Chapter twenty, Onwards
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Begin Introspection. Serial code: Samos.
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Nobody can be always strong. Not forever.
All it takes sometimes is one stumble, one broken bone, one prolonged sickness… and the stronger you had to be before, the more painful it'll be.
Daxter annoys me a great deal. Yet, that has little to do with anything, because I'm not the one he spends the most time with. I'm not the one that needs help finding the way to smile.
As I have told you before, the future I remember did not have a Jak. Of course there was no Daxter either. He had lived, grown old and died centuries ago in Sandover. Supposedly. Or very possibly died in the first metal head invasion. There is no telling what he did back then, and what taking him away from it did to history. If anything. It's impossible to tell. Then again, there's also Keira.
I had a fair idea what would happen when we activated the Precursor Gate back then (and if we hadn't, while I cannot be certain, I'm fairly sure that Gol and Maia would've done it in our stead), and I could not bear to leave her behind to die. And no matter how Daxter annoys me, of course I couldn't leave him either. Jak would need his support for the dark times that were coming – though I had no idea just how dark things would get.
Perhaps I could have prepared him better. However, how could anything have prepared him for any of it?
The rest of the village… I knew. I knew. But we could not save everyone. I had to be selfish and take the most precious person, the one I knew might be able to stabilize the time loop by building the machine in the future, that could send the new time travelers back.
Jak had to come along to the future, of course, and that meant Daxter as well.
I do not know what happened to the rest of them. There are only fragmented records until the rise of Mar, and even then the sources are obscured with legends and rumors. Perhaps some of them managed to survive, or flee. Some must have, or there would be no descendants to live now, of course.
Regardless, I had to be stronger, and more cruel, than any of those three children knew at that time. They probably realize it, though Keira is the only one to confront me about it, weeks after Praxis' fall and Jak's battle with Kor.
It took months before she could say she forgave me. I don't know if I could have borne longer than that.
Oh, I have strayed off tangent.
I believe Daxter is a fool for insisting he needs to hurry to the wasteland. However, I find it admirable that he can find the courage not to flinch away from the danger, for Jak's sake. He's an annoying brat, but it's in moments like this that I see why Jak cares so much about him.
And if Jak truly is as near to a stumble as Daxter obviously fears, then time is running short.
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End Introspection.
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Lev felt ready to tear his hair out. Or Zem's. Yeah, the latter sounded better.
Okay, good news: Lev didn't feel so desolate any more. Bad news: Because he was frustrated instead.
"When did you last work? When did you last eat? Or sleep?"
And Zem had just shook his head when Lev demanded answers, unable to respond to even those simple questions. But no, he hadn't been roughened up by angry avengers. No, he didn't want to talk.
That was the worst of all. He didn't even want to try sorting out the utter mess that was his head.
So in the meantime, Lev had to resort to trying to keep him chugging along until Zem either snapped out of it or completely snapped. Whichever came first. At this point, it might be any of those things.
Lev grimly thought that maybe he should set up a betting pool about it. That might actually piss Zem off enough to jolt him back out of sheer defiance.
But the first order of business was to get him back to work before Kleiver started grumbling about somebody not pulling their weight. That could be very, very bad. A complete war amulet did in no way ensure you could sit back and not be useful – citizenship could be revoked.
At least Zem seemed receptive to taking orders, probably because he didn't feel like thinking himself. He ate when Lev told him to, and came with him to the vehicle pit. Dragging his feet and still looking more dead than alive, but you take what you can get.
They went unnoticed for about five seconds after entering the parking area.
"Hey, jailbird!"
Zem showed emotion for the first time since yesterday in the arena, and flinched at the new nickname Kleiver hollered at him. The huge man lumbered towards the two of them, looking less pleased than usual. Other mechanics and wastelanders felt the oncoming storm and turned to watch, with more or less interest.
"Oh hai, Kleiver. This is my pet zombie." Lev patted Zem's back with a whole lot more cheerfulness than he felt. But then, Lev's other childhood dream had been to be an actor. He could pretend.
He was ignored. Kleiver punched a meaty finger into Zem's chest, hard enough to make him sway. Not that Zem was very steady to begin with.
"Where have ya been?" Kleiver demanded.
"Flu," Zem said. It was the excuse Lev had told him to give.
Kleiver took one hard look at Zem's hollow cheeks and red-shot eyes. It was very true that the ex looked like he had been sick as a dog. Mainly because it was true, just not that kind of sickness.
"Trust me on that," Lev said, drawing a cross over his own heart with his finger. "I'm almost a nurse."
That got him the attention, and he weathered Kleiver's sneer with a snicker.
"Take that as you will," Lev said. "Anyway, my pet here shouldn't be sharing the flu anymore by now, but he's still a little sluggish."
Understatement of the year.
"So, better not ask him to do any fine tuning. Things might go boom."
"I decide what he does in here, nanny boy." Kleiver turned his glare back to Zem, and jabbed his thumb at some far back car. "Get to it. Kurotora's Screamer. Now!" He added the last like a whip crack when Zem apparently did not move quick enough.
"Yeah, yeah…" Zem grunted, walking off and absently picking at the tools at his belt. At least he seemed to be acting on his own accord now. Sort of.
Lev almost relaxed. Then he put on a stupid smile and waved after Zem's back.
"You be good now, bignasty! I'll come pick you up tonight, promise!"
Zem should have spun at him and snarled, especially as the pit erupted with laughter from the other wastelanders. Even Kleiver guffawed with more amusement than anger.
But Zem did not react.
Lev's heart sunk right back into the pit it had been cozily settled in for the last few days.
"Your name means 'Live', you know." His mother smiled, but there was a weary note to it. She always looked a little tired, even before everything in Haven changed. "So if you're ever feeling down, just remember that."
Those words had stuck with him, and comforted him in many a dark moment before. Right now even they could not help him much, though. Then again, his mother had been smart – smart enough that she too would have told him that he could not force somebody else to, heh, live up to his name.
Then again, at least he had gotten Zem to eat and work. Baby steps. One at a time.
Daxter pressed his back against the cold, metallic wall, breathing in as even snaps of air as he could. Calm down. Calm down.
Everything was still. For now. He listened for the whirr and clicks of moving metal. They were sophisticated enough to know when he moved again. And if he didn't get going on his own soon, they would come for him.
Holding his handguns ready to fire, he peeked around the corner. Nothing. Just an empty, silent corridor. Waiting.
And on the other end of it, safety. He held his breath.
There was a low, clattering buzz.
A small cardboard robot shot out along the track where Daxter's feet had been a second ago, but he was already moving and the paintball launched from the mock-enemy's head splattered against the wall.
Others swept out to the left and right of him. He shot one and threw himself past the other, rolling back to his feet and bounding forwards to avoid the other's paintball. Right about here the cardboard enemies had gotten him so many times before, often in the ankle and that meant death in a real situation.
This time he managed to get out of the way in time, only to have another ball whizz past his shoulder. That one he avoided out of sheer luck, but he'd never admit that aloud.
Because sometimes, sheer dumb luck was all you needed.
He sent the one that had shot the last ball at him to confetti heaven with a couple of shots. When he'd started training, he'd thought that running and firing at the same time was an impossible feat. Most of his smarting bruises came from Tess drilling him hard in that art.
Three more little buggers popped up ready to fire at him. He recoiled, shooting one. The others fired, then swept out of sight before he could take care of them.
Silence.
The exit opened ahead of him. Daxter threw a look at the score displayed above the door, thinking that Jak wouldn't be able to keep from chuckling if he saw it. Then again, it was better than it had ever been mere days ago. Daxter rather held on to that thought. Also, he hadn't had to wash as much color out of his hair and off his face lately. Points were secondary.
Wiping the sweat from his brow Daxter holstered his guns, loudly exhaling as he stepped through.
"Pretty good that one, 'ey Tess––"
He caught her gaze, saw the flash in her eyes. Something big swung down at his head.
Daxter did not think. He threw himself forwards and rolled up and around, ripping one handgun back in his hand to aim it straight at––
Sig.
The bullet hit the wall several inches away from the wastelander's shoulder. Sig ducked away in time – of course – but Daxter just barely managed to redirect the shot before it went off, trigger finger too far into the motion to stop.
All three of them paused, looking at the small new hole in the wall. Some concrete peacefully fell to the floor.
Sig reached out and poked at the hole.
"Nice reflexes, cherry," he commented.
Daxter holstered the handgun, letting out the breath that had caught in his throat. He refrained from a straight up "I could've killed you, you nutball!" remark, knowing full well he couldn't have.
"Yeah, same to you, big dude," he said instead, firing off a smirk. That was satisfying enough. "Shouldn't you be out hunting marauders too, though?"
"Nah, they've got that covered." Sig's smile faded and he crossed his arms. "We need you to double-time it over to Spargus though. Jak's drooping like a leaper lizard at midnight. You gotta look hard to see it, though." He added the last in a deep grumble.
Daxter's stomach plummeted at seeing Sig – Sig! – worried. He took half a step towards the door as if ready to leave that very second, but then logic kicked in.
"I hear ya," he said, drumming his fingers against his upper arms. "But it won't do Jak any good if I pop in only to get chewed up. And for the record I won't be happy either if that happens!"
"I think you're just about ready, thanks to fighter dove here," Sig said. Tess grinned and made a little 'dang straight' hand sweep through her hair.
Daxter had to grin as well, with a swell of pride for Tess' sake. Sig was about the most generous compliment-giver Jak and Daxter had come across in Haven, but he also never handed them out undeserved.
"You hear that?" Daxter said to Tess. "He really thinks I won't be chow and it is all thanks to you." Of course he had to make a joke about it, though.
"Hold your yakkows," Sig said, "we need some finishing touches."
Daxter looked up at him, feeling the hopeful balloon in his stomach pop in a cloud of new anxiety. It struck him right then that Sig probably hadn't just come to Haven to simply pick him up.
This would probably be painful.
"I was thinkin' we should have a fire drill metal head hunt," Sig said, shooting Daxter's heart into his throat. He glanced at Tess, whose grin had changed to a death glare in two seconds blank. Seemingly unshaken, he turned back to Daxter. "But I couldn't look Jak in the eye if things went belly up." He pointed at Tess without looking at her. "'Course, I prolly wouldn't have an eye left for it."
"You got that right, armor boy."
"You're a treasure, you know that?" Daxter commented, shoulders dropping.
Sig chose to ignore that crack in the redhead's courage. He didn't expect the scrawny guy to be like Jak in the first place. The important thing was that he focused on getting to Jak and give him a shoulder to lean on. Or sleep on. Whatever Jak needed right now to get back in gear, Sig knew full well that Daxter was the expert on how to provide it.
"The deal is," Sig said as he pointed at the door to the shooting range, "you've got your reflexes down pat and the aiming is alright. You've been dodging robot tricks though, not metal head ones."
Yup, this was going to be painful.
Then again, less painful than the real thing. And good practice for it too (though Daxter did expect Jak to still do the heavy lifting, thank you very much).
"This thing built like the one in the harbor?" Sig asked, moving to the control panel.
"Keira and I modified it a bit, but yup, basically," Tess said.
"Right." Sig motioned her over. "So you just holler if you catch me trying something that doesn't work here." He started punching in something in the controls with surprisingly fast movements.
Tess watched him for a few seconds, then made a little jump and clapped her hands.
"Ooh, I see what you're doing! But how about this?" She moved in and Sig let her, watching as she started tapping in his stead.
"Right-o, that'll be a howl," he said, and pushed another few buttons. "But let's fire up the danger by the corners…"
They went on like that for a good minute, and Daxter listened with a mix of intrigued and alarmed anticipation.
"Okay, that oughta do it," Sig finally said. He and Tess turned around. "Give it a whirl, champ."
Daxter glanced between them and the door a couple of times, then put his fists on his hips.
"Are you sure you two don't wanna amp up the pain levels a wee bit more?" he asked. "'Cause you're both grinning like this really big old metal head me and Jak used to know…"
But at their more or less amused urging, he threw up his hands and walked in. Tess pushed the big red Start button. Two seconds later the popping and yelping started from inside of the range.
Sig and Tess watched what happened on the monitor.
"You're a good trainer, strawberry," Sig remarked after a few moments.
Tess beamed at him.
"Well, he's got his reasons to work hard," she said. Sig just nodded at that.
They looked back at the screen, both strongly suspecting that the other knew about Jak's feelings for Daxter, but unwilling to risk breaching the subject in case they were wrong.
About fifteen minutes later Daxter crawled out, gasping and with a dismal amount of points to his name, but with only a handful of new paint smears on his clothes. And that, Sig verified, was what counted right now.
"You focus on getting out of the way to a good position to shoot, chili pepper. Keep thinking like that."
"Got it… got it…" Daxter gasped, swaying.
He had a nagging inkling that Sig looked so pleased mostly because the exhaustion had gotten Daxter's motor mouth shut off. He'd get the big guy for that. With loads and loads of rambling.
Later.
"Take ten, survivor," Sig said, looking him over.
Daxter made a grateful noise and fumbled a water bottle out of his backpack, which hung on a hook on the wall. That done he crashed on a bench and proceeded to chug most of the water down. He looked up to smile tiredly at Tess as she fired off a compliment about how he'd done.
She disappeared into the range, saying she needed to check on something that hadn't worked out as intended. Which probably meant that she and Sig had meant for things to be even more intense.
Oi.
Daxter closed his eyes for a moment, waiting for his pulse to stop pounding all the way out to the tips of his ears. He glanced at the door and took another swig of the bottle.
"You really think I can do it, Sig?" he asked, in his fatigue allowing himself a crack in his inflated self-assurance. Jak's words from last night kept nagging in the back of his mind, too. The buggers.
Sig glanced over his shoulder, standing over by the control panel.
"It's all you, chili pepper," he said. "But you've been shaping up good. As long as you keep your cool, yeah, you have a good chance."
Fair enough.
"Heh, and Jak said he wouldn't believe even you saying I was ready so quickly," Daxter said, grinning.
"He'll believe it when he sees it," Sig said, giving Daxter an encouraging smirk. "Like when you won the race qualifier."
"… but you hang in there. I'm proud of you, Dax."
"Really?"
One of the best moments in his entire life.
Daxter leaned back and let that happy memory work on soothing his tired muscles. Then another thought struck. A far less pleasant one.
"Sig?"
"Hmm?" The huge wastelander turned around, roused from whatever evil training scheme he had been pondering.
Daxter licked some sweat off his upper lip, hesitating for a second longer. But it had been bugging him ever since last night.
"Jak said something about that ex he fought in the arena yelling stuff at him, but he didn't explain," he said, eying Sig and not liking the look of that squaring jaw. "I think he wanted to, though. What was that about?"
"Ah." Sig shook his head and came over to sit beside Daxter. He hadn't thought that Jak would have repeated what Jelas had shouted at him throughout their battle. In fact, Sig didn't want to, either.
But he wouldn't lie.
Daxter remained oddly silent as he listened to Sig recounting the battle.
When Sig finally fell silent, Daxter tipped his head back and finished off the last of the water.
"Riiight." He slammed the bottle onto the bench and stood up. "Gotta hurry up then."
"For what?" Sig asked, though a grim smile tugged at his lips. He had never seen that kind of determination in Daxter's eyes before. Actually, he had never seen Daxter furious before.
"Because I'm gonna find that asshat's body before it gets eaten by vultures, and I'm gonna stuff it full of gunpowder and shove a torch down his throat."
Tess hardly had time to get out of the range and declare everything was ready, before Daxter swooped past her right into the line of fire, yelling at Sig to push the Start button. She looked after Daxter in confusion even as the doors closed and the shooting began. But when Sig explained, her eyebrows crept low and her full lips pressed together in seething, understanding anger.
She tore up the microphone from the control panel.
"Go get 'em, Daxxie!" she shouted into the square device.
"You got it, sweetcheeks!" came a muffled call from inside, followed by an, "Ow!"
Sig took over the mic.
"Cool head, champ, cool your head!"
Daxter did better on the second half of that round than the first, as a few more hits knocked him to his senses. He still needed no prodding to run it again after another short break, though, nor a forth time. After that Sig told him to call it a day so that he didn't end up overstraining himself.
He still quit under protest. However, as soon as he got back to his–– Jak's–– whatever room he conked out the moment he laid down for a little nap.
To his own dismay he found it to be evening when he woke up again. Even more dismaying was the fact that his entire body hurt like hell.
And he was so hungry he felt like he could eat a lurker fish. It took several minutes of agonizing stretching until he could even entertain the thought of getting out of bed and to the cafeteria, though.
When he finally got there he loaded up on a double serving of stew and proceeded to more or less breathe it down as soon as he got to a table. As he lowered the bowl after drinking the last thick sauce straight from it, he found Sig sitting across from him with an amused expression.
Daxter swallowed hard and managed a grin.
"You sure did a number on me, sidekick o' Tess," he commented. He rolled his shoulder and there was a popping sound. Ow. He oughta demand a massage from Jak, for a change, as soon as possible.
… or maybe not because holy crap issues not dealt with yet oh ye gods…
"Okay, Daxter, listen up," Sig said. No nickname. Serious business.
Daxter set the bowl aside and looked up at the big wastelander expectantly.
"We do the same thing as we did today again, tomorrow," Sig said, rapping a fingertip against the table. "Then you rest for the day. And if you do well enough, we'll go to Spargus the day after."
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Begin Introspection. Serial code: Lev.
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Okay. Lemme make one thing clear. I'm just gonna admit it to myself, too. I don't like Zem. How could I? He's rude, and big, and so damn dumb sometimes I can't even laugh at it. And I can imagine what he did in the prison even if he clams up about the gritty details, and then the only saving grace is that he's so trippy with guilt that I have to repeatedly stop him from killing himself. And sometimes I ain't even sure it's worth the effort.
But.
When I say that I'm doing this for Junn, I mean it. And it helps that I know how Zem got prison duty in the first place. The story got a bit warped, but most in the KG at that time had heard about the guy who killed five metal head grunts with his bare hands.
Thaaat's not what happened.
Zem can fight like a berserker when he feels like it, but come on. Only guy who could pull something like that off is Jak when he's in purple people eater mode. And maybe our Grand Lordship Damas, as long as he has a stick… though a lot of people say that's just an exaggerated rumor too.
Aaanyway, Junn told me how it really went down.
It was during a mission, it was supposed to just be training… but then metal heads attacked and the whole squad got separated from each other. Junn ended up backed into a corner by two grunts, and he'd taken a smash that broke his ribs even with his armor on. He was in such pain he could hardly see straight. One of them pounced on him and was about to bite his head off.
And then Zem – who had lost his gun somewhere along the way – rushed in and punched the grunt's lights out with one hit. It would have crashed on top of Junn, but Zem wrenched it away (Junn was right when he said that Zem's as strong as an ox. Then again he added that he's also "twice as good looking!" No comments there) – just before its pal jumped on him. And then the bignasty somehow managed to survive wrestling with that thing until Junn got up and shot the beastie.
Just as he did that, Zem had gotten a grip and broke its neck. It was probably dead by then, though. They were a little too stressed to note exactly when the skull gem popped free.
Junn shot the one Zem had knocked out, too, of course.
But the guys who found them didn't pick up on the shots. They thought Zem had killed the grunts unarmed. Both Junn and Zem tried to correct them because holy crap, you did not want to stand out in the KG. But the rumor mill was already chugging.
Pulling off a great feat as a KG was like winning a ticket to the front line or the next suicide mission, because good ol' Praxis was so desperate to put his best men to good use that he tended to use them up very quickly.
And then Zem disappeared, and, again, Junn wouldn't tell me where. He knew. He was the only one Zem could tell, after all.
And Junn knew Zem had gone to Hell for saving his life.
Zem is too messed up to feel much more than questionable pity for. But he's done one good deed, at least. Too bad it screwed everything up.
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End Introspection.
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Author's note: Lev talking about Damas killing metal head grunts with a stick is a reference to my old fic Spartacus Now. When I was writing World of Warcraft fanfiction I kept all the fics within continuity of each other (even though they focused on different characters) and I thought it could be nifty to tie some things together here as well. It won't be the last reference to that one, I realized when I reread it that it'll fit really well with how this plot goes.
Although that story and Introspective Hero can't be in perfect continuity for a couple of reasons, so don't get confused when for example the OCs don't add up later on. And some other little things, hehehe…
Also yes, yes, other references in Lev's portions included Dragon Warrior 2 and The Room. And of course the "pet zombie" is another self reference, to my WoW fics. I guess that makes Zem and Lev bizarro Sarah and Dor'ash… sorta… *mind blown*
"Lev" is the Swedish word for "live".