A/N: Hello again! As always, huge thanks goes out to all you reviewers and readers, especially "Princessofallasains." Welcome to the club! Which club, I don't know. Just a saying, people.
Okay, the moment someone has been pestering me about (ahem . . . short buddy . . .) has finally arrived. Yes, Jak is finally going to enter the story. I was hoping to postpone his entrance for a while, since I really don't want this story to make the original plot stray too much – I want it to stand pretty much on its own. That said, I do need to alter the main plot a tiny bit to get Jak and Shae to meet a couple times. But none of this Jak/OC nonsense. I don't work like that. I suppose I should apologize to Jak, because instead of sending Shae on a mission with him, I made up a whole new set of torturous events to make them miserable! Sorry, Jak. And sorry, Shae, but I don't think she sees as much action as him.
So, in case you didn't catch that, thanks to LeiaOrganicSolo for harassing me in every PM she's sent me recently to get this next chapter out. Short buddy, I had to cut Jak's part short, but the next chapter will have the Dynamic Duo's part in full, I promise.
Thanks also to my forever faithful beta-reader, EcoSeeker247, for editing and pointing out my almost venture towards Mary Sue territory. I fixed it, I promise!
Disclaimer: I do not own Jak and Daxter. I mean, I own all of the games (but Jak X – stupid glitch) but I don't have rights over them or anything… that would be the Naughty Dog we all know and love. Except for two things. Do you know what they are? 1) Jak and Ashelin, and 2) Everything about The Lost Frontier but Phoenix – because he's just that epic.
Part 2: Chapter 9: Suspicions
The entire gun course, normally buzzing with action, was silent. All the agents in here were experts at remaining incognito, including me. The only movement I could detect was that of Ty shifting his posture slightly. He gave me a quick nod, one that I was able to interpret immediately. Ty and I were usually on the same team, so we knew each other's tactics and preferred approaches.
I extended my arm just past the obstacle I hid behind and fire a test shot. It had to be me or Ty, and as I was closest to the outside, it would be inconvenient for Ty to shoot over me. Tess was our sniper, so she couldn't give away her position, and Maven was too valuable a player to give away his.
The trick was to draw enemy fire without revealing one's position. So, firing an experimental shot could do one of two things: prompt the other mid-players to begin shooting their shots if they were around the next corner, or inform them only of our position. Either way, it would draw fire and begin the game.
The outcome ended up being the former. Two heads popped up from a different barrier on the other end of the stretch of hall. Zededora and Amelle began shooting an array of coloured charges at me and Ty. We returned the fire, administering several accurate shots but receiving just as many. As we caused chaos in the middle of the square-shaped gun course, Maven advanced along the wall towards the other end of the pass.
We eventually drew out Deron, too, and Tess took her chance to get in a few good shots. Maven was still looking for Keele somewhere on the other end, but we were content with three-on-three for the time being. As soon as those two came out of hiding, the real game would begin. Everyone would be moving around, trying to find better shooting points, better defences.
About fifteen minutes in, something began to happen. My vision became blurry, my hearing dull. It was as if someone had shot some sort of anaesthetic into me, and it was slowly targeting my nerves and senses. I couldn't shoot or hide well, and consequently, I became an easier target. Although the tag blasts weren't harmful, being a composite of yellow Eco for firing but mostly Green, I had soon undertaken too many to be nontoxic. I crawled behind the nearest obstacle and assessed my vision and hearing, holding up fingers in front of my face, counting the gunshots near me.
All my results were off. I couldn't distinguish between my fingers unless they were right up against my face, and the number of flashes did not add up to the number of gunshots I could detect. Yanking of the goggles and removing the hair form over my ears did nothing to improve my awareness.
Eventually Tess noticed my distress and crawled up next to me. When she asked if I was fine, I replied that I had simply hit my head on something and that my lack of vision was the stars flashing in front of my eye (which wasn't entirely dishonest). There was a constant flashing but I reckoned it was the Eco blasts and not my temporarily distorted equilibrium. With a tentative nod, she moved to return to her firing point. She was held back, however, by Maven returning to our team's claimed vicinity.
"I can't find Keele," he said. Tess and I exchanged questioning glances before returning our eyes to the team's unofficial leader.
"That means he's hiding," Tess explained. Her eyes drifted back to the battlefield where Ty was holding his own against his sister and her two teammates. "Hey, do you think Ty –"
"No, he's honestly not on the course," Maven protested, but Tess was readying her gun again to go help Ty. Maven sighed and looked at me, sitting a few feet back, squinting to try and discern him from the dark background. "Everything okay?"
It was becoming a bother to have everyone asking how I was feeling every way I turned. But as the youngest, always the youngest, I should have been accustomed to it by now. "Fine," I lied.
"You're such a bad liar," he laughed. Again, something I should have been in the habit of hearing, but it was still one of the most annoying things to listen to, despite the fact that it was true. "You believe me, right?" he added as an afterthought.
My developed hearing was proving helpful in my handicapped situation, as I could still put his jumbled words together in comprehensible chunks. "Sure," I assured. Clearing my thoughts as best I could, I tried to ground out a question as I preoccupied my hands with the task of readjusting the ugly red goggles. "What do we do?"
"Dunno," he replied. He attempted to evaluate our situation in a way that would allow him to formulate a plan, but the best he could come up with was calling, "Tess!"
She scurried back to us. It was not a huge feat, since she had not found a good opening to get back to her sniping spot. I saw her approach in an indistinct blur of blond hair and colourful clothing, the bright shades muted by the darkness of the room, the red screen of the glasses.
"I'm confident Keele is not here," he declared. "What do we do?"
"Check again," she advised, "And let Shae come with me to help Ty."
We were all on separate pages. Maven wanted us to help him search for his best friend, who had supposedly gone missing in a sealed-off room; Tess wanted us to get back out on the field and assist Ty, who was still ridiculously outnumbered, three older agents against one; I wanted them both to leave me alone so I could try to discover what was making me feel so ill. The odd feeling had sunk down to my stomach, making me want to throw up.
What happened next was completely unanticipated. As with clichés in stories, everything seemed to happen at once, all the events fading in to one instantaneous occurrence.
The lights, though already dimmed, shut off entirely, leaving us all in pitch black chaos. All action and sound ceased as everyone prepared for what would happen next, trained instincts kicking in. In the midst of the silence, there was one gunshot. Someone – one of the boys – screamed, but my typically advanced sense of hearing was still weakened, so I could not tell whom. The sudden burst of unconventional noise elicited sounds of panic and fright from a few others as well, including me.
Tess was the first one to react. "Get the lights!" she ordered. My sense of touch had not been damaged, so I felt someone near me, Maven, stand and move towards the lights. Knowing the course had its advantages, so he knew exactly where to find the emergency light switch. It took a moment for our eyes to adapt to the abrupt change in atmosphere.
Amelle was the first to notice what was happening with a chocked cry of her own. Tess and Maven seemed to pick up on what was happening too, running over to meet the others, leaving me to fend for myself as I tried to coax my own senses into working properly. My eyes adjusted eventually and I saw what all the confusion was over from where I sat.
From what I could make out, everyone – save Keele – was crowded around Ty, who lay injured on the floor, a sickening pool of blood expanding slowly around his leg. One of my teammates – probably his sister, Amelle – propped his head against the wooden obstacle that had offered him protection through the entire battle. I was overcome with the immediate desire to go over and investigate further, but it was silenced by an instinctive reaction to save myself.
"Get down!" I shouted just as another gun blast rang through the room, finding its home precariously close to me. My survival instincts had kicked in, and my eyesight and hearing had improved considerably. There were several other shots, but everyone had crouched behind obstacles, hands clenched over heads that peeked out from behind the barriers unintentionally.
All attempts at our lives ceased with the click of an empty barrel. I risked a look out at the frightening scene, as did a couple others on the adjacent side of the room. My head came up just in time to watch a familiar, tall man with brown hair and pale skin (standard for Haven City, where the sun did not penetrate the polluted cloud layer) throw his gun – switched to the incredibly harmful Blue Eco Vulcan mod – down disconcertedly.
The man shouted something defiantly, in a voice that could be no other than Keele's, interpretable even through the odd buzzing in my ears. "Long live Baron Praxis!" A motto I had heard only too many times working in the KG. My eyes had begun to cloud again, but my hearing was still sharp enough to detect the quick, deliberate footsteps out the door.
This time, Deron took command. "Maven, Dora, go after 'im!" he ordered. Zededora stood to leave immediately, but Maven was still very distressed by the betrayal of his best friend. Zededora helped him to his feet, but his thoughts were still elsewhere.
Deron gave Maven a kick in the shin from where he sat over Ty on the floor. "Hey, go get 'im before he can get the info to someone! If he's been spyin' for a year, no tellin' what sort o' secrets he's picked up on!"
Maven shot his gaze between Deron, the door and the ground. "Go get him and do what?" he asked hopelessly. Is this what happened to people who lost their best friends?
"Talk some sense into 'im, beat some sense into 'im, and kill 'im if ya have to!" Deron directed. Maven cringed at the last instruction. "Just stop 'im from gettin' out info about the Underground, would ya?"
Zededora had to drag our troubled team leader the first few steps before he finished wrestling with his emotions and followed her out the door, sprinting.
One crisis averted, we moved on to handle the injured Ty.
"Ty, are you there?" Amelle asked, trying to get a reaction from him as I crawled over to the four remaining agents. Ty groaned and mumbled something unintelligible to my ears in response.
"I don't know, Ty," Amelle replied, answering some unheard question. "Don't worry, baby brother; we'll get him back for it."
Ty ground out something else, this time sounding irritated at his sister's degrading nickname. She laughed. "Always will be, Ty."
The sick, salty smell of blood reached my nose, and I was glad, for once, that my eyes weren't working well. The scent was enough to repulse me, thank you.
"What are we going to do?" I asked.
"We have to get him to the hospital," Amelle said.
"No hospital," Ty grumbled, louder and somewhat more comprehensibly this time.
Amelle shot him a look. "Shut up! Don't try to act like you're fine."
"We better go soon," added Deron, facing away from Ty. "A shot through the leg won't have 'im lasting long."
Tess nodded. All movement was becoming more and more indistinguishable through the implacable haze. "I can get something to carry him on from the bar," she offered. "But we'll need three of us to carry him."
"Shae, can you run ahead to the hospital and let them know we're coming?" Amelle requested.
"I… uh…" I stammered. The hospital was much to public a place for me to go. I knew Ty was the one dying, but I didn't want to be somewhere public and still under the Baron's rule. "I don't think so."
I didn't want to go. I couldn't go. Even though Ty was my friend, it was too risky for me to go to the hospital, even disregarding my current state. Was helping him more important than my immediate and future safety?
As selfish as it was, no. I may have worked on a team, but over the last few years, I had learned the hard way that the person that really needed protecting was me. And the other three were strong. They would be able to handle it without me.
"What?" Tess asked. "Why not?"
It took courage to say the next words. "I shouldn't go. It's too dangerous for me! I could be recognized!"
Apparently, this was the last straw for Tess.
"Damn it, Shae, it's dangerous for all of us! You're no the only one that would get in trouble if you were caught! But as Underground agents, we have to be willing to work together. How are we going to win this war if we don't work together?"
I was too stunned to speak. Even Deron and Amelle had turned away from our injured comrade to hang on to Tess's outburst.
"The point is, if one of us doesn't risk our life, Ty is going to lose his!" she screamed.
I was at a total loss of words. The only thing I could think to say between all the confusion, stress and nauseating haze was, "I'm sorry, Ty."
Faced with three disproving faces, I did what was probably the worst possible thing to do in such a situation. I relied on my standard fall-back and ran, not having the courage or sensibility to look back.
And it wasn't withdrawal, either. Well, it was partly that. But more overpowering was the sick feeling in my stomach derived from the over-exposure to Eco after getting shot too many times and the automatic reaction to not be in the same place where blood had recently been spilt. Before clearing my thoughts, my stomach had the desire to clear itself. I hadn't eaten since the previous evening, and even that had been somewhat insubstantial, if even entirely well-cooked; another possible factor in my sudden onset of nausea. Still I managed to empty whatever food was left into the already vile Port water.
After that humiliating episode, I had the desire to find something to drink, to clear my mouth of the foul taste of vomit. But more imperative was the desire – and need – to get out of the Port. I limped and clutched my Flanker stings as I walked, each step sending a new wave of blinding pain up the ones in my legs.
That's when it dawned on me. That green poison that had leaked from the punctures; it had to be the reason I was feeling so ill! If the venom had made its way to my nerves overnight, it would explain the impairment of sight and hearing.
But how to draw it out? I dug into my virtually non-existent knowledge of medical remedies that did not involve intensive care. If I was not willing to escort a friend to the hospital by risk of being identified, there was no way in Haven I would be going there voluntarily to receive care myself.
I had to mentally slap myself. If I had just told Tess that I couldn't help them due to my injuries, we could have avoided the entire uncomfortable argument. And one of them might have been able to help me find a treatment for the Metal Head poison. Because if I knew one thing about Metal Head inflicted injuries, it was that they didn't heal on their own. And if they were not treated, they could be as deadly or at least as dangerous as high-class Eco poisoning.
I had a sudden recollection of my mother doing something to a vegetable. It contained a sour juice that was repugnant to the taste, so she would pierce a hole in the top and drown it in salt water for an hour to draw out the bitter liquid. If that could purge the putrid substance from a piece of food, maybe it could do the same for me.
Then, of course, I was faced by the problem that there was no salt water in the city. All the water sources in the Port, Water Slums and Main Town canal were fresh water, although polluted past the point of being potable. The only salt water access I could reach was from the ocean surrounding the city walls from the outside. The water in Dead Town was corrupted, but the Pumping Station would have clean access. Difficult to attain, yes, but not impossible.
Not to mention the fact that leaving the city was forbidden to all citizens. It was no doubt just the Baron trying to pass new laws that everyone would have to abide by, just because he wanted to make a show of power. If it were merely that, I would be out of the city on a regular basis, and not just on the occasional missions for Torn. I was a rebel through and through, part of the rebellion or not. But there were also the Metal Heads to contend with, nothing to hold them back outside Haven's protective boundaries.
My need to survive weighed out higher ultimately, and I took the nearest zoomer – it paid to be sixteen and legally permitted to drive one now – out to the Water Slums, in which there was the only access to the Pumping Station. I passed through the airlock and, swallowing a lump of body tremor-inducing fear, stepped out into the cool air of the only place in Haven where I could touch clean water.
I took a minute to gaze around in awe. Torn had sent me here in the past, these missions being the more suicidal. But every time, my mindset had been to get in, do the job, and get out. I never been given the cause or means to marvel at how green this place was – cool, sea air flowing off the waves, wiping the sweat from the fever off my face, windmills once used as power sources still turning, shrubbery still green.
Then, of course, I heard the low growling of a nearby Metal Head. That snapped me out of my reverie and sent me flying over to the shoreline. I did, however, take care to move around the curve of the beach, ensure I wouldn't come in contact with some stray drops of waste from near the Shield Wall.
As I trotted over to the waterline, I noted absently that there were pieces of debris scattered on the sand, masses of shrapnel from something. A tank, maybe? There were several tanks in the Pumping Station, long emptied of any substance. But my eyesight still wasn't strong enough to discern any missing portions of the metal landscape, built against two large pillars of stone, pipes curling around above the platforms that were no doubt infested with Metal Heads I didn't intend to meet.
I strained my ears to try to detect any Metal Heads wandering too-close-for-comfort, but I eventually reassured myself with the theoretical knowledge that they wouldn't be drifting so close to the city defences unless they were in large numbers. I would have been able to hear something if that were the case, so I knelt down on my knees and crawled the final distance to the water.
Removing the bandages on my knee, thigh and forearm was another feat altogether. The green ooze I had decided to name poison had plastered the cloth to my skin. Through a very painful process of cutting the protective layer with a knife – I always kept one in possession for just such unlikely occasions – and wrenching them from my skin with fumbling fingers, I finally arrived at the point where I could submerge my limbs, clean of any coverage, into salt water.
I placed a tentative, unwounded hand in first, probing for any hidden dangers. Then I slid the rest of my forearm under the water, needing to wade in further to prevent my posture from becoming too wobbly or awkward. My pants were already cuffed above my thighs, but I removed my jacket and tossed it to shore, not wanting to deal with wet sleeves as I used my free arm to aid my injured body.
The relief was practically instantaneous. It was painful at first – excruciatingly so – as the salt water touched the sore, raw skin and inflamed it. I was beginning to have second thoughts, but then the pain subsided gradually with a feeling of drawing out, just like the effect on the vegetable my mother had used. The area around the sting became numb instead of agonizing, and my vision and hearing even seemed to improve, if only slightly. My eye and earshot amplified. Through my clearer eyes, I could see the poison leeching into the water. I looked away after that as the scene was too disgusting to observe.
After flushing out the other two injuries, I decided to move back towards shore and sat down in the subtle waves, feeling the cool, wholesome water lap over my feet, legs, waist. I cupped my hands, dipped them in, and lifted some water up to my face, washing it of any grime that may have collected over the last few days. I didn't dare drinking any, though, as it was salt water and would not be friendly to the taste or to my throat's well-being in the long-run. After a few minutes of this, I decided it best not to return to the city dressed in wet attire, and hoisted myself up to the sand to dry off.
I sat at first, facing the bay, trying my best to ignore the looming, industrial walls behind it and all they implied. But my pleasant thoughts persisted to be interrupted by the feeling that I should be returning soon. I tried facing the Pumping Station, but the silhouettes of Metal Heads were becoming more and more defined, which made them more unnerving. Looking to my right showed the remains and foundations of Dead Town, a memory so painful I had to turn all the way around to stop thinking about it. That left me facing the distant, snow-capped mountains. Which I was content with watching for the next ten minutes.
The sounds of gunshots and feral Metal Head cries drifted into my semi-consciousness at some point, but they were so far off I was able to ignore them. As I sat, the air turn cold, so I pulled my jacket on over my arms.
The mountains looked so free, so welcoming. I wanted to go to them. Commandeer one of the new, high-power Hellcats and fly it over the city walls. Pack some supplies and never come back. Perhaps I would find a colony of Marauders up in those ice lands, or an entirely new city on the other side, one that knew nothing of our existence. I could integrate myself into that city, make a life for myself and never come back. Simply disappear off the face of the map. Summoning my long-dormant imagination, I pictured a red-headed teenager in a snowsuit and gloves with good grip ascending a steep, rocky face with some sort of equipment she had spotted in a KG storeroom once upon a time. She would arrive at the other side, claiming she had descended from a Marauder stronghold in the mountains (surely such things existed). They would welcome her. She would start a new life, forgetting about the trials she had faced growing up.
I was so deep in my daydream that by the time the bloodthirsty growl registered, it was too late. My head snapped around reflexively, but it only worsened the blow, if anything. A long, pronged stick caught me in the side, infusing me with an electric shock of Red Eco. If I didn't have minor Eco poisoning before, I was sure to now.
Moving on instinct, I spun my legs around, clamped the weapon between them and threw it out of the Metal Head's reach. But the Eco still buzzed through my body, and I could do nothing to block the sharp claws that swung at me next but duck and hope they missed me. Metal Heads didn't need weapons to win a fight; most were poorly manufactured anyway. They could win by sheer force – and by the fact that they were adaptively equipped with claws, fangs, and tough hides for protection. Even when I got in a clean shot, the switchblade could not make a dent in it, and my gun was still on the tag mod.
I was in better shape than earlier, but the battle raged on to a point that my endurance could not hold out. The Metal Head pinned me to the ground, teeth perilously close, ready to deliver a deathblow. I screamed in fear, unable to stop myself. It was a bit ironic that a Metal Head was going to be the cause of my death, after how many times I survived encounters with Krimzon Guards, survived starvation against all odds, survived going on a race track at only fourteen.
A gunshot fired and I wondered for a moment if the adrenaline was preventing me from feeling it, and how long that would last if it was the case. But then the Metal Head became limp, crushing me now that it was no longer supporting its own weight. Summoning any last bit of strength I could muster, I tossed the monster off me before it returned to its Dark Eco form, splattering me with blood and toxicity. All living organisms were composed of some Eco, so most returned to that form when their time was up. Not elves, clearly; mostly creatures borne of Dark Eco.
My eyes automatically searched the area for the firearm that had eliminated the Metal Head. Then I saw it, up on one of the platforms leading to the central pumping unit, its owner crouching behind one of the portions of the broken cylinder.
I tried to step forward, but instantly noticed the red targeting laser still training on my chest. Completely perplexed but not wanting to allow my saviour to shoot me because of my recklessness, my arms found their way above my head in a gesture of surrender. The figure emerged from behind the makeshift metal barrier, guard lowered but gun nevertheless directed at me, the owner with much better bearings and aim than I could ever hope for; the target never once wavered. He began to descend the nearby steps, and as he approached me cautiously, I was able to get a clear observation of him.
He wore about the same things as the rest of us: layered clothing to protect against the cold; tough gloves and boots to withstand harsh conditions and enemies. A long mat of unruly yellow hair was held back by a pair of targeting goggles of a much better make than mine. His blue eyes were piercing, dangerous and especially dark, both in colour and in the tone they emitted. There was something familiar about him, and yet his appearance was so unique that I would have remembered it.
It wasn't until an orange rat popped out from behind his shoulder that the pieces came together.
Blue eyes, marvelling and frightened. Tanned skin, straight from a nonexistent sunny beachside city. Orange rat, running away with the desperate promise that he would come back to save him. . . .
The best I could do at that point was hope I could make a speedy getaway and never see this man – Jak, if I recalled – again.
"Yeah, that's right, hands where we can see 'em, Ginger!" scorned the rat, in the same high pitch I remembered from two years ago. In spite of my petrifying terror, I grimaced indignantly at my new moniker. I didn't have freckles, at any rate. I thought not . . . but it had been far too long since I had seen a mirror. They were scarce even in my house.
"Whose side are you on?" demanded Jak, in a rough, authoritative voice. This would have been the ideal time to snap something snarky, but I doubted even the honest words would come out of my mouth, let alone something sarcastic.
"Well, I'm not with the KG, if that's what you're thinking," I replied. My voice was rough and unsure. Hopefully, the pair would mistake my apparent dread for fear of them or shock, instead of the true fear of me being recognized.
"Then whose?" His expression never once faltered, although the rat was snickering at something.
I couldn't tell him about the Underground, but I had to say something. "I'm firmly against the KG and Baron Praxis. That's all you need to know."
That seemed to unwind his temper a little. "You okay?" he asked.
Something snapped inside me, and I shouted the next words. "I'm fine, you stupid, concerned moron!" It wasn't until after I had let the words out that I remembered that my anger was directed at those who always asked if I was feeling okay, not Jak who was simply trying to be helpful.
Jak looked taken aback for a second, then angrier than before. The orange rat yelled something sardonic and uncouth, but I was distracted by the shadow of a Metal Head creeping up behind them, gun cocked, fangs bared, unbreakable golden skull – for which Metal Heads were named – glowing.
Slowly as not to alarm the pair, I reached for my switchblade. Jak caught the movement and brought his gun back up, coldly furious and ready to kill. This was not the best first impression I had ever given. . . .
"Don't try it," he growled. "You'll be dead before it can find its mark."
"We'll all be dead if you don't duck right now," I informed him quietly. Jak was still wary, but the rat looked behind them and screamed. Jak complied with my direction and crouched down, just in time to miss my knife that whizzed over them and buried itself in the monster's neck. It fell to the ground and joined its ally in Dark Eco form.
"Look, we're even now," I pointed out. Jak, who had taken no time whatsoever to recover from the shock, nodded slowly, eyes still fuming with anger, and . . . did I imagine it? Or were they actually a few shades darker than before?
"Good shot," was all he muttered.
Frankly, I was as surprised as he appeared to be at my aim. Perhaps speaking to Torn about swapping my less-than-effective pistol for another knife like his own wouldn't be such a dismissible idea. If Torn would even speak to me anymore. . . .
I could not understand why the orange rodent was still screaming in terror. Then I saw it: a whole horde of Metal Heads of all shapes and sizes, all wielding weapons, mostly just their razor-sharp claws. There were hundreds of them, which meant thousands of teeth. I had never seen so many Metal Heads assembled at once before that moment. And it looked like that moment was not going to last long.
They had us surrounded, crowding the beach and advancing in an erratic formation; there was no way to get back to the door safely. The water covered our only escape route, and entering that would result in an immediate shot from a KG defence robot, programmed to exterminate anyone caught trying to escape from the city via the ocean. The only way we could go was back into the Pumping Station, where more dangers no doubt awaited us, this time in a convoluted terrain that would be to a large extent more difficult to navigate.
I risked a glance over at Jak, who was already rear stepping towards a path that would lead straight to the center of the Pumping Station. Then I recalled something. Something Jak would overlook, something the Metal Heads would never be able to follow us to, something I had learned after hours of studying maps under Torn's orders, despite my many ignored protests and complaints. If we could make it to the northernmost end of the Pumping Station, to where it blended into the mountains . . .
"Follow me," I whispered in a tone that meant he had no choice but to do exactly that. Why I was saving him, I didn't know. I felt as if I owed him, somehow.
"Like hell," Jak replied. I resented that comment.
"Got a better plan, genius?" I spat. "I know a way to get us out of this mess. But you've got to do exactly as I say." It was a long shot, but I figured I would give it a try.
"I'll follow you out. No promises after that," he offered angrily. I nodded, suspecting that was the best I could hope for from Jak. I dashed under a large pipe to my left, hearing Jak's deft but always cautious footsteps echoing mine. I snatched up my knife as I hurdled over the collection of Dark Eco on the ground, which now had a fine veneer of coagulated black blood.
I knew the Pumping Station well enough. Add that to an acute sense of direction and keen, Metal Head avoiding instincts, and we arrived at the other side of the Pumping Station with minimal creature encounters – me using my knife to disarm the closer targets, Jak shooting the more distant ones with his upmarket morph gun. We hurdled over pipes and rocks, climbed up pieces of machinery, balanced over stepping stones that quite clearly weren't meant to be for stepping on, scrambled over rock piles. He was fast too, even with a rodent on his shoulder, and as result of our cooperative speed, we reached the rocky beach without any Metal Heads in direct pursuit. I exploited the luxurious spare time to explain my plan to Jak. He listened carefully, hanging on to my hastened words, all prejudice set aside. That went for both of us, actually.
I finished my explanation just as we heard the Metal Head ambush cresting the cliff above us.
"Think you can handle it?" I asked contemptuously.
Jak gave me a fierce, determined expression. "Let's do this."
I ignored the glance he shot his companion, one that evidently said, "I can always kill her after I know we're safe." Wonderful.
"All right!" I said animatedly, clasping my hands together in mock-anticipation. "Let's go blow something up!"
The reason for the last line: I turned on the TV on day, and it was on Discovery. The last of the commercial that was playing said exactly this: "Let's blow something up!" So, obviously, I HAD to find a way to integrate it into the story. It took me about five chapters, but I finally found its place.
So, coments, criticisms, praise, flames? Anything you'd like to throw at me, I'm ready.
Peace.
