Hey guys? What is up, eh? OMG…reviews!…I love them, reviews are awesome and they encourage me to do things like stay up until 1:00 on school nights to write out the next chapters for you…XD
Jak:I have nothing to say
Suta:Hmmm, me neither, except that I do not own the original characters from the Jak trilogy…I do, however, own Smoake, Rig and Scor
Jak:Wow…more characters? Getting a little too creative, aren't we?
Suta:Jak you know how capable I am of drawing you in your boxers and posting it all over my site :blinks angelically:
Jak:huff:
Suta:Good boy
Okay, well here goes nothing…
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Two more weeks passed in the ending of Smoake's growth spurt; Smoake's shoulder height amounted two of Jak's height.
His fangs grew to an inch past his chin and his muscles swelled with the constant hunting…Smoake just never could figure out where all the metalheads came from; darned breeding machines they were.
His jewel-like gaze seemed to penetrate whatever Smoake happened to be looking at. His triangular shaped head acquired a sharper look to it, his jaw became squarer and small, hard ridges sprouted above his eyes.
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Smoake crouched slowly, his keen, clearish black eyes focused on one thing: the yackow-sized metalhead in front of him. He allowed his haunches to curl under him slowly…soooo slowly.
He painstakingly moved an inch to the right, his scales a mere hair-width away from scraping the bark off a tree and alerting the metalhead to his presence. Lifting a talon with the patience of someone waiting to die, he set it down in front of him and let his body shift another inch closer. His wings hurt from being pressed so tightly, so closely, to his sides for so long.
He'd been stalking the metalhead for almost an hour. He had almost been ready to pounce, but his left wing had rustled the leaves of a low-hanging branch and he'd had to stay completely and utterly still until the metalhead had gone back to its original relaxed, dullish state.
His head aimed for the metalhead like a poison dart fixed on its target. Smoake resisted the urge to let a thin trail of smoke release from his nostrils because he knew the metalhead would smell it.
His muscles ached from the strain of holding his bulk in such a position for so long, but he had hunted longer than this before.
A shiver of adrenaline suddenly rush through his body as a gunshot rang through the air; he jumped. The metalhead rose its glowing head sharply and stared into the gloom, trying to see what had made the noise.
More erratic shots rang through the forest, and Smoake thought that maybe Jak had been sent on some kind of mission around this part of the forest. But then again, Jak would probably be a better shot than that, Smoake resized his assumption as a bullet whizzed by, not five feet from his tail, and buried itself into the forest's mossy undergrowth.
The metalhead growled and began pacing back and forth, ready to fight whoever came through the bushes, its attention was drawn away from the sound Smoake had made.
Smoake took his chance and sprung forward mightily, his back legs acting as coiled springs that propelled his thin, reptilian body through the air and onto the metalhead with deadly precision. Jaws opening wide, he caught the metalhead in his fangs even before hitting the ground. It was dead in a swiftly sickening crack.
But a small, anguished groan caught Smoake's attention before he could tear into his kill and he snapped his head upwards.
The groan wasn't the retarded growl of a metalhead, nor was it the sound of any animal in pain…Smoake knew those well and he often took pity upon the wounded animal and killed it himself, not that he minded having an easy meal.
But no, the groan wasn't animal-like at all, it was human. Smoake sniffed the air with a few brief snorts.
He could smell it, too…the scent of human was on the air.
But it wasn't Jak's smell, nor Daxter's. Abandoning the dead metalhead, Smoake cautiously took a few steps forward. He tread carefully not because he was afraid…but he knew he still wasn't supposed to be found.
Sniffing again, he strode forward a couple more paces, his long tail twitched to the side and he let a trail of smoke rise from his diamond-shaped nostrils up into the sky.
More shots pierced the forest, the bullets destructively running through the forest. Smoake saw one leaf with a perfect hole exactly through the middle as it swerved down to the ground. Knowing that, sooner or later, the human was either going to shoot him or see him, Smoake leapt over a fallen log and into a clearing.
On the opposite edge lay a male human covered in blood. A nasty gash lay open and bleeding freely on one of his legs. Several smaller, but still painful-looking scratches covered his chest while most of his armor lay scattered about the clearing. A red, leather armguard fell from a tree as the human yelled in fear and scrabbled to back himself against a tree.
An ammo-less gun was less than a foot out of the human's grasp.
Smoake cocked an eyebrow as he surveyed the human, his back to a tree…why did humans always go and get themselves into cornered spots?
He never could figure it out…
Smoake gently, but deliberately, took a step forward, stretching his neck out and inhaling the almighty wreak of blood.
Fear too…the human was scared spitless.
Smoake blinked and took the last few steps forward toward the panicked and desperate figure. Gasping for breath, the human tried to stand, but only accomplished a half-crouch at which point he fell face-forward onto the moss beneath him. Smoake watched silently as the human lay absolutely still.
He didn't know that they could play dead too…
Now towering over him, Smoake reached down and ever so gently nudged the human; he had passed out. Upon closer inspection he saw that his hair was a jet-black and when caught in certain light, gleamed with a dark red…or was that blood? His skintone was a nutbrown and was not patterned with Krimzon Guard tattoos; Jak had told him about those tattoos.
Sighing a deep growl, Smoake grabbed the human by a piece of armor that was hanging halfway off his arm and flipped him over. He had lost too much blood…that much was certain, but without any way to wash off at least some of the blood, Smoake couldn't determine one injury from the next.
He rustled his wings impatiently, unsure of what to do. If he went to get help, someone would see him, and the human would probably breathe his very last if he left him here with so many metalheads around.
The sound of approaching voices ripped him from his thoughtful state.
Uh oh…
Lashing his tail to the left furiously, Smoake ever so gently, like a mother muse with a kitten, grabbed the sleeve of the human and dragged him out of sight. The voices were too close for his liking and he sped up the process of sweeping the armor out of sight with his claw.
A yell suddenly erupted from behind him and he twisted his neck around and saw a figure through the trees, not ten feet from the log he had jumped over to get into the clearing. The pack of voices were in front of him, and one voice, maybe two behind him. Trapped…flying wouldn't do any good, he couldn't get high enough in such a short space of time. The seconds were ticking and Smoake was about to leap off to the left as a human in tan and black clothing, a gun hanging loosely in a left, pale-skinned hand, hopped onto the log.
Smoake swung to face him should he decide to start shooting.
"Oh my-…" the obviously male said He had dreadlocked blue-black hair down to his shoulders.
Oh, brilliant, Smoake thought as he sat on his haunches…he was caught, and there wasn't really anything he could do about it now as a group of men, all carrying weapons, burst into the clearing behind him.
"Rig!" one of them shouted to the blue-black dreadlocked human on the log. All of the group prepared their weapons.
"Torn didn't say anything about them being this big!" the speaker sounded like he was about to pee his pants. Smoake lifted the corners of his mouth mischievously. He curled his tail around his front legs neatly, prim as a rose, and stared at the invaders silently.
"Wait!" Rig stopped the men as he jumped from the log and ran over to where Smoake had left the unconscious mangle of a body. Rig lifted the man's head.
"Scor? Hey, man, can you hear me?" Scor fluttered his eyelids and tried to focus on the man called Rig, but he closed them almost immediately. Scor groaned, "Metalheads…ten, twenty, all at once…" Smoake took note of the fact that both men's eyes were black, he had an eye for picking up small details.
The group of men lowered their weapons as they caught sight of their fallen companion, but were too afraid to rush across the clearing, lest Smoake snap them up as an appetizer.
Getting up, Smoake lowered his head so that he was eyelevel with Rig. He looked into the man's soft, black eyes and swished his tail back and forth once. Rig didn't raise his gun or flinch, but stared unblinkingly back at Smoake's penetrating gaze. Hmmmm, Smoake raised his head and looked around at the group of men who had dashed across the clearing and were now near Scor on the ground.
"Well…come on men, help me with Scor and we'll report back to headquarters," Rig turned to the group hesitantly, wary of exposing his backside to Smoake.
Smoake sighed, expelling a great trail of smoke from his notstrils. One of the men snapped and shot at Smoake out of fright, the resounding bang not nearly as loud as the silence that followed. He had missed by quite a bit but it annoyed Smoake nonetheless. He growled, getting up and stretching slowly.
"Cease fire, idiot!" Rig turned on his man and eyed Smoake, "Do you want to be attacked by the mutant metalhead?"
Smoake pounded his tail on the ground. He was NOT. All the men froze at Smoake's erratic movement and turned their guns and trained them on Smoake.
"Do not shoot," Rig's voice was strained.
Smoake twisted his tail thoughtfully, this was fun, they thought he was a metalhead. Flaring his nostrils, he considered talking to one of them, Rig maybe…
Jak had been helping him with his voice. But it was unlikely anyone else would understand his spoken speech. His deep growling voice constantly rolled R's and lisped S's like there was no tomorrow. That's why, most commonly, he talked to Jak through his thoughts. Well, he could always try…
Smoake rustled his wings uncertainly and then spoke tentatively, "I am nrrrot a metalheaaad."
Rig stared uncomprehendingly for a minute, then, "You talk?" he whispered, swallowing sharply.
"Yrressss," Smoake snorted again, alarming a few of the guys. He continued, "You arrre with thee undagrrrround, yesss?"
Rig glanced at his companions before answering, "Yeah…yeah, we are."
Smoake growled in affirmation just as another man spoke up.
"Hey…hey, waitaminnut, I heard Torn mumbling about you under his breath once. You had something to do with that blonde and his orange pet, huh? Yeah, I 'member. He said 'damn white scaly better stay hidden'..yeah, he said that, he did," a bald, portly kinda man said.
Smoake let a rolling growl escape his mouth; his way of laughing.
"I doorrn't want to hiddde anymorrre," Smoake hissed, "I want to heelllp."
Crouching down on his front legs, Smoake layed himself down and offered his back so that he could carry the wounded Scor.
"Weell? Corrmme onn, I'll carrrry 'im," Smoake stared at Rig.
Rig shouted orders and his team soon had Scor done up and safely on Smoake's back.
"Um…it's weird, but I mean, I've just never…well thanks," Smoake watched, amused, as Rig tried to thank him.
"Dooon't even…I waant tew," Smoake rumbled as he fell in line behind the men as they headed out.
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Hahahahahahaha! What've I done, you ask? I have unleashed an egomaniacal dragon upon our dear Haven, haven't I? You review, yeah?