coat. He was completely bewildered by the situation, and did not realize how he had added "my" into his questions.
"Him and his little rat of a friend!" Erol lashed out, clutching his fists in rage of the memory. He was too consumed by fury to notice Razer's awkward question. "Twice those two ruined my plans! Twice they tried to do me in! They won't succeed a third time! I will kill him if it's the last thing I do!
The haze of confusion cleared from Razer's mind, revealing a most devious plot. His heavy brows furrowed in contemplation, and a twisted smirk played across his lips. "I do believe," Razer raised his covered hands to join his fingertips in scheming, adding to his persona, "That I can help you with your problem…"
Erol met Razer's gaze with suspicion at first, thinking of what Razer could possibly achiever through Jak's death. Then he realized the death of Jak would have to mean a compromise on his part, giving up the title of champion to Razer in return for his revenge on the havoc-reeking duo. The offer was fair enough for Erol's purpose, knowing Razer would still be a powerful ally, and, of course, there would always be next season to prove who the real champion of combat racing was. "Deal," Erol extended a black racing glove and the pair shook on their agreement.
Satisfied that his reunion with Erol went far better than he expected, Razer sauntered, a little more than any normal man would, out of the dim back of the garage into the dusty lit lane that cut the garage in half. Casting a glance over his shoulder, he noticed Erol's eyes flick up to his from somewhere below Razer's waistline, narrow in defense and then return to working on his Road Blade. To this, Razer flashed a thin creasing smile over his mouth and chuckled to himself, continuing down the lane back to his Howler 99. In front of him, he saw a glimpse of neon yellow and orange. "Oh Jak," Razer called as he drew closer to the figure of the racing champion and his pet ferret.
Jak stopped dead in his tracks, more from annoyance than any other reason. Tilting his head on his empty shoulder in frustration, Jak turned around to see a familiar red coat approaching. "What do you want Razer?"
"Yeah, we got championships to win," Daxter fired off from Jak's shoulder in his typical sass. "Make it snappy, powder puff."
Razer glared ice daggers at Daxter as he closed the gap. "I just wanted to wish you the bust of luck this season," Razer said out of good sportsmanship, even though he meant the complete opposite. "And to watch your tailpipes, because I'll be on them…"
"Looking forward to it," Jak sneered back, "That's where you belong, behind me." He glared at the Northerner as Razer returned back to his car for the start of the race.
Author's Note: Ok.. everything is now how it should be... Chapter 3 is up... Please be merciful and send some reviews!
