OMFG, IT'S ANOTHER CHAPTER! gah, i've had no time or energy for this. school was getting crazy for awhile, the college app. process continues, and i've got the lead role in a musical, thus this is the longest it's ever taken me to update (and it's the shortest chapter yet).
anyways, here's chapter nine, and i've finally skipped around a little. my own interpretation of things continues to get more complicated, and i'm as impatient as ever to get to the juicy events coming up (probably far, far in the future). do enjoy!
Those Magic Changes
Hurry It Up, Slow It Down
Jak growled as he smacked aside another scorpion with a skull cracking blow of his gun. No sooner than the metal head hit the ground, several more popped up out of subterranean burrows to take its place.
"How many more of these are gonna show up?" Jak said in a voice tense with irritation as he welcomed the new arrivals with eco-charged bullets to head.
"Who knows." Daxter replied dryly, "Scorpions are abundant little buggers."
Jak swiftly kicked a scorpion as it leapt towards him, sending it flying into a nearby support pillar. "They won't be much longer if they don't leave us the hell alone."
Jak jumped onto a conveyer belt and turned to view the scarred valley below as he rode up. A number of conveyer belts, cranes, and eco wells rose out of blasted pits, casting long shadows over piled mounds of dirt. Drills worked their way in and out of rock walls and enormous crates suspended over yawning chasms transported excess earth out of the way. Pools of dark eco shimmered on the sides of the site, and a faint glowing speck in the distance was all that could be seen of the warp gate where they entered. Mingled scents of dust and metal lingered in the air, drying the throat upon inhalation. Despite the machinery busy at work, the site was deserted, giving it the eerie sense of a ghost town. The Strip Mine was not a place Jak wanted to spend much time at.
"This Vin guy better be worth it."
After just two weeks in the Underground, Jak was not only back on his feet but leaping to new and dangerous heights. He recovered unusually quickly from his bullet wound, so quickly that he wondered if the dark eco had given his body the ability to heal faster. After delivering a package of eco ore to the arms dealer Krew and agreeing to work for the blimp, he had gained a morph gun and two mods, and it wasn't long at all before he was highly proficient with them. He had been sent out on a number of odd jobs by both Krew and Torn and in the process learned to easily navigate around the Slums and Industrial District, honing his emotional mask to the point where he seemed as heartless as any dreg in the city. He became far more deadly than the boy from Sandover ever could have. He was stronger and faster. He had weapons at his disposal. He could transform into a crazed berserker.
And beneath it all he felt crushed by the weight of his shell.
Jak took aim and fired, killing three metal head flyers in rapid succession, before making a running jump on to a passing crate. He looked absently to his left. The sun was much closer to the horizon then when he arrived.
He leapt off the crate and, after disposing of two more metal heads, noted a structure built into the tiny platform. Small is it was with only a single door, it could only be a control room of some sort—a conjecture supported by the glowing warp gate to the building's right. Seeing no better path of action, Jak sauntered up to the door and pressed a large red button to its right. The door slid open with hiss.
A tremulous voice rang out, "AAAGH! Stay back!"
Jak obligingly jumped back several steps when bullets shot out of the laboratory, landing in showers of sparks at his feet. He ducked to the wall beside the door, and Daxter yelped, "Do something, Jak! This guy's crazy!"
Rolling his eyes, Jak yelled, "Hey, are you Vin?" A random spray of bullets continued to char the floor just outside the door. "We're here to help! Torn sent us!"
The voice screeched again, "Stay back!"
Really getting tired of any further delays to getting the hell out of the Strip Mine, Jak yelled in a louder, angrier voice, "Look, if we were here to kill you, you wouldn't be talking right now!"
The bullets stopped and Jak cautiously leaned around the doorframe. Amid a sea of glowing blue monitors a small, wiry foreman stood quaking behind a console, an eco pistol held in one hand. He wore a wrinkled white shirt, rolled up to the elbows, and a baggy pair of brown trousers, held up by suspenders. Odd tufts of white hair sprang out of his head like haphazard patches of grass and countless worry lines adorned his bony face. He wore fingerless gloves, worn thin at the palm from extensive use, and goggles sat beneath eyebrows that seemed perpetually peaked together in an expression of anxiety. His head, hands, and feet all seemed far too big for his gangly appendages; the only other part of his body with much meat on it was a pot belly that strained against the confines of his tiny shirt. All in all, Vin looked like a shriveled up pear.
He looked Jak and Daxter up and down with a frantic twitch of his head and collapsed on the console. "Oh, friendlies? Oh thank goodness! We…" he glanced behind them, suddenly confused, "so… w-where's the army?"
Daxter raised an eyebrow. "Ah… we're it."
Vin looked appalled. "What? Just you two? What do they think I'm worth??"
Jak glared at the foreman, causing him to flinch. "I'm beginning to wonder that myself. If you want, you can stay here and be metal meat," the elf turned towards the nearby warp gate, "but Daxter and I are leaving before those monsters come back."
Vin rushed out of the lab, still wielding his pistol, clearly more terrified of being left behind than not having a legion to safeguard him. Jak leapt through the warp gate without a second glance.
"Hey hey, cherries! How's headhuntin' for the man goin' lately?"
The deep, velvety voice came from an enormous man who stood a good two heads taller than Jak. He wore what appeared to be hundreds of pounds worth of heavy-duty armor that glinted a dusty silver in the dim lights of the Hip Hog Heaven Saloon. The shoulder pads were fashioned in the likeness of a particularly nasty metal head, vicious spikes shooting out above lifeless yellow eyes. Bulging muscles the color of chocolate occasionally managed to peek out from beneath the armor, and a slightly curved head piece shot out behind his fierce face. A red lens jutted out where the man's right eye should have been, the startling green of his left complementing the device. He sat in a booth, his height and broad shoulders creating an image not unlike a fully-grown yakow laying in a stall built for a calf.
Daxter answered before Jak could say a word, jumping onto the table, "Irritating, Sig, very irritating. Torn's giving us all the crappy missions, and the last job Krew sent us on had us traipsing around the sewers. I smelled worse than a metal head's rear for days!" Jak slid in the opposite seat shaking his head.
Sig laughed as he grabbed a mug with a huge gloved hand. "Yeah, he has a penchant for dealin' rookies the worst jobs around." He lifted the mug and drained half its frothy contents in a single gulp.
Jak placed both elbows on the table and sagged forward, roughly running a dirty hand through his hair. "Well the worst jobs don't tend to be that ripe for picking skulls."
Sig tightened his large lips in sympathy. "Nobody giving you the information you want, huh?"
The younger elf shook his head. "All I get is little tidbits now and then, but I always wind up with more questions than when I started."
He closed his eyes and scowled, his thoughts drifting back one week to the Water Slums.
Jak stood before the shack, eyeing its battered door warily. He had allowed the tingling in his fingers to take over, allowed his body to respond to the strange, siren ring he both did and didn't hear and follow it. As he approached the shack, the unearthly ringing rose in intensity till it was a deep hum that vibrated through his bones. Why had he felt drawn to this hovel?
Before he could give another moment's thought to the situation, the door slid open, revealing a sight that filled Jak with a mixture of excited nostalgia and mysterious dread. He stepped inside, ignoring Daxter's mutterings, and tried to repress the desire to run away as he calmly walked up the short length of the shack. A Precursor oracle stood against the back wall amongst hundreds of dripping candles, its eyes glowing not with the perpetual motion of power cells but an alien blue that spoke of untold wisdom.
The humming grew louder, reminding Jak unsettlingly of his first injection cycle in the fortress, and crescendoed into a shimmering curtain of inaudible sounds that throbbed through the air. Suddenly, a rasping, ancient voice like two boulders grinding against one another boomed out from oracle, causing Daxter to fall off Jak's shoulder in surprise.
"Greetings, great warrior. I sense there is a dark rage burning within you, and in time, it will destroy you with its madness." Jak felt a thrill of fear run down his spine. No, he thought, I can't die before I kill the Baron.
"Only the last power of the Precursors can save you. Destroy my enemies, those creatures that you call the metal heads, bring me twenty-five of their skull gems and I will teach you how to use this power."
Jak frowned. Kill metal heads for Precursor powers? He smiled maliciously, "Sounds like a sweet deal to me." He reached inside his belt pouch, throwing the requested number on the floor before the oracle.
The last skull gem had barely hit the floor before purple rays of quivering light shot out of the statue and gripped him in electric pain. Dark eco flooded his system and he ground his teeth together to keep silent. He was dimly aware of his feet leaving the floor as he twisted in agony like a worm on a hook.
"You do well to rid the world of this metal scourge." Jak felt horns split his skull and his nails lengthen into knifes. "As a reward, I grant you a dark power."
Suddenly as he had been caught in the white hot grip of the dark eco, he was released. He managed to land on two feet, surprised at not the only the ease with which he had recovered but the abrupt ripples of strength and power he felt coursing through his body. He watched as he lifted white hands up for examination and felt his facial muscles tense upward in a demonic smile.
Jak felt his thoughts jerk in astonishment. The beast, his dark self, was controlling his body but Jak was, for the first time, baring witness to it. It was an oddly detached sort of sensation, like seeing the world from another person's eyes within a dream. He felt elation sweep over his dark self as it conjured power, a bubbling darkness that chaotically spiraled from his core to his fingertips. He watched as his body suddenly leapt into the air, crackling with the telling surges of huge volumes of eco, before descending into a crouch, slamming a pale fist into the ground. Dark eco radiated out from his body, filling the room with violet electricity, a promise of violent carnage to come, before the room cleared and he felt the spent darkness subside.
Jak fell back into the weight of his body with a gasp, collapsing to his knees.
He heard a gentle pit-pat of furry feet cautiously coming nearer. "That was awesome!" Daxter spoke in a loud voice that belied the worry conveyed in his approach, "Those metal heads are toast! No way can they stand up to the unmitigated fury of your super dark bomb attack!"
Despite himself, Jak laughed, a low, humorless chuckle. Daxter was silent.
"We better hurry and figure out a way into the palace, Dax. I guess I don't have all the time in the world."
"Well, chili pepper, just keep at it. Once you eighty-six the rookie status you're bound to get all kinds of ripe and juicy missions." Sig emptied his mug, finishing with a satisfied "aah" sound.
A horrible stench filled the air just before a huge, round shadow fell over the booth. "Or perhaps it's more a matter of geography, ey?" Jak looked up at Krew and wrinkled his nose, wishing as always that he could somehow look at the blimp with out taking in the whole of his disgusting girth.
Daxter crossed his tiny arms and glared at Krew. "Whaddya mean by 'geography,' donut hole?"
Krews shrewd eyes narrowed to dangerous slits, "What I mean is that you only have access to half of the city! The Business District is where the rich little underlings in the Baron's pocket reside. Of course if you spend all your time among the East Side riff-raff you never know what sort of," He gave Daxter a meaningful look, fluttering his fan excitedly, "accidents might occur, ey?" The ottsel's defiant expression quickly melted into one of wide-eyed dread.
Bored with the exchange, Jak impatiently got out of the booth. "Death threats aside, would you just get to the point?"
Krew shifted his attention to the young elf, his eyes glinting, "I have a proposition for you, Jak." The blimp began gliding in a lazy circle around him. "Racing is the biggest sport in the city. Errol is the undisputed grand champion. He's crazy and dangerous on the track. Ha ha! My kind of guy." Krew abruptly stopped circling and moved in close to Jak's face. "Only a fool would dare race against him, ey! And that's where you two come in. A client of mine is looking for a fast driver for her racing team." He floated over to the bar and grabbed a sheaf of papers. He flicked the stack with a snap of his blubbery wrist, sending a shiny object flying in Jak's direction. He deftly caught it and held up a card. "Here's a security pass to get you into the stadium section. Uh, and your contract, with just a few trifles for me. I've, ah, already signed your name to save time, mmmmmmmm."
Krew tossed the papers aside, and Daxter scurried over to pick them up. He began reading:
"We the racers hereby agree to give Krew all proceeds from race earnings, endorsement fees, broadcast royalties, syndications residuals, vehicle sponsorships, mall appearance fees," the long list grew soporific, causing Jak's eyes to flutter, "collectible card assets, fast-food tie-ins, use of likeness rights, talk show deals, clothing lines, all print rights including book, novella, comic, pamphlet, tickertape, neon sign and bathroom graffiti designs," Daxter halted and, taking an enormous breath, turned the page, "toy rights, shoe lines, mood rings, game rights… GAME RIGHTS! …vitamin endorsements, city kickbacks, movie deals, and, of course, all death and dismemberment accident insurance claims."
Jak gave Krew a look that suggested he wondered how the arms dealer's brain managed to work.
Krew chuckled sadistically at the young elf's expression, "Heh heh heh! We can work out the tiny details later. If you can get from here to the race garage near the stadium in three minutes, my client said that she would consider letting you drive for her team. Make me proud, mmmm."
Errol dismounted his sleek zoomer, noting his reflection in the red paintjob with a conceited smile. Most of the people milling about him stopped, staring in open-mouthed awe. A pair of women gazed at the commander wistfully, and he rewarded them with a winsome salute. He thought how much better it was to make appearances on the West Side. He never failed to garner looks of envy and admiration among the ignorant rich. They all thought they were free citizens at the Baron's generosity after all.
Errol strode under the familiar arches of the stadium, allowing his gloved fingers to brush the stone in passing. The only things in life he cared about were power, racing, and women. All three were a simple matter of conquest. They weren't always straight forward, but with a little thinking outside the box could be easily won. Force an upright KG commander into enough difficult situations, and he'll leave the Guard and his post up for grabs; tamper with a racer's zoomer before the competition, and he'll be pushed into the pit before the second lap; woo a woman with the right words, and she'll be as loose as a crocadog in heat.
Errol frowned. What to do if the prey will not be subdued?
He stepped over the threshold of Axle's Garage with a charming grin yet was met not with Keira's face but her backside as she tilted a water bottle to the ceiling. She drank deeply, completely oblivious to her surroundings, a certain expression of abandon flitting about her closed eyes.
Errol asked, "Thirsty?"
Startled, Keira choked and spluttered, coughing till she was doubled over. Errol immediately closed the distance between them and helpfully took the bottle from her hand, placing it on a nearby table. Returning to her side, he lightly thumped her back.
She straightened up and waved his hand away, eyes watering. "I'm fine—" She coughed again, "Really!"
Errol gave her a wry look. "Yes, I could tell by your purple complexion."
Keira wiped her eyes, shrugging. "Rehydration has its dangers."
"If you're chugging water at the speed of sound." Errol corrected.
She rummaged around in a drawer, her hips swaying pleasantly. She shortly removed a comm. unit and a small tool box, turning to flash him a playful smile. "Hey, it's not my fault I get so thirsty when I work. I just get in creative stints were my mechanical frenzy can't be interrupted by bodily needs"
Errol's loins warmed at the mention of "bodily needs," and Keira strutted past him, subtly flaunting her curves. "In other words you try and get too much done too fast."
"Maybe." She deftly removed three screws from the comm. unit and, popping off the back, tinkered with its insides.
Errol took on a concerned tone. "Why are you in such a hurry?"
She glanced at him again, a flash of green intelligence that he desired to own. "What's got you so insightful today?"
He locked eyes with her, hiding his lustful thoughts with nice guy anxiety. "I'm worried about you."
She looked surprised and then turned, a shy smile softening her features as she inserted a wire into the comm. unit. What was it about the mix of flirtation and innocence that aroused him so much?
Keira, deciding on a new thread of conversation, asked, "What can I do for you today?"
He walked up to her, confidently placing his hand on the table she was standing by. "You can be my mechanic."
She laughed at his persistence. He had said that every time he visited. "Thanks, but no thanks. I like where I'm at."
"Come on." He turned her to face him and placed his hands on her hips, taking another step closer, "My outfit is far better than this shabby old garage. Just think: you'd have the finest equipment and tools, the best racer—"
"Sorry," Keira sashayed out of his grip, somehow making the movement more enticing than any invitation, "but there are some things I need to get finished on my own first."
He stared at her. "You really are in such a hurry." How to unlock such a cryptic puzzle? "You should slow down. You never know when the consequences might choke you."
it's fun to get inside errol's head a little. he's such a horn dog. so, are you guys excited for the next chapter? it's time for the famous "who's behind the curtain" scene! hopefully, i'll be able to reproduce it with a shade of originality.
i'd like to thank my faithful reviewers. without you guys, i would have no reason to write. in paticular, i'd like to thank Ecohorse!
thanks so much for always giving such specific feedback! you've reviewed every single chapter, and i love hearing your input. you're a doll! ;)
...so review, everyone, and get a special mention if you do it really well!
