Chapter 41: The Arrival of the Storm

Jak sat on the rocky strip of coastline within the walls of Spargus, legs pulled to his chest and arms draped loosely over his knees as he watched the waves crash against land, like even the ocean that ran along the Wasteland was of a rougher nature than elsewhere in the world, just like the people were tougher and the sun more intense. Flecks of water hit his face, cold on his skin. He really needed to think about returning home. If he didn't head back soon, surely dinner would begin without him, but he couldn't bring himself to do it.

Dark Jak had gotten out earlier today. All he remembered was a man from Haven City had gotten into a fight with a Wastelander. He no longer remembered for sure who had started it, though he thought the former had the nerve to blame the Wastelanders for the loss of Haven City, despite all the people of the desert had done for them. Next thing Jak knew, he was changing, ready to tear the Haven City man limb-from-limb for his stupidity, and then the Wastelander, as well, for no other reason but to kill, and it took the last bit of his self-awareness to pull himself away.

And then he woke up on the shore, soaking wet. And this is where he stayed, his clothes drying out in the intense heat of the sun, his eyes closed at times in an effort to pretend the crashing of waves was really the gentle lapping of the ocean on the tranquil shores of Sentinel Beach, when things were simpler and Keira never had to fear him and the worst that could happen was when Samos scolded Daxter and him for causing trouble. When there was no Dark Jak and Jak didn't even know who Gol and Maia were. Those were better times, without suffering and worry. And he could never go back. And try as he may, he could never make the suffering in his current time stop for very long, either. He couldn't do much of anything anymore, and now he could barely resist killing his own friends. As far as he was concerned, that was the lowest you could get.

He squeezed his eyes shut when opening them showed him nothing but the rocks and the sea and the turret ahead of him to his left, another reminder of the constant vigil one had to keep anymore, in order to be prepared for whatever pain tomorrow might bring. There were no weapons in Sandover. There was no need of such things. People didn't hurt each other back then. At least, not nearly as much as now.

A crunching behind him, and Jak wrapped his arms tighter around his knees. Go away. I don't want to hurt you.

"Jak," a voice said. "Jak, look at me when I talk to you!"

"What do you want?"

It was surely Torn behind him. If he was here because of all the times he had ignored Ashelin's attempts to contact him, he may as well not bother. He knew she wanted him for some plan to stop Gol and Maia, involving a group of Wastelanders and himself, Samos had already told him as much, but he would have no part in it. He had tried and failed to stop those two, and he had so little control over his body at this point, he may very well end up killing the Wastelanders rather than Gol and Maia. For all he knew, those two would force his dark side out again, and he'd never revert back.

He heard a grumble, and then Torn spoke again, louder to be heard more easily over the waves. "Don't you know that Ashelin's been tryin' to talk to you? She has this plan for taking out those two…whatever they are, and we can't wait much longer. We're waiting for you—"

"Don't bother."

He heard the man come closer, likely both from annoyance and to better hear what Jak was saying, or to be sure Jak was really saying what he thought he was saying. Why did they always expect everything from him? Couldn't anyone else do something for once? He was living in a body that was hardly even his anymore! Couldn't they leave him in peace!

Jak was on his feet and facing Torn before the man could speak again, hands clenched into fists. He attempted to slow his breathing and relax the snarl on his face when he saw Torn's hand go to his pistol, the man watching him as he would a particularly cranky Metal Head.

"You see…" Jak said, concentrating on calming himself and forcing his fingers apart. "This is why I can't help you. I can't even help myself."

Torn's stance started to relax, though he continued to watch Jak with caution. "So you're not goin'," he said, his voice low. It was more of a confirmation than a question.

"That's what I just said." Deep breathing. In and out. Calm down.

The man shook his head. "That's what I thought." His hand was no longer ready to grab his pistol, though his expression had darkened. "You're just going to sit here all day and feel sorry for yourself, then? I—"

"That's not—"

"Let me talk!" Voice raised, Torn took a step forward, finger held up before his face in an accusatory fashion, and now it was Jak's turn to exercise caution, taking a step away from the other man. "I know about your…dark side or whatever it is! But, you've had this problem for years, and it's never stopped you! People need you, Jak, and you can't sit back and let them die just because you're afraid of what might happen! This is a war, Jak! We've already lost Haven City, and Spargus is next! Everyone you care about is in danger, and you're just going to hide out until…when, until it's all over? Because your dark side's not goin' anywhere! You're stuck with it!"

By now, Jak had backed up to the edge of the shore, his heels ready to step into the churning waves if he moved any farther. They stared at each other, Torn breathing heavily, while Jak decided to stay as still as possible, in case the slightest movement could incur more of the man's wrath. After a moment, Jak recovered enough to wonder if he had looked much like Torn did now when he nearly transformed just a minute ago.

Torn stood up straighter after having been leaning towards Jak, no doubt to ensure his words had the greatest possible effect. He opened his mouth, and Jak couldn't help but wince the slightest degree, but the man closed it again, his eyes no longer focused on Jak, but more directed downwards at nothing. He then took notice of Jak again and said, "Fine, never mind. You just stay here." He turned away. "But, don't pout if everything falls apart around us…again."

And then he was walking away, and Jak watched him go, blinking again now that Torn no longer had him cornered. Why couldn't anyone understand? He couldn't allow himself to hurt the people he loved. He was almost as dangerous as Gol and Maia. But, those two…they were going to do horrible things if they weren't stopped. The people he cared about would either die or…worse yet, they could all become just like him.

Jak continued to stare off towards the city, filled with people he needed to protect, but was he capable of that any longer? Or were things no different? Torn was right. He had been dealing with Dark Jak for years. But, they didn't understand….

He turned to look at an ocean that didn't give him the comfort that it had long ago. But, he could never go back to those peaceful days of Sandover. Not without another Rift Rider. And if he had one, could he do it? Could he really do it? There were people that needed him here, in this time period. He just wished he could be the person they needed. He didn't know if he was anymore.

Or was he really just feeling sorry for himself?

Torn headed in the direction of the city gate, to where he remembered they kept the vehicles for driving out in the Wasteland. He knew Jak wasn't going to be ready to help them anytime soon. Ever since the bomb went off in Haven, he had not been himself, and since arriving in Spargus, he had only gotten worse. But, something had to be done. They couldn't wait for their savior to stop wallowing in his own despair and fight for them. Torn knew Jak could do amazing things. Things he himself could never duplicate, not that he'd ever admit it. But, who else was there for the job? He couldn't just let those Wastelanders go to their deaths, because that's what they'd be doing. He had no doubts about their fighting abilities, but they were no match for the two they were preparing to face. Maybe he wasn't, either. But, he wouldn't know for sure until he tried.

He stopped for a moment and spun around, with the distinct feeling of being followed. And he had heard a very suspicious sneeze. But, all he saw was the usual, a few people from Haven City brave enough to be out, though no doubt getting ready to return indoors, and Wastelanders patrolling the streets, on the lookout for any danger. He eyed one Wastelander woman who had her back to him, leaning against one building with the casual air of simple relaxation. He glared at her a moment longer before continuing on his way. He didn't have time to waste looking for possible stalkers. Though, if he had to take a quick detour to deal with anyone that wanted to cross him right now, he'd be more than happy to do it.

Once he reached the city gate, Torn found whichever vehicle looked the fastest, a smaller one with a lighter-looking frame. He got in and drove it through the gate, heading in the direction he believed the citadel to be in. When he had first gone to this place, he had left from Haven City, not Spargus, but with a basic understanding of where Spargus was in relation to his old home, he shouldn't have too much trouble finding his destination. And so he sped out over the desert, leaving a cloud of dust and sand in his wake, with a sun that was starting to fall and his own thoughts to keep him company.

The desert was a horribly lonesome place. This he already knew, but he couldn't help but think it all the more seeing it from this angle and without the night to hide it. Flying over it on his first trip to the citadel had shown him the most desolate place in the world, endless sand and mountains, a place where you could wander for months and find no one. Torn could go without people longer than most, but even the Wasteland was empty enough to drive him mad eventually. Especially now. No matter how sad the place looked from the sky, it was ten times worse from the ground. Sand still stretched off into the distance, but his view from down here was much more limited. While from above one could believe the desert would eventually end, from down here, it seemed like it never would, Haven City feeling like a distant dream.

It was now that Torn understood the longing Sig had shown when gazing upon Haven Forest, so much green compared to here that it defied belief. Out here it was dead, so empty and silent and devoid of life, one could wonder if it was indeed dead, like a big patch of the planet had died, a big, sandy wound that would continue to spread until there was nothing left in the world but dusty desert and salty seas.

The world could indeed be dead soon, if something wasn't done. Everyone could be fated to live in a world of Dark Eco, where people would either die or change and become like Jak's dark side or the two who hoped to cause all this destruction. He could potentially lose not only himself to the Dark Eco, but everyone he cared about. He knew it could and it would take Ashelin if it wasn't stopped.

And so Torn drove on, for one hour and then another. The desert heat began to cool, but only a little, as the sky turned orange, as if on fire, gradually turning next to red, a red that looked more intense than he was accustomed to seeing, now not so much like Ashelin's hair as blood before it had gotten a chance to dry.

Heh, comparing Ashelin's hair to a sunset. It was corny, but he was almost tempted to use it. Once he got back, he would. Maybe. But, he wouldn't be forced to say the words women were too quick to say. Whether he felt it or not, Torn was not the type of man to say so. If he did, would he even be the same Torn she cared about? He'd have to use that, too. Not that she'd fall for the logic of such a statement, but it was true, nonetheless.

A cloud came into view. Not one in the sky, however, but on the ground, enormous and miles across, rising so high as if trying to erase the horizon, as if trying to prevent the sunset. It was a sandstorm, he thought. He had been warned of those by Sig, violent storms that could come on quickly and tear off a man's skin, right to the bone. But, another shape was coming into view, as well, a familiar mountain with a familiar structure built into it, the sun illuminating its western side for a second more before being lost to the sandstorm, as if the storm had swallowed it, too. Torn attempted to push the gas pedal harder, though he was already driving as fast as the vehicle could go. He had to get inside the citadel, or things could get pretty unpleasant, to say the least. How bad would it look if a city dweller got pelted to death by a cloud of sand?

Torn sped in the direction of the citadel, but every time he looked over, the cloud was even closer than before, coming nearer and nearer until it loomed over him and was the only thing he could see to his left. He swore and attempted to stare only at his destination straight ahead, but it was impossible to ignore the immense cloud bearing down on him and the howling of the wind it brought with it. The path started to slope upward, but as he began his ascent up the mountainside, he had to slow down as rocks too large to drive over blocked his path, leaving him with no other choice but to slow down and weave his way between them. Eventually, even this wasn't worth it, as his progress had been slowed to little more than a walking pace in the clearest of places and a halt when he got stuck.

Something got lodged beneath the tires, bringing him to a stop, and Torn attempted to speed over it, tires squealing, to no avail. He looked over to find the storm had nearly reached the mountain, then jumped out and began to run, his own two feet proving to be much more reliable now than the vehicle he had left behind. He scrambled up the slope, his footing sliding when gravel became loose beneath him, but he managed to make his way upwards, clutching boulders with his hands to help pull himself up. Wind began to whip his hair in his face, and he shook his head to clear his vision, while the howling of the wind grew louder and louder. He looked up, seeing the citadel near. Not much farther now, but unfortunately, the same could also be said of the sandstorm. He paused for only a moment as it began to consume the mountain, then sped upwards again with renewed vigor. He wasn't going to come so close only to get stripped of his flesh by some pathetic cloud of dust. No, not him. He had survived through worse.

But, even as he neared the plateau where the base of the citadel had been built, the wind reached gale-force, pushing and pulling at him with a strength that nearly knocked him loose from the mountainside. Sand got in his mouth, and he spit it out, and when he checked on the storm's progress, it took over his vision, enveloping him in it, sand striking his body hard enough to sting any exposed flesh. He coughed and spat, eyes slamming shut as he felt grit, but he couldn't open them again to try and get it out. He flattened himself against the boulder to his left in an attempt to gain some reprieve from the storm that screamed in his ears. If I didn't stop to talk to Jak, he thought, I would have just missed this storm.

The boulder only eased his discomfort slightly, but it was enough to organize his thoughts. He was almost there, and the longer he stayed out here, the more likely it would be that he'd find out whether or not the rumors about these storms were true. He pressed his arm to his mouth to try to breathe some fresh air, then, began to run, covering his ears and face as best as possible with his arms, eyes nearly closed against the sand. He nearly slipped and fell, but just barely managed to catch his balance before he was scrambling upwards again.

He almost lost his balance again when the slope flattened out, his feet no longer expecting even ground. He was almost there. He began to sprint the last distance, attempting to open his eyes just a bit more, squinting against the sand as the nearest doorway into the citadel beckoned to him, obscured by sand but still visible, like it was greeting him, which would be ironic if he didn't have more pressing matters to think over right now.

And then he was inside, running a ways farther before stopping, gasping for air and rubbing his eyes to rid them of the sand that had made it under his eyelids, punishing him for his horrible timing, bad luck, or both. Blinking until his eyes didn't feel so gritty, he looked down to see his hands speckled with blood from where the sand had struck him, sand clinging to his clothes, as well. He brushed much of it off and ran his hands through his hair to free whatever particles of sand had lodged themselves in there. Shaking his head once to get anything his hands might have missed, his gaze then focused on the hallway wandering off ahead of him.

This was it. He was back, but this time, it was just him. It was up to him to try and make some difference in this war. Those two were in here somewhere, and he just needed to find them and hope they didn't spot him first. Maybe running off here alone was not the best of plans, but he was here, and he would do what he could. Ashelin would no doubt be angry at him for his foolishness, but if he managed to take out at least one of them… Who was he kidding? Even if he managed to kill both of them and bring the citadel tumbling to the ground, she'd still be upset simply on principle. But, he'd be satisfied, and since when did he ever need her permission to do anything?

Torn began to make his way down the hallway, lit by candlelight, as the wind shrieked outside, the sand blocking out the remaining sunlight, not that there would be much left by now anyway, if the sun hadn't already just disappeared over the horizon that had been hidden from view by the storm. But, the noise from the storm was welcome now that he was no longer out in it, as it would help drown out any sound he made. Right now, his own silence was a must if he wanted to stand a chance against those two. They were far more powerful than he was, and his only hope of defeating them was if he could attack before they even knew he was there.

He went down several hallways before coming upon a familiar doorway, the one that led down a spiraling staircase, complete with a strange pipe running through it. He took an intake of breath, sliding his pistol out of its holster, knife hidden in a sheath behind it in case he needed it. You never knew what you could run into it, especially when your vision would be hindered by the constant turning of the stairs. Best hope he didn't meet anyone while on it.

Torn began to make his descent, moving slowly, the howling of the wind dying down with each turn of the staircase. He nearly jumped at every movement the shadows made as the flickering of the candles caused them to dance about, and he was nearly shaking with the suspense once he reached the room beyond, where the sound of the wind picked up again, but more muffled now. Several rooms and a hallway ran off from this one, and each one needed to be inspected. He crept over to the nearest doorway, listening for any signs of life from within, but none met him, only the sound of wind, like distorted screams as specters of sand sped by outside. He peeked around the corner, finding a library, tables and chairs and bookcases, but nothing more. He headed over to the next room, head spinning back to make sure no one he had missed was now following him. He checked the next room, probably a lab of some sort, nothing but churning brown outside the windows.

He did the same thing with several more rooms, though he found no one, and he couldn't say if he was relieved or disappointed. All that was left was to go deeper, following the pipe that ran down the hallway, his pace at a regular stride, but careful, except whenever he neared an intersection, when his steps would become slow and deliberate, not passing through until he was sure what was around the next bend. There could be no mistakes. He was on his own, and with the sandstorm outside, no one could come to his aid if he needed it, not that anyone could reach him in time if anything happened anyway, this far out in the wilderness.

The farther he went, the harder his heart beat, starting to pound so loudly, it took him a moment before he realized only he could hear it. He couldn't let it distract him, though. He couldn't let it make him clumsy, or it could all be over.

His breath caught in his throat when he heard a sharp tapping off in the distance, echoing down the hallways. He pressed his back up against the wall, in the shadows where the candlelight didn't reach. Someone was coming, but the way the sound echoed, he couldn't be sure of what direction it was coming from. He held his pistol close, tilted upward by his face, while his eyes scanned each possible direction the source of the noise could come from. This is it, Torn. You wanted to do this; you'd better be ready. You'd better be ready to prove Ashelin wrong. And even if she doesn't admit it; you'll know. And you'll know she knows. His grip on the pistol tightened, index finger ready on the trigger.

He willed his breath to be steady and his heartbeat to slow, to keep him sharp, so he wouldn't become careless with nerves, as the sound drew closer. He pressed his back harder against the wall, as if he could hide within it. The tapping grew louder, the echoes still hindering his ability to pinpoint which hallway it was coming down. A shape began to reveal itself down the hallway he was facing, the one that ran perpendicular to his, a shadow currently moving through the darkness between the candles. He waited. He may only get one shot. Better make it count.

But, the shadow stopped, and he couldn't help but feel exposed, standing here almost directly in front of whoever it was, kept out of sight only by the darkness that hid them both. This person in the shadows adjusted their stance, and he stiffened as they spoke.

"I can see you, you silly thing."

It didn't occur to him until now that if he could see her, even barely, then she could probably see him.

"Want me to send you a 'congratulations' card?" he said.

Maia laughed, a chuckle that seemed to contain real mirth, which wouldn't normally be unsettling except for the fact that she likely was also aware of his reason for coming here. "You may not be good at playing hide and seek, but you have a sense of humor, at least. That's good." She laughed again, and then her voice grew softer. "I like that in a man."

Purple bubbled up around her, and he fired, the shot reverberating through the hallways a thousand times, deafening in the narrow space, and he was backing up as she appeared before him, shooting off one bullet after another as she walked towards him, the tapping of her footfalls a slow drumbeat beneath the gunshots, but his efforts seemed to have no effect, each bullet creating a purple ripple in a barrier invisible expect for where it was struck.

He swore, and she raised a hand, sending out sparks that struck his own, sending the gun flying. He yelled out from pain as much as from surprise, picking up his pace, with one hand moving along the wall to ensure he didn't back himself up against it. Behind him, he heard the gun clatter to the floor.

Torn watched her, wide-eyed, as she lunged forward, the tapping stopping as she flew at him. Before he could avoid her, before he could do anything, she grabbed him, and he clutched at her throat, wrapping his hands around it as she did the same to him, her momentum propelling them along until she slammed him against the wall, an action he hardly noticed as she crushed his throat in a grip somehow much stronger than his own. Her hands closed further, thumbs pressing hard into his neck, until he could no longer breathe. His vision began to grow dark, and his hold on her loosened. And then she released him, only to pin his arms to his sides with the same surprising strength she had just used in her efforts to strangle him as he coughed and gasped for air.

Her face became illuminated for the first time since their encounter began by the candlelight they both now occupied. He clutched her forearms in an attempt to pry her loose from him, as her face moved in close to his, wild, red eyes staring into his blue ones, while a smile that showed teeth caused a bend in a scar marring one cheek, a scar he couldn't help but stare at, if only to avoid the eyes.

"Yes, that's right." She gave him a shake. "Look at it. Look how your friend blemished my previously perfect features. I've been waiting to repay him for what he did, but since he's not here, I'll have to take my frustrations out on you instead."

Lightning surged from her hands and through him, and it took all of Torn's concentration not to yell out, though his back arched and his eyes closed. He would not satisfy her desire to hear his pain. When it felt like she would never stop, she let up, and he set his face into a glower. Catching his breath, he asked, "Is that the best you got?"

"No, I don't think it is."

And she did it again, the electricity even stronger than before, sharp pain that felt like it would tear him apart from the inside out, like he was on fire inside, like he was filled with a thousand searing needles. All he could do was try to focus his thoughts on other things, on Ashelin, and on how he was letting her down if he let it end like this. When she finally stopped, he couldn't help but slump, his concentration wavering as his nose caught what could only be the scent of burning fabric and burning flesh.

He raised his head to look back at her, gripping her arms again with hands that had nearly let go, even though, with his strength waning as it was, he would stand no chance of getting free of her. "I'm still…" He could hardly breathe. "…not impressed…"

She watched him a moment longer, her face serious and considering at first, before the grin returned. "I see. Well, this just won't do," she said, her voice soft. She released one of his arms, pulling her own arm free of his weakening grip, and ran a finger along his jaw line, as she moved in closer, body pressing against his, further keeping him pinned to the wall and hindering his already labored breathing. He jerked his head to the side to escape from her touch, but he couldn't stop her from whispering in his ear, her breath warm against his skin, hot actually, in this cold. "You are so much more rugged of a man than your friend. Which will make it all the more fun when I make you scream."

"Well…good luck on that." His body was one knot of pain, his vision becoming blurry and his limbs shaky, his other hand giving up on trying to push her away and falling to his side, as well. He had to do something. If he could only think.

She giggled in his ear, her other hand brushing up his arm, her own body keeping him where he was. "It's such a shame I must kill you, really. I think I could have had such fun with you. I've always liked the rough, manly type. But, you did just try to shoot me, after all. So I suppose keeping you alive wouldn't be wise, now would it?"

Her face remained by his, her words becoming fuzzy, but since falling to his side, his hand had caught something, his fingers moving along an object cold and metal as he tried to remember what it was. She began to move away just enough so he could see her face again, still smiling and eyes half-lidded, her free hand going to run through his hair in a way he'd only let Ashelin do.

"I guess this is goodbye," she said, gazing into his eyes with the hunger of a predator finally deciding to stop playing with its prey and just eat it.

"I guess it is," he said, his voice hoarse as he attempted to speak through the pain, through lungs ravaged by electricity, before pulling out the object he had finally identified as his knife, raising it high as her eyes turned to it, but too late. With the last of his strength, he plunged it forward and into her throat, all the way to the hilt, as blood sprayed onto him and started to flow out, blood dark with Dark Eco, running down her neck and chest, as she stared at him with wide eyes. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out, and she started to fall backwards, hands turning into claws, digging into his arm and scalp, pulling him down with her.

He couldn't pull free, getting tugged forward instead, hands trying to push her away, but with not enough strength to do it. She landed on the stone floor, he ending up halfway on her, and they stared at each other, both in disbelief, nearly face-to-face, before she started to dig into his flesh, while he struggled to get free, one arm across her and another hand entangled in her long hair that fanned out all across the floor. He gasped as her nails cut through his skin, holding on like hooks, keeping him from pulling free, and he had no choice but to set one hand atop her chest for leverage, though it was slick with blood, while his other hand slipped on her hair.

Finally, as the blood spread further, and her efforts to keep him there had weakened, he jerked free, making it to his feet only for a second before staggering backwards and into the wall again. He slid down until he was sitting, and then slid down further when he didn't even have the strength to do that, one hand clutching the wall to steady himself.

Torn gasped for breath, his body fried, his muscles one big cramp, refusing to do anymore for him after what he had put them through. He shook and his chest heaved, and he watched Maia writhe about only a little longer, one hand going up, fingers splayed, to try and grab the knife lodged in her neck. Her hand made its way toward the wound, shaking, but never reached it, starting to fall before it stopped on her chest. He stared at her, vision going in and out of focus, but as far as he could tell, she had gone still.

He attempted to stand and, after finding there was no chance of that, let his head fall back to rest against the wall. His heart pounded in his ears, but the hallway itself remained silent, save the rattling of his breathing, while a chill washed over him, a chill he may not have noticed before due to the adrenaline of earlier, or maybe it just wasn't there earlier.

He hadn't been much of a match against her. She was too strong, his pistol useless. But, she was gone now. Gone for good this time. His eyes turned in her direction again, but she was just a blur, the light of the candles flickering pinpoints going off into the distance, but even with failing vision, another image came in clear, of a certain redhead that he had refused to say a certain few words to, though she knew, didn't she? She had to. Just because he didn't say it in the usual way didn't mean he didn't say it in others. If killing one of two deranged psychopaths for her wasn't proof enough of his feelings for her, he didn't know what was.

A grin twisted Torn's mouth, his pain starting to fade away as the world around him did, as well. She had said another thing, last time he had seen her. "Don't do anything stupid." And honestly, he couldn't say whether or not he had. But, whichever it was…

It wasn't like he needed her permission anyway.