A/N: I changed the title, and this is hopefully what it will stay as… hopefully. I do kind of like the title Screaming in Silence, though. We'll see. Oh, I finished the game! Okay, so it did take the combined kamikaze-ing of myself and a friend to get up the nest on the jet board, but it is fun! Now I just have to wander about getting the Orbs. This story takes place after Jak II, by the way. So… read on! :-)
Disclaimer: I don't own Jak or ND or anything… though I did hear a rumor that Jak III is going to be revealed at a convention in May! May can't come fast enough! Whee! :-D
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He was entombed in shadow. It pressed in on him from all sides, squeezed him, absorbed him into its murky depths. It flooded his mouth and nose, gagging him, strangling him. Fighting the panic rising within him, he struggled to open his eyes and escape the penetrating blackness. And when he could not open them, fear caught hold of him more strongly than being alone in the darkness ever could.
He opened them, closed them, opened them again, over and over in a desperate effort to find some patch of light, some small clue that all had not been taken from him. Finally, the realization that there simply wasn't one shred of light whatsoever by which to see dawned, and he drew deep breaths of the shadow-laden air.
Dropping to all fours to avoid injuring himself on anything that may have been around him, lost in the darkness, he began to crawl blindly. The ground disconcerted him; it felt like nothing his fingers had ever touched before. It felt like he was crawling on nothing at all, on air that somehow managed to support him. Only the knowledge that there was indeed something bearing his weight kept him from believing that he was falling, spiraling down into nothing.
There was no sound, no light, no life, nothing. Not even his movements or his breathing made noise enough to reach his ears, sharp though his hearing was. His heart raced within his chest as he labored to keep his panic down enough that he would not fall into the trap that the shadows had lain out for him, beating strongly enough that he should have been able to hear it. But even still, he had to press his fingers to his throat to assure himself that he still had life left within him.
He crawled until he could go no more, until his hands and knees ached. But he was grateful for the pain- it was the one tangible thing in this dark world that he could be sure of. At last, he sprawled on his stomach, too weary to continue on and unable to be sure that he had gone anywhere at all. Nothing had changed whatsoever.
He did not know how long he laid there, motionless, face pressed down onto the cool firmness of nothing. Time seemed to pass like it was honey through the eye of a needle; in reality, he didn't actually know that time existed in this place at all.
And then the screaming began.
At first he thought that he was imagining the sound. It began, long and loud, never ceasing even for the instant that it would have taken to draw the breath to continue on. It seemed to reverberate all around him, driving away the dark blanket that surrounded him, but at the same time attaching to him, feeding off of his life to draw strength. It pounded at his head like the appendages of a Metalhead intent upon opening his skull and revealing its contents. Curling up on air, he pressed his ears in a vain attempt to block out the cry that would not cease. If anything, his actions only made it louder, for now it echoed in his own mind as well, multiplied by all the pain and anguish that he had bottled up inside of himself for the past years.
And suddenly, there was a word within the noise, whispered for his ears only, calling his name in a voice more terrible than anything that he had ever imagined could exist. "Jak…"
He tried to ignore it, tried to focus on anything, anything at all other than that voice.
"Jaaaaak… listen to me, Jaaaaaaaak…"
He tried to form the words, tried to force them out of his mouth. "No!" But though they passed his lips without problem, they made no sound to his ears.
"Jaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaak…"
"Leave me alone!" Again there was no sounds that he could make, not even the slightest noise dwarfed in the masiveness of the scream and voice which whispered so terrifyingly seductively in his mind, the voice which knew everything about him and knew best how to taunt him…
"JAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAK!"
"NO!" Jak yelled, leaping up from beneath his blankets, sending his furry friend tumbling to the ground from his former perch upon the hero's chest.
"Geez, Jak!" the ottsel complained, staring up at him from his spot on the ground. "If I had known you would be that hard to wake up, I would have gotten Sig in here to blast you with his Peacemaker! Less danger to me!"
Jak made no reply, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and sitting back down onto the soft mattress. "So?" Daxter demanded.
"So what?"
"Are you coming tonight? More townies are gonna be there, all clamoring for a look at the great hero of Haven City. Oh, they want to se you, too!"
He simply groaned and flopped back down onto his back. He felt uncomfortable from the nightmare that he had had, though the sunlight streaming in from around his blinds quickly chased all memory of it away.
His friend pounced upon his chest and began jumping on him until Jak finally brushed him aside and sat up, placing his feet on the floor. Stretching and yawning, he looked around for some clean clothes with which to cover his muscular frame. Stealing a glance at the window, which Daxter was in the process of opening so that he was blinded by the sun, the elf groaned. "Ugh. What time is it?"
"Time for you to get a watch!" the ottsel quipped.
Highly annoyed at being awakened only minutes after the sun had itself deigned to rise above the horizon, Jak opened his mouth to yell at the grinning face of his friend when the pocket communicator beeped insistently from its spot on his bedside table, the pattern of bleeps annoyingly recognizable. "What do you want, Torn?" he snapped.
"Well good morning to you too, Merry Sunshine!"
"…"
"Listen, I need you and the rat to go out to the Forest and take down a few Metal Heads. They're grouping up there, and we need to stop it before they attract even more. Kor may be gone, but there's still a hell of a lot of the things wandering around. The rest of the Guard have their hands full with the Metal Heads in the sewers at the moment or I'd send some of them."
He made no reply, only glared at the metal communicator, wishing that Torn could see the expression upon his groggy face.
"More Metal Head bashing, eh?" Daxter inquired as he sat atop the bed, preening his orange fur.
"Apparently."
"Well, go out there and send them running for cover!" The ottsel grinned at him while bouncing around.
Jak looked at Daxter, who was practically stepping on his own tail as he ran around the bed, talking to himself out loud for the benefit of Jak. "…tonight is the night that the Naughty Ottsel will go down in infamy!" At this point the ottsel stopped and struck a pose, one clenched fist sitting on his hip and a finger pointing into the sky, wide smile on his face.
Suppressing a smile and shaking his head, Jak rose, found his clothes, and proceeded to throw them on. His battle-worn armor went over his trousers and tunic, and his jet board went to its normal spot on his back. And his gun slipped easily into its holster, metal cool to the touch. The hero flexed and turned, glad for the comfort of the added weight upon his light frame. He had been uncomfortable with all the clothes and metal hanging off of him at first; but time had changed all of that, and it had gotten to the point where he felt naked without his usual effects, whether fully clothed or not. Fingering the handle of his gun, Jak meandered downstairs into the barroom of the Naughty Ottsel, ever-faithful companion trailing along behind. The exit slid open before him and he was about to step outside into the early morning light when he realized that the familiar weight was startlingly absent from his left shoulder.
He paused, turning to look for his friend, who was ordering Tess to polish all of the glassware within an inch of its life. Jak hesitated a moment, then spoke, uncomfortable with how meek his voice sounded in that instant. "Are you coming, Dax?"
His friend, however, did not seem to notice. Swinging around, the ottsel caught sight of himself in a mirror and smoothed back the fur on top of his head as he made his reply. "Naw, I've gotta stay and get ready for tonight! You'll be back soon, right?"
Jak nodded mutely, then forced a smile onto his face and turned away, the door sliding soundlessly shut behind him.
Jumping onto the nearest parked zoomer, he revved the engine and immediately shot into the sky. He went the long way to the temple, winding through the city, enjoying the feeling of the cool morning air whipping through his clothes to caress his warm skin. But he found no enjoyment in weaving through traffic at a breakneck speed or ripping recklessly around blind corners. The force of the air stung his eyes, his hair long hair whipped annoyingly around his head. He missed Daxter's frequent screams of, "Jak, SLOW DOWN!" and, "DON'T HIT THAT GUARD!" The fun had been taken from the activity that he normally enjoyed above all others. There was something irresistible to him about slamming on the gas and flying through the air, abandoning the confinement of the ground to risk death while racing the wind. But the weight upon his shoulder was gone, no fur tickled his face, no hot breath warmed his cheek, no tail curled around his neck, no small hands wove themselves through his waving locks, holding onto him as if he were the last strong pillar in a crumbling world.
It had been like this before, more than once. When he had first given up hope that Daxter would come save him from the hell that had begun to consume him, the hell that pumped through his body and left a mark on his soul, he tried to let go, tried to push all memories of his friend out of his mind. But it was of no use, and it finally reached the point where hallucinations and dreams of his friend plagued his waking mind. And when his mind had finally cleared itself of the nightmare that had enfolded it, it was Daxter's small, fuzzy face that had dragged him out of the depths of the sea of shadows.
And when they fought, when he stormed out of the garage, he was just too furious with everything and everyone to pretend any more that he didn't care. Everyone but him. He had never, could never truly be angry at him. Annoyed, sure, it happened all the time. But never for real. Never.
Sick of everyone expecting him to save the day, expecting him to run out every two seconds and sacrifice everything that he held dear for people who barely gave a damn if it was their pitiful hides on the line, he finally told them no. He expected Dax to come bounding along behind him, loudly demanding to know what it was that had gotten their panties in a bunch. His heart twisted painfully when he realized that the ottsel was not following him. His feet halted and he actually stood there in the hallway for a long time, waiting, expecting. Finally, he had turned away, throat tight and eyes burning.
And on the race day, he had been cheering the loudest.
Only this time, there was nothing else to focus his mind on- the thrill of killing Metal Heads had worn itself out long ago.
And as he moved through the temple, as he stared out above the treetops at the forest, he was forced to admit the truth to himself.
He was terrified of being alone.
