© Karr 'Scarface' 2003
Shoot Me Again
~I won't go away
Right here I'll stay~
Jak screamed again as another jolt went through his body. Through his own blood pounding through his ears he could hear somebody telling him to die. Or was that just another illusion from his unbalanced mind? Either way, he'd ignore it, just like he had ignored it before.
~Stand silent in the flames
Stand tall 'till it fades~
Finally it stopped, and he was left alone for a while, his breathing loud and harsh in the golden silence that followed. He loved the silence. It meant the torture was over, if only for a few minutes. In the rare times he was fully lucid, he'd keep chanting to himself a simple little mantra that he'd made up right at the very beginning.
~Shoot me again
I ain't dead yet~
Over and over he'd whisper it in his head, until the pain and the sound of himself screaming drowned it out, and the voice – illusion or real – would try and make itself real.
Funny, he was always awake. They never tried to keep him out of it – although when his screaming got too loud they did pour some burning liquid down his throat that calmed him down. Whiskey, he thought it was. It felt like the liquid version of what they were pumping into him, on a daily basis now.
~Shoot me again~
Someday he'd get out of this place; he'd long since given up on being rescued. Why should he be rescued? Nobody even knew he was there. There was someone, in the time before, that said he would come and get him, but there had been no knock at his cell door, where they dumped him after each session. Sometimes he would sit and cry, others he was sick, maybe delireous, but more often then not, now, he was silent, huddled in the corner, saving what little strength he had left.
How long had it been, since he'd been left to rot? Years, it seemed. But slowly, whether from the treatments or not, he was becoming more aware of his surroundings, and he was becoming stronger, although he never let it show.
He'd make them pay.
~All the shots I take
I'll spit back at you
Al the shit you fake
Comes back to haunt you~
There was, after all, only so far someone could be pushed before they broke. He'd done that a long time ago. What a lot of people seemed to forget was that once a spirit has been broken, all that was left was a shell. And if the person was weak-spirited, well, that was the end of it. But for someone like him...he'd become very angry. And his spirit may have been broken, but it was still there.
He had these moments of almost insane determination, of fanatical fantasy, fairly often, usually when he was still hallucinating from the latest injection cycle. Then he'd come crashing down again.
~All the shots I take
What difference did I make?
All the shots I take
I spit back at you~
They were coming again, for what he hoped was the last time. He wished, then and there, that he could just die during one of the treatments, so that he could haunt them in the afterlife. The thought made him crack a slightly insane smile with dry, parched lips. He was dragged out of the cell, and thrown onto the reclining chair where his wrists and hands were strapped down with metal cuffs. Reclining. Like the beach chairs he used to recline on, in another time, he thought wistfully.
~I won't go away
(With a bullet in my back)
Right here I'll stay
(With a bullet in my back!)~
Unbidden, the mantra came into his head as a man leant over him, and he understood in that second exactly how much hatred could be directed at one man. Because he hated the man leering down at him with a hate that was so intense it was holy.
'You gonna die today, boy?'
~Shoot me again
I ain't dead yet
~Shoot me~
He just glared up, packing as much hate in his gaze as he could, but he felt dead already. He would not let this man win! He would not...he wouldn't...he...would he?
~Take a shot~
He struggled for an answer as the thing above him lowered into position again for the millionth time. All he could do, was retreat, watch, and listen for when the screams started. He was on his own, and nobody cared.
~I'll stand on my own
(With a bullet in my back)
I'm stranded and sold
(With a bullet in my back!)~
'He's useless! I was told this one might be different!' Were the first words he heard them say after the torture had ended. Pain shot through his over-sensitive scalp as the man he hated so much pulled his head up. He blinked, swimming in and out of focus.
'You should at least be dead with the amount of Dark Eco I've pumped into you!'
He was dead, or it felt like it. Two men carried on talking above him, then there were footsteps leading away. So he was left here, to die, or be killed later.
~I bite my tongue
Trying not to shoot back
No compromise
My heart won't pump the other way~
'Third floor, torture devices, cockroach food, chains and whips...'
The voice...the voice from the time before. He tried to wake up from this latest hallucination, and he groaned as something hit his chest.
'Hey, buddy, you seen any heros around here?' Even the tones, the words...this was a much more realistic one then usual. Maybe this really was the end – he'd heard, somewhere, that death was like this.
'Whoa! What'd they do to you?' A flash of orange and the smell of damp fur. 'Gee, this is a nice hello. I come in here, risking my tail,' he grunted as something hit him in the groin, but he didn't have the strength nor the inclination to react, 'literally, and this is the sort of reaction I get?! C'mon, buddy, for once in your life say something!'
Something small and furry was shaking him with small hands by the neck of the green uniform he was wearing. That finally convinced him that this was real. So he wanted him to say something, huh? He suddenly focussed on the face above him.
'I'm gonna kill Praxis!'
Something snapped inside him as he said that, and he could feel something building inside him, tearing down his barriers as it went. The furry orange thing was muttering about how to get him off the table.
A pain in his head was growing, his breathing harsher. He roared, literally ripping his arms free of the metal cuffs holding him captive. He looked down at his hands, and for what seemed like the first time in his whole life he was awake. He barely took in the fact his hands were grey, and they were tipped by four-inch long black claws, tearing the leg cuffs off and pushing himself off the table. He staggered slightly as his feet touched solid ground for the first time.
'Uh...Jak? You okay, buddy?'
He turned to the orange thing that was talking, and took a step nearer, snarling.
'Uh, easy now, Jak! It's me, your old pal Daxter, remember?!'
Something clicked at the sound of that name, and he could feel...whatever it was receeding, moving away, burying itself into his mind again. 'Daxter?'
'Gee, where'd that come from? Remind me not ta piss you off! C'mon. I bought ya some new threads. Put 'em on. We're bustin' outta here.'
~Wake the sleeping giant
Wake the beast
Wake the sleeping dog...~Jak leapt up and grabbed the edge of the speeder, pulling himself up and dumping the previous owner onto the street below.
'Stop, thief!'
'Yeah right.' He muttered, speeding away into the night. The air felt cool against his heated skin which burned from the transformation he'd done to get rid of the guards following him. As much as he wanted to kill the Baron with the means that he had been so kind to supply him with, Jak felt extremely uncomfortable every time he transformed, hating the way it would leave him thirsting for more blood afterwards. Daxter thought he was 'way cool' but creepy, and Jak just didn't use it unless he had to.
~...No. Let him sleep~
He looked up as he got off the speeder outside the Underground's hideout in preperation for collapsing into a bunk and falling asleep. Against the blue and black sky loomed a huge building, cables stretching to four corners of the city. Jak growled as he looked up at the Baron's Palace, like he did every night, as if to remind himself why he was here.
I'll make you pay, Praxis.
~Shoot me again
I ain't dead yet.~
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Song used was "Shoot Me Again" by Metallica *bows down and worships* and obviously I don't own Jak or Daxter, or the storyline *bows down and worships Jak II: Renegade* If you haven't played it yet, go play. I would seriously recommend it. Where the first game seems babyish – this game KICKS ASS!!!! HOO YEAH!!! *beats the hell out of Metal Heads while Jak and Daxter stand behind him shaking their heads*
Jak: I'm getting worried by him now...
Daxter: Yeah, tell me about it. But he's damn good on the Jet-board. Look at him go!
Jak: Yeah, whatever. Look, if anyone needs me, I'll be down Hip Hog Heaven.
Karr: *pauses game* Uh, Jak...I kidnapped you and Dax, remember?
Jak: So?
Karr: You ain't in Haven City no more, sunshine.
Jak: *cries*
*Random muse walks in with three cokes*
RM: Hey, drinks!'
Jak: Alcoholic?
RM: Nah, gave up years ago. Coke.
Karr: Bugger. Oh, meet my Jak II muse, the Muse from Heck. He's the one that kept on jumping on me to write this down, and is currently jumping on me to write a thing on the game that includes me as…myself. Ish. Watch this space!
Jak: Shut it, Karr. Anyway, please review!
Karr: And BE NICE!!! This is my first JII fic. Ner!!
Muse from Heck: ...please?