… And Life gave me Lemons
He was sixteen, and too young to die.
Around him, the world seemed to come to a standstill during that final second. The screams of his comrades and the gunfire mingled with the screeches of savage beasts, becoming a deafening tornado filling his ears. It crashed around inside his brain; a foretaste of the hell the gigantic claw hovering above him promised.
He had never been a believer, but now his entire being cried out to any god that might have bothered to care about a useless little wretch like him; I have always tried, I swear I tried, have mercy!
The precursors remained silent. But the monster above him grinned, fangs dripping with saliva illuminated by the fizzling from broken cables and the explosions from fired guns.
It was almost funny. He could no longer feel the pain in his leg, though the sticky warmth still managed to register in his brain. Perhaps this was the only mercy he deserved.
The claw began its descent, to the young soldier's eyes moving slowly, almost lazily. Bitterly he wondered if this was not the moment for a hero to step in – yet he knew there were no heroes in this time and age.
'Mother…'
Stars filled his vision, an eternal chasm lined with the brightest light.
Death?
But no; it moved.
With a loud smash and a roar of pain from the beast, the weight pinning him down disappeared. The universe followed it.
Dazed, he managed to heave himself halfway up in a sitting position, but crashed back down with black spots dancing before his eyes.
"Hold yer yakows, rookie!" a hoarse voice said, and a heavy hand landed on his shoulder, "you're stayin' right here."
Rookie.
The hated word sent blazes through his misting brain, and all the agony from his wounds crashed down. It was as if the world had turned into a sadistic being only intent on making his life living hell. Only humiliation had been missing up until now.
He tried to focus, to form a protest, defend himself. However, as soon as he caught sight of the grim, scarred face above him, the protests sounded limp even before he had attempted to speak up.
His protector appeared even scarier than the metal heads, in fact. Especially when he grinned evilly.
"Yer missing a good show, but at least you'll be able to say ye were here," the blonde stranger said, "lay low, kiddo."
Giving the confused soldier's shoulder a pat, Jinx straightened up and raised his hand as a signal to his part of the troops.
"Everyone follow Pretty Boy!"
They dashed from the shadows and rooftops, blades and guns held in dirty hands taught by a desperate need to survive. It had not been easy to pull them out of hiding, but Jinx had hoarded them up like a sheep dog. They were thieves, murderers, gangsters – Krew's finest, in fact. The soldiers under Torn's command would have been surprised, had they not already been staring at the enigma which tore a path through the army of metal heads.
Via radio Torn had informed his troops that "trustworthy" aid would be coming in to help them, but they had not expected an otherworldly, silvery creature moving so quick that the brain hardly could register it.
The metal heads on the other hand seemed to know exactly what they were dealing with. Like one creature they abandoned their earlier prey, and turned onto the lone fighter in their midst. Black snakes and hulking giants soared over and into their brethren, roaring in agony after facing the wrath of this warrior. But there were hundreds of them.
The entire horde descended on the intruder in a storm of hungry jaws and gigantic claws, and the light drowned.
Jinx watched this, for a moment frozen in mid step. His gun almost fell out of his hand.
"You fucking idiot!"
He rushed forwards, cursing and firing at the monsters that once again had turned the tide of fate, at a time when the world for once had been on the right track. Around him, the soldiers and outlaws continued to move, completely shaken from the first surprise by the shocking death of their unexpected savior.
Such was the way of things until the horde buckled, and an explosion of dark lightning sent the metal heads flying.
Jinx grinned, while several of the elves around him recoiled in horror.
What had been a shining warrior when it entered the living nightmare, had now become a horned demon. It was vaguely elflike with the long ears, but its skin was sickly purple and instead of nails it had claws rivaling even the metal heads'. As it turned around, the troops were met by a disdainful glare from a pair of pitch black eyes, framed by the sprays of sickly green metal head blood.
Something in the picture seemed heavily askew, however.
An orange rodent wearing goggles and a pair of blue shorts stood on the demon's shoulder, leisurely leaning against its pale head. With a smirk huge enough to split its head, it raised a tiny finger towards the closest heap of dazed metal heads and spoke.
"Don't make him angry. You wouldn't like him when he's angry."
It looked down at the snarling creature whose shoulder it used as a means of travel, and quickly turned back to the monsters with an – if possible – even bigger smirk.
"Oops. Too late!"
A very important thing about metal heads would be their inability to understand fear, however. One by one they regained orientation and threw themselves at the demon again, never minding the fact that they were thrown back in slices or twitching under the force of the dark lightning. The demon whirled around like a murderous tornado, the rodent on his shoulder hanging on for dear life.
"Breaktime's over!" Jinx snarled at the men around him, "you either fight them or me an' Torn!"
That threat worked wonders. Guns immediately fired and well trained hands rammed daggers into the few vulnerable spots offered on the distracted metal heads. Despite their lowering numbers, the beasts ignored everything except the demon. It was as if they had been born with the instinct of killing this one creature.
Any tactician would have cried tears of blood if they had seen this idiocy. Without a leader the metal heads were blind to everything but their inbred hatred for the precursors' champion.
The battle was brutal, but it ended far quicker than it would have done without the reinforcements. Merely a few minutes later, Jinx lit a cigarette and breathed in the sweet toxin with great satisfaction. Puffing out clouds of smoke on it he pulled out a communicator and smacked it a few times before it crackled to life. A tattooed face framed with brown hair appeared on the small screen.
"Yo," Jinx said, grinning, "we're just cleaning up over here."
"Good work," Torn replied, his voice lined with static noise due to the bad line, "how many injured?"
Jinx looked around at the piles of metal heads and soldiers lining the cracked streets. The slums had never been pretty, but they were home. And messier than ever, now. Drat.
"Could've been worse," the far from sophisticated elf eventually reported.
On the other end of town, Torn rolled his eyes in frustration.
"Numbers, Jinx," he demanded.
"Oh, I'd say about half of what ye bet on. We got here quickly."
Torn nodded, inwardly breathing a deep sigh of relief. Of course, he would not let his image be ruined by showing something like that on the outside though.
"How's Jak?" he asked.
"Clutching his blonde little head last I checked," Jinx replied, "I'd say just peachy."
"Hey!" a whiny voice piped up in the background.
"The rat's still alive too," Jinx added and pulled a fake grimace of regret, "sorry, chief."
"Try harder next time," Torn said, smirking as Daxter's shrill protest reached the speakers of Jinx' communicator.
"Sure thing, boss."
"In any case, set up things over there and then come back here with Jak."
Jinx nodded understanding, and turned off the link to the city defense's somewhat rickety headquarters. He looked up and took a step back from nearly being kissed by an insulted ottsel. Twisted as he was, there were things even Jinx did not consider worth trying.
"Whatever," he cut off Daxter's complains, and pinched the furball's mouth shut for good measure, "Torn says to come back home before it gets dark."
"Fine."
That was Jak's sole comment. Daxter, on the other hand, produced a cacophony of "Mfghm!" sounds while angrily trying to bend his lips free from Jinx' tobacco scented, black nailed and bloody fingertips.
Jinx looked the fighter over for a moment, then gave him an amused and wicked smirk.
"And Jakey boy, you look really gutsy right now. You make a guy like me proud."
Jak would have replied, but Daxter managed to break free at that very moment. What happened next should be no surprise.
"Gah! Toothpaste! Mouthwash! And for you, soap! Have you ever heard of it? Lovely invention, almost as nice as pants- ow!"
The rant which might have gone on and on and on ended with Jak's backhand connecting with Daxter's head.
"Whaat?" the rodent complained.
Jak merely rolled his eyes and turned to walk towards the waiting vehicles. The parking left something to be desired, but he and Jinx had been rushing to get to the battle scene.
As the warrior sat down in the two-seater hover, a careful cheer rose from a couple of throats. It was soon enforced by more and more fighters and soldiers, some who lacked the strength to cheer at least waving a hand towards the hero.
Ah yes, a hero once more, from being thrown out and left to die.
Not everyone cheered though, remaining skeptical. Daxter grinned like a maniac and performed a victory dance on his seat, but Jak merely smiled a bit at the victorious spoils. He started the engine and steered the hover upwards, away from the sullied streets.
But he really preferred being down there, as long as there was something to fight.
'And it's "Mar".'
'-'
Hot water hammered against his body, dangerously close to scalding. If possible he would have turned the heat on even further.
By the goodwill of some higher force – he had a hard time deciding whether or not to believe in the precursors after all he had been through – the waterlines had managed to remain mostly intact. At least over here in the Freedom HQ.
Jak did not bother with soap past getting rid of the worst dirt from his hair and face, the rest of the muck was more or less boiled away.
Plans for tonight; wash, sleep, gun course. Unless there was another sudden attack from metal heads with a cause.
The assault today had been very sudden. In essence the past day consisted of saving the world, speak with the precursors, decide to not go into the universe, get a call for help from Haven and dash back to the city to save the day. Again. Well, at least this was a hero who kept himself busy.
Jak liked keeping himself busy. Fighting for his life served excellently to keep his thoughts straight.
Later he would make sure he got on the team searching for the tunnels through which the metal heads had reached the slums. Until that got organized, he would spend some quality time blowing cardboard enemies into confetti.
Oh sure, there were other means of fending off thoughts he did not want, and he certainly knew where to find those means. The smell of gunpowder and the familiar weight of the morph gun in his hands simply suited him better.
Not to mention the fact that he already had enough women to worr-
He turned the left handle on the shower further back, and the water crashed down against his skin.
Much better.
One might start to worry that the rough string of twine around his neck would start to melt soon, however. The key hanging on it sure was starting to feel uncomfortably hot.
When he began to feel dizzy he lowered the temperature of the water before turning it off, to make sure he would not do something stupid like faint because of the cooler air outside of the shower room. Despite his efforts to harden his body against the next action, his teeth immediately began to chatter when he turned off the water completely and stepped back. He hurried over the prickled, moist floor and ripped his towel from the wall.
Jak quickly rubbed his face with the soft cloth, and then proceeded to give the rest of himself the same treatment. He still shivered with the cold, but it became better as soon as he left the "soaked" status.
Letting out a deep sigh of relief he wrapped the now damp towel around his waist and headed for the changing-room, flicking his long, still dripping ears to rid them of the water.
The room he entered was ruled by small, darkly blue lockers. They were arranged in five rows, forming four aisles taking up the left side of the area. Simple metal benches with dully black pillows lined the right wall.
Jak located the small metal closet he had chosen before heading into the shower, and pulled the simple necklace with the key over his head. The still warm piece of metal smacked against his right ear, and he automatically shook his head in protest.
Holding up the offending little trinket he gave it a dull glare, but flinched when it reflected the cold light of the lamps above. A drop of water hung on the tip of the key, the reflection forming a tiny star on the liquid.
Coming closer can't get free can't move needle almost there cold sting on skin breaking through flesh can't move it hurts stop stop it STOP!
The lock nearly broke as Jak rammed the key into it with all his might. He staggered backwards, swearing and clutching his pounding fingers. The towel fell to the floor, forgotten.
Chest heaving with the deep gulps of air that he desperately sucked in, Jak leant his bare back against the row of lockers opposite of his. The metal beneath the blue color felt icily cold to his moist skin, but the simple pain gave him a stable point to focus on.
He could only remain paralyzed for a few seconds. Though the locker room was empty now, dirty soldiers could come pouring in at any minute. Jak knew that he could not afford to be seen in this state; hero or not he was already a "dark eco freak" and did not need to acquire even more reasons for strange looks. Foremost however, he would not allow himself this weakness.
What was that saying? "The only thing to do is to break down and move on". Yep. Except that Jak hardly planned on having a breakdown anytime soon. He had better things to do.
'Focus, man, focus…'
He closed his eyes and took in a few more deep breaths while massaging his now aching fingers. At least he had not managed to break any bones when taking out his minor psychosis on the key. That would have been a hoot to explain.
Months and months of steeling himself against the memories helped him force the images back down into the closed vault of his mind. Once again he noticed how much harder it was when there was no adrenaline or blabbering sidekick to help him concentrate on something else. Damn Daxter for slipping away with Tess at the first possible moment… uh…
Suddenly there was a whole new array of bad mental images that Jak had to struggle against. Well, they did at least out-scream the first ones, with their power of novelty.
Deciding that he could move on again, Jak picked up the towel from the floor using his healthier hand. Hanging the cloth over his wet mop of blond hair, he proceeded to open the locker. The lock did let out a screeching sound in protest against the treatment it had received, but it was not strong enough to hold back the champion of the world. Jak rolled his eyes at all creation in general and reached into the locker.
Hmm, clean clothes. How revolutionary. He could not remember when he last wore something that was not ripped by the edges and covered with dust, sand and stains of mysterious colors.
Jak began to get dressed, rubbing his hair with the towel in between. Even the pain in his hand began to fade, but he had already come to the decision that sleep was off his to-do-list.
Gun course. Explosions. Adrenaline kick. Now.
Cold drops of water still dripped down his back from his hair as he headed out, all decked up in full armor as if expecting an attack.
He did not as much expect as hope.
'-'
Author's note: I believe that the "break down and move on" quote was first used by the Swedish sportsman Per Elofson, but I might be wrong. Others have said it too. Therefore, it ain't impossible that it would have been thought of in the Jak and Daxter world as well.
Constructive criticism is highly welcome!