Jak resisted the urge to peel his stinking clothes off at the apartment door. Instead, he ripped his boots off, threw them in a corner, and jumped to the shower. "Sweet, merciful Mar," he said softly. He silently thanked whatever Precursors were responsible for the slightly cooling effects of the night and tossed his filthy outerwear into a basket. Sig had given him some Industrial Strength Wastelander Lye and he used half the bottle.
After twenty minutes of frantic scrubbing, he shut the water off. "That is the last time I ever go into the Contamination Vault. I don't care if the city goes up in eco flames." Jak grit his teeth at the thought. "Stupid mainframe box. Who the hell decided to build it under the sewers?"
Only the sounds of the night answered, a startling blend of illegal zoomer engines, swearing, and some animal sounds Jak definitely didn't want to know the origins of. He quickly dried and pulled on a long shirt; for as long as he could remember, he wore one to sleep. A slight breeze came in through the window, smelling of exhaust. Jak sighed and spread out on the bed, studying the ceiling.
Those cracks there look like Krew's ugly, floating ass. I'll have to patch 'em. He turned and looked out the window. Bright neon signs from across the street flashed irritatingly. He blinked. If I pull down the shade, no air will come into the room, and I'll die while I sleep. If I leave the shade up, I'll have an epileptic seizure. Jak groaned and buried his face in the pillow. Why hasn't Ashelin found a better place for me to stay?
A fight broke out. Cursing gave way to gunshots and Jak pressed the pillow over his ears. The thin material did nothing but make his ears hot. Jak groaned and heaved himself off the bed. He shaded his eyes and looked down on the street. Groups of slummers were exchanging money and waving guns. Jak stuck his head out the window. "Hey, you!" They looked up in alarm. "Shut the hell up! Some of us are trying to sleep!"
"And some of us are trying to enjoy our evening escorts! They ain't cheap, ya know!" Jak tilted his head. The old lady one floor above him was shaking her oxygen mask out her window. An unlocked pair of handcuffs dangled from her wrist. Jak shuddered and slammed the shade down.
The old lady was more effective than Jak's guns would have been; the slummers zoomed out of the street pretty quick. "Sweet mother of-" Jak wrinkled his nose. "Ugh." He stared at the basket of green and brown spattered clothing. "I should burn these." He held his breath, picked up the basket, and threw it into the shower. After he poured the rest of the lye onto the clothes, he turned the water on full blast. "Dammit!" He stuck his hand in carefully and removed his backpack. "I don't think water's good for the guns."
Jak dumped everything out of the bag and threw it back into the basket. He picked up his weapons and stood them up against the wall. "Oh. I forgot about you." The old trophy lay in a puddle of water. Jak shut the shower off and decided to deal with his armor in the morning. He picked up the tiny award. "Hmm...." He kneeled, searching for his own trophy under the bed, where it had rolled a month ago.
He studied them, one in each hand. The older one had a more complex design, Precursor symbols swirling out from the metal seams. It was heavier and crowned with the blistered holopicture. Jak's was much simpler; sleek and modern. It didn't have a picture, but the embossed plaque was engraved with his name, along with the event and his time. The new trophy shone in the light, reflecting silver into the dents of the old. He set his trophy on the floor and lay down with the old one on his stomach. "I'm the first to beat this time in years." He touched the chipped plaque.
Racing's big in this city, I can't imagine someone leaving without taking this. Then again, Ashelin didn't give a lot of warning for them to move before starting demolitions. Whoever won this was probably showered in praise. Especially if he was a slummer- glory for your section can get you things. "Some old slummer must be proud. Prolly bores his grandkids with the story. Prolly wants it back."
Some old slummer... He inspected the picture again. It was hard to see in the faint light. Jak tilted it. The tiny rivets in the plastic ran through the rainbow until he found the right angle. Grinning and jumping off his zoomer, the man was looking up and to the right. Jak noticed that the picture was fuzzy, except for the man's face. Was that on purpose, or is it cuz of the crap technology? The zoomer looked horrendously boxy and not at all aerodynamic. Crap technology. I wonder what he's looking at. Maybe the scoreboard. I'll hand it to him, that's a great time for such a piece of junk zoomer. Jak yawned. Maybe it's the light, but he does look like me. Creepy. He tilted the holopicture the opposite way, straining his eyes, not really knowing what he was looking for. The man was thinner than him, probably because he was a slummer. In the background, Jak saw what looked like a fading accelerator ring. The lines in the picture ran together and his eyes crossed. "Ow." He blinked and yawned. The warm air pressed down and he was exhausted.
"That's enough," he muttered, sluggishly draping one arm over the bed to put the trophy on the floor. It clinked and fell over. Jak turned onto his stomach and shut his eyes. For the first time in months, he dreamed of Sandover; the wonderful feeling of sand below and sun above, his earliest memories after that blinding flash of light.