Another disclaimer- I do not own Jak and Daxter, or any characters in the game. If I did I would be astoundingly rich, Kiera would be locked in her garage, and Jak, Torn and Erol would be making out in the corner of the Naughty Ottsel while Jinx sat at the bar, smoking, and laughing at them. And Daxter and Tess would be serving drinks, while Sig sat in a shady booth, with his feet on the table, a vodka in his hand, and his peacemaker beside him, looking all nice and polished. Mini Jak would be playing rough and tumbled with the croca-dog, and Vin would be drunk, sitting on a stool, and trying to figure out what equally drunk Onin and Seem were trying to tell him. And Ashelin would be hitting on some random guard, probably Iro.
Ohh yeah… ( dreamy look )
So it's probably a good thing I don't own them, cause you would all be scarred for life…
Scorpion: Ermm, I can't tell if the rating is right for this. I'm thinking I'm getting near the top end of the T scale… Lol
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Chapter 3 – Still Alive Then?
It took three hours for Erol to finally finish his business in the lower levels of the prison, visiting half-forgotten prisoners in dark, damp cells. Twice now he had stumbled upon one who had died, the stench clinging to the stone – it would still be there when the next helpless person was thrown in and left to rot. He didn't mind as he strode, drenched in crimson now, across the upper level. It was dark, the lights casting a dim and sickly glow on the cells, which held those captured for the Dark Warrior program.
Erol pulled the pass out of his belt, sliding it through the security. There was a faint whirr, and then a soft female voiced chimed 'access authorised, welcome commander.' The redhead replaced the card in its former place, stepping forwards into the darkness. There was a hiss as the door slid shut, and the lights flicked on, making the place glow strangely green.
The commander leaned back against the wall, watching the boy who lay curled up in the corner, his eyes closed, hands wrapped around his body in an effort to keep warm…
A thin smile graced Erol's lips as he stepped forwards, bending down to twine his fingers through the rough cloth grouped around Jak's throat. With a heave he lifted the elf from the ground, making Jak awake with a start. His eyelids flew up, blue eyes focusing on the commander, wide, fearful even. All this did was make the redhead feel even more superior, and he shoved the prisoner up against the wall, leaning into him and placing his lips near the boys' ear.
"Why is it that you never scream?" he hissed, grabbing the boys' hands as he struggled, trying to throw him off. Transferring the offending limbs to one hand he grabbed a small knife on his belt, pressing it lightly to the cloth around Jak's stomach.
He froze at the feeling of cold steel…
Erol smiled once more, thin lips inching up towards the tattoos that adorned his face as he twirled the knife against Jak's skin, delighting every time the boy flinched as the sharp point came ever closer to splitting flesh. He leaned forwards once more, pinning the boy to the wall with his body, letting his lips touch the long, elfish ear as he spoke against.
"I want you to scream". His tone was throaty, lustful, dangerous, and as Jak opened his mouth, perhaps to try and force words out, he pressed his hand down just that tiny bit harder, skin and fabric splitting under the razor sharp blade. It was a shallow cut, but painful, and Jak writhed, trying to slide out from under the commander and away from the knife that was teasing at his flesh. But Erol was in no mood for that, and he slammed Jak up against the cold stone, feeling the boy lurch forwards as his head connected with a sickening crunch. One long-fingered, spider-like hand moved upwards, till the knife rested ever to softly against Jak's throat.
"I could kill you now, if I so wanted." He grunted slightly as he held the boys hands up higher, clutched in one large, powerful fist. He let the pause hang, pressing the knife down slightly, feeling Jak's heart race, pounding against his own chest. He watched those eyes widen in anger and fear, and he loved every moment of it, content just to let the boy examine the possibilities.
Only when those eyes started to grow less fearful, more contemplative, did he pull the knife back, sliding it back into it's sheath. He was not going to let Jak get what he wanted, no, not at all. So, still holding his hands in one fist, his spare hand inched down the tunic, coming to a stop just above the wound he had so recently inflicted. Then, slowly, teasingly, his fingers drifted down, coming to rest upon the split skin, feeling blood sink into the cloth of his already drenched gloves. Jak writhed once more, feeling his stomach burn as Erol pressed just that tiny bit harder, before removing his fingers and letting his hand waltz back up along the chest, tracing delicately up the boys windpipe, leaving a trail of blood as they moved to his lips, before sliding back down once more…
And only then, once he was staring into wide, shocked eyes did he press himself even closer, till his blood-splattered, tattooed face with mere inches from Jak's own, the boys breath on his lips, noses almost touching. Erol's lips curled into a sneer, his eyes gleaming – dangerous, maniac, and yet strangely enthralling…
He tilted his head just that bit to the side, and their lips touched…
Jak tried to throw himself back, but he was securely pinned to the wall, and could do nothing but stare into the dark eyes of the commander. Time seemed to spiral out of his grasp, and Jak did not know how long it was until Erol pulled back, smirking.
The commander stepped back, and Jak sagged forwards, ribs protesting at the extended pressure put upon them. Blood had oozed into the cloth of his tunic, some of it staining Erol's own gear – although you could hardly tell, such was the state it was in.
Without a sound the redhead let Jak's wrists go, and the blond slumped to the floor, head falling back and connecting once more with the stone. His eyes were wide as he stared at the man who wanted to bring him so much pain, and Erol's own eyes narrowed as he walked towards the door.
"Next time, freak, I'll make you scream…" he snarled as the door opened, not looking back as it slid shut behind him, the lights clicking off to leave Jak in darkness, panting heavily and pressing a wad of cloth to his wound, trying to focus on anything but his pounding head or aching body…
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Erol massaged his temples before sliding his now spotless helmet back on, strapping it under his chin. It had been an eventful day, but there was still more to come. So, after sliding off his gloves and leaving them on his bedside table the commander exited his room, flicking on the security. His clothes were clean, but there were still flecks of blood on his pale face, testament to his previous activities.
He made his way down the long hallway, closer to the barracks. However, before he got to those large red doors he paused, peering into an open room, a sneer tugging at his mouth at the sight of the former commander packing. It had been a few months ago when he had been stripped of his title and forced back into normal KG duty, and during those few months Torn had been trying to convince Praxis to let him leave. Seemed the Baron had finally given in – a fact that surprised Erol to no end and only made him doubt his superior just that little bit more…
He never would of let Torn go…
No, he would have killed him, and enjoyed every minute of it…
But alas he could not do so here, for he knew the Baron's wrath only to well. However, this did not mean he couldn't engage in a little sport, before going to find his next target for yet another eventful night. He paused for just that moment longer, wondering if he should come back later and do it then. But then an eyebrow was quirked and he mentally chided himself.
Iro could wait.
So Erol stepped into Torn's room, his dark eyes sweeping it, noting the rugged quality. It was not like his own – the walls were bare, the paint chipped. All the papers were spread on top a large table, the guns hidden within drawers. This both annoyed and amused him because of his own nature, and so he did not spend to long contemplating the ex-commanders room, and turned instead to the man who was shoving what little he actually owned into a small bag.
The redhead moved towards one of the chairs surrounding the table, sitting in it and swinging his feet up, disturbing a few pieces of paper, which fluttered to the ground. He ignored them, eyes on Torn, who glanced at him and gave a low growl.
The mans face was harsh; the KG tattoos making him seem so much more brutal than he actually was. But he did not possess the same alluring quality as Erol – nor was he as ruthless. Erol studied him for a moment, lips pursed as if he was surveying the worth of something he had lost in a card game. But, as he looked into Torn's eyes he smiled, the thin lips dragged out a bit to wide for it to be anything but mocking. Torn gave another small growl under his breath and paused from shoving ammo into his bag, turning instead to stare at the man who had just strolled into his room.
"Come to say goodbye have you?" he snarled, shaking his head slightly as he returned to what he had been doing. Erol arched an eyebrow, his words curt.
"Now Torn, do not make the mistake of thinking that I will miss you. For I can assure you that I shall not. However, there is something I have come to collect." He paused, letting the silence hang as he furled his fingers around each other, pressing both thumbs to his lips as if deep in thought. It was a wholly scornful gesture, only causing Torn to fix him with an angry glare, disgust flicking within the depths of his dark eyes.
"I do believe that every gun is issued out on a loan to each new guard that comes in, and that upon the death of that guard, or in the act that he manages to leave the force, all mechanical weapons thereby belong to his commanding officer." He chuckles then; eyes drifting over the drawers that he knew held numerous guns. He was thoroughly enjoying himself, and was pleased he had allowed himself the time to have some fun with the old commander before he sought out his next play toy.
"Take them, I have no need of them now anyway and I'm sure your gun collection needs upgrading" drawled Torn, slamming a large curved knife into a sheath and strapping it to his back. Then he grabbed the gun out of its holster on his belt, flinging it at the commander, who caught it with one hand and twirled it around, inspecting it.
"I'm sure Ashelin will appreciate this" he muttered, eyes focused on the gun as yet another thin smile touched his face. "After all, she'll need something to remind herself after I kill you." It was said without a change of tone, as if he was merely chatting. But Torn knew otherwise – the commander would be out to get him as soon as he left the barracks and struck out on his own.
"I'll come back and collect the others later, right now I have more important things to attend to" Erol mused, stashing the gun and removing his feet from the table, scattering a few more papers on the floor as he did so. He walked towards the door, then paused, one hand resting against the doorframe, his face expressionless.
"It was good while it lasted Torn." He arched an eyebrow, such a simple gesture seeming so incredibly cruel, and he shook his head ever so slightly as he spoke, amused despite himself. "But I'm so glad it's over."
And with those words of parting Erol moved off down the hallway, away from the open door and closer to the barracks, but he was pulled up short by an approaching guard. It didn't take him long to recognise the man under the red suit, and as the elf made to walk past Erol grabbed him by the shoulder, swinging him against the wall and yanking off the heavy KG helmet…
"Hello Iro, don't we have something to do tonight?"…
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Scorpion: You know what, I really enjoy writing this…
Erol: You just like making me torment the eco freak and make out with random guards don't you?
Scorpion: Of course not, what gave you that idea?
Erol: Ohhh, just something you said…