Silasyr: This is going to be a long one…the author's note, I mean.
Dokuso: Yeah, it's me, back under a new pen-name. This is the first chapter of that story I was talking about in the wrongly entitled 'Empathy.' I'd like to keep the author's notes in this story to a minimum, and keep them short, so I can concentrate on writing. Also - this story will be told in third person. Because I kept messing up the tenses.
No, you don't have to read 'Empathy' to understand this story, though if you wanted to know why Xen is such a pissy little bastard, reference to that, 'kay? Silasyr's past I haven't yet recorded, but I do plan on doing so sometime in my life. Right, right. This story is basically about what's going on in Xen's present. And I'm not sure exactly how long this might end up being…The time period is somewhere near the end of Jak II, and will probably continue into the couple years after that (there was a two year gap in between Jak II and III, right?), because it was the most convenient time to place it, without disrupting the storyline of anything. I honestly doubt it'll cross into the period of Jak III (which I beat in under eleven hours, freakin' easy shit).
::coughs:: And about the original characters of the game, if I ever manage to be able to keep them all in character, some of them might be in here. I actually want to put some of them in here, but have been too afraid to write them extremely OOC. So if they do appear sometime (which I can guarantee they will, sooner or later), expect them to OOC, hopefully not too badly.
And about the story's title: 'Fuzen' is another word in Japanese - because I am a geek. Fuzen also has many meanings:
1 (as in the first half it gave me): Imperfect, partial, incomplete
2 (the second half it gave me): Sin, vice, mischief, evil
And, of course, this name may or may not correspond to the story - if it does, good for you. If it doesn't, well, then I suck.
Xeniar: To shut her up I'm going to give you a disclaimer - Dokuso owns nothing, aside from the plot, my pretty self, and Silasyr.
Chapter One:
Lesson…Please?
Ah, the glory of it all. The sudden burst of adrenaline as you catch that first glimpse of claw and fang. And then, of course, you feel like you're gonna piss yourself.
That's how the soldier felt at least. But then again, he was a rookie - hell, he knew it, too; he knew he was using weapons that a Neanderthal could've mastered, and that he still had trouble dealing with the Combat High.
Standing there Xeniar felt his gut wrench; the entirety of his body was telling him 'to get the hell outta there', while his brain was shouting at him 'to be a fuckin' hero, ya pansy!' It was obvious that he would've ran, too, if it weren't for the fact that the whole platoon looked about as scared (if not more so) as he was.
'Suck it up, Xen, if that scrawny-ass midget can handle it, so can you.' He thought, giving a quick glance at the person in question.
They all got ready, reacting systematically to the orders given by the soldier in charge. Nobody honestly wanted to hang around the area, knowing that this first wave of Metal Heads that was advancing would probably be their last.
The snarls, growls, howls, screeches, and whatever other noise you could think of hit the long-haired soldier hard, causing his head to spin. Every nerve was now begging Xen to make a run for it. But he wasn't about to do that, oh no. Not 'ol' noble Xen'. Instead, he narrowed his murky jade eyes, and adopted the default fighting position for one of his low leveled battle average. He quickly braced himself against the oncoming wave and once again shooting a glance at his gunned companions. Suddenly, it seemed to him that he was desperately alone in the city. And better yet, he found himself feeling incredibly inept and stupid, what with having to use second-hand wrist-blades.
Of course, Xen had had conversations before regarding his weapon of choice. They usually went along the lines of:
'Why the fuck didn't you go with a gun then?!'
'Well, that's because I'd end up doing a shit-load more harm than good, ya asshole.'
The oncoming Metal Heads, his urge to piss himself and run. With a grimace and a shudder, he began the mental battle against both urges. And in the end decided that if he had to die, he'd go out with a bang, a very, very loud bang. He knew where he was, and knew the advantages of parked vehicles, and electrical support systems. If worst came to worst, he figured could always blow this place to hell by wrenching a gun from somebody's cold, dead hands and wear away at the wiring.
Biting his lower lip, he felt another surge of adrenaline shoot through his veins, greatly increasing his morale. So when the first monstrosity came at him, he no longer was focused on its gleaming fangs, or its out-stretched claws. Instead, he thought he could hear its heart beat, and soon learned the rhythm the creature fought in.
Memorizing that rhythm had given him a huge advantage, but judging by the increasing amount of gouges and the small chunks of flesh torn from his arms and legs, he felt he was losing. He ground his teeth together and stuck out a few more blows to his armored arms and chest before managing to squeeze in a quick duck and an arch of the blade into its exposed chest. It snarled in defeat, rearing onto its hind legs it lifted its massive, clawed hands from the ground and raked them across his back - where his armor had fallen, useless, to the ground. Xen bit back a scream and maneuvered the blade across its throat. Then he stumbled back and ran his fingers quickly over the gashes on his back.
"Dammit…" He muttered, attempting to ignore the burning sensation in his flesh. He regained composure as soon as he could and readied himself for another skirmish.
Luckily, he never did have to resort to slaughtering the whole platoon via an explosion, and he held his own fairly well. After everyone had gathered there composures and reserves, he managed to slip over next to Silasyr.
"You looked like a three-year-old little girl who's doll has just been stolen." The dark-haired man laughed.
"Fuck you. I know I fought valiantly and that's all that matters." Xen spat back, annoyed at his friend's lack of support.
Though he knew that Silasyr was right, and that he had come off worse than the others in his platoon, he believed he had done pretty well. And after that short series of battles decided that it'd be best if he learned how to figure a gun. fighting back a groan as they grimly marched back, he pretended to be oblivious to the sniggers and smug looks that he was receiving from the majority of the Guard. Xen gave Silasyr a pathetic look and he frowned sympathetically back, needless to say - that didn't help Xeniar at all, as he was 'earnestly expecting the bitch to yell at the lot of them.'
So they marched, half way around the city and back again. And he soon found himself complaining to a Guard near him. "I'll be damned if any of those supposed 'short-cuts' nicked the time we spent out there down." He growled, which would only cause the other to roll his eyes and shrug.
After what seemed like hours, they finally reached the deportation room, where everyone's wounds dressed crudely and then were given an ointment to kill the burning.
"Think you could manage to teach me how to handle one of those…things?" Xeniar asked as politely as he could, with a gesture to the discarded weaponry in the corner.
Silasyr smirked, and the shorter of them suddenly got the urge to sock him. "You could probably figure it out on your own, on the field tomorrow. You know, a 'trial and error' figuration."
"You're a sick, sick bastard." He growled in reply.
"How so?"
"You know damn well that I'd end up killing and maiming half of the Guard."
He just shrugged and tossed Xen the key to the apartment, mumbling something about 'working the night shift.'
'Well, that's all fucking nice of him - I mean, he coulda just said "No, you fucker, I won't teach you a damn thing about working a gun." Woulda been easier to accept…sorta.'
He fidgeted with the keys a bit, out of habit, and tried his best to nonchalantly leave the room. With a glance upward, he smirked at the slow moving zoomers, knowing that vehicle transportation would be a lot slower than walking the few miles back to the apartment. Without his armor Xen quickly learned that the bandages that dressed his arms and legs were a lot looser than they had been moments before, and that when air touched the open gashes, it stung like hell.
"Damnshitfuckingdamn!" He exclaimed, a little more loudly than he would've liked.
A few people turned to look at him and sniggered once they saw him picking at the bandages furiously.
He looked up from his current mission and glared at the citizens, his gaze hard and cold. "Shut the hell up, or you'll soon fucking learn how much it stings." He muttered darkly, retying the bandages on his left arm as tightly as he could with only the use of his left hand and his teeth.
This caused some people to laugh, though they tried to muffle it. This was thoroughly ruining his mood, and he quickly finished the same procedure on his right arm. Upon finishing that, he started at a jog back to the shared apartment.
The rest of the one and a half miles back to the apartment had no incident within their time span and for it, Xen was grateful. He pushed the door to the complex open and ran up the stairs, taking them three at a time until he reached the third floor. He slowed to a walk and quietly walked to the shoddy door, pulled out the key, and pressed it into the lock. He found this useless (as it wouldn't turn), and began to kick and hit the door furiously for a few minutes.
"God dammit…" He muttered, grabbing the door knob and turning it as hard as he could with his shoulder pressed against the door.
It finally gave way with a loud creak, and the sound of the door hitting the edge of the table met his ears. Groaning as he bent down next to the table, he pushed the door closed with his foot. Using the table as a brace, he pushed himself up and stumbled into the kitchen, bent on making himself something to eat.
Halfway to the counter, Xen blinked and hit the wall in frustration. "Fucking hell, Silasyr! You coulda at least left some damned instructions on how to cook a fucking can of soup." He stifled another groan, and decided against cooking himself - he didn't have the money to pay Silasyr if he burned the place down. With one last annoyed look at the cupboard, he turned and moodily walked back to the only bedroom, finally passing out on the bed.
Of course, had he been thinking properly, he would've soon realized that instructions on how to make a can of soup are always on the label.
Dokuso: Such a prick. Review, please? I don't know what I'll do, but it'll inspire me to write faster! And I know my third person isn't particularly good…but still.