Batz grimaced with impatience as he shot and punched his way through his latest job. He had zero desire to be on the clock right now; there were more important things on his mind.
Of course, the life of a bounty hunter waited for no one, and today especially it came knocking at the most inconvenient time, right when he and his wife, a fellow bounty hunter, had discovered she might be in the very early stages of pregnancy. And right when they got the news, he had to go out and fulfill a contract they'd both been covering. The two always went out on jobs together as a duo, but she had to stay at their home because of how overwhelming the news was, and he was left going out alone so he wasn't able to comfort her through it. It was all just a giant mess.
Still, he couldn't complain, it was good work and paid extremely well, especially this time.
For the last several weeks, a gang of self-described 'raiders', although they were more accurately described as pillagers, had been tearing through numerous towns robbing and maiming everything they saw, and he and many other bounty hunters were tailing them. He'd received word from one of his comrades that the raiders had ended up in a nearby village, just as they had predicted, and he would go in to join them in cutting them off, finishing the job and earning himself a nice cut of the reward. Beat playing hooky by a long shot, with all the negative consequences THAT would entail.
So, there he was. Shooting numerous raiders as they tried to ravage the small village, either just shooting them dead point blank or beating them to a bloody pulp if he felt they were especially deserving.
Same old, same old.
He wasn't the first bounty hunter to the scene, but he was the most successful in putting up a fight by a decent margin. A couple had hidden themselves away or managed to hold the line until he came along and found them, while others… weren't quite so lucky, and the walls and streets around them were painted a sickening red. The less said about those poor souls the better.
Most of those who'd survived decided to band together and get rid of the invading force more efficiently, but Batz kept to himself, feeling like cleaning house solo today.
Whilst rounding a corner, he spotted a group of raiders crowded around someone who'd fallen to the floor, violently beating them up and hurling abuse down to them. What little Batz could hear from them was stuff like "Lick this, you mangy house cat!" and various derogatory imitations of feline yowling as they kicked away at the poor soul's battered form. Cracking his knuckles, Batz wasted no time and was almost immediately upon the group before they could even register his approach. Within a minute they were all dead.
That must be a new record, he thought to himself.
Wiping his brow after a job well done, Batz smiled, and looked down at the battered and bruised bounty hunter they had ganged up against. He was indeed a feline, quite a bit younger than the early thirties Batz by perhaps a decade, and he was only dressed in a tattered overcoat and scarf.
Aside from looking in a sorry state in those hobo-tier clothes, considering how badly he'd had the stuffing kicked out of him, he was clearly a newbie to the job.
"Heh. Bit off more than you could chew, eh kid?" Batz said with a grin as he helped the bounty hunter up to his feet.
"Um, I… guess so…" they replied, their head badly bruised from the onslaught, but even through both his black eyes he was looking upon his apparent savior with a degree of awe.
"Better stick close to me, in that state you'd be a sitting duck for any son-of-a-gun S.O.B that saw you." Batz smiled as he motioned for them to follow next to him as he went. He hadn't really been in the mood for companionship before, but the least he could do was make sure this upstart didn't end his bounty hunting career before it started.
"Oh, by the way, name's Batz." Batz said as he reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a pack of cigars for himself. Such a successful job called for a celebration, after all. "You got a name too, kid?"
The feline smiled nervously.
"Um… Janga."
...
"Ugh, my fucking head."
Janga felt himself laying down on a cold surface as he regained consciousness, his eyelids closed to shield his eyes from a blinding light above him. He felt like his skull had caved in, and no wonder. The last thing he remembered was falling into that crater on the moon, after icing that punk kid Klonoa when he'd gotten in the way of Guntz finally getting what he'd had coming for so many damn years, followed by getting shot at and falling to his apparent doom. All this time and that damn thorn in his side continued to turn up like a bad penny wherever he went...
Hang on a second. If he'd fallen that far down, into a crater THAT deep, no less, then how the hell was he still…
He opened his eyes in shock as the realization hit him, bright light be damned. A few moments later an amused voice rang out from nearby.
"Well I never, seems you're finally awake. Honestly I was starting to doubt you'd ever come to!"
Janga bolted upright on the cold metal table he was laid out on, and saw a familiar face, though not quite one he was happy to see.
"Garlen?!"
Sure enough, there he was. A Volk native, vaguely egg shaped, dressed in a green fascistic uniform and sporting a trademark robotic claw for a left hand. It couldn't be anyone else but Garlen. They seemed to be in some sort of laboratory, with medical instruments strewn around. A few robotic minions stood nearby as bodyguards.
"That's my name, don't wear it out!" Garlen cackled, clearly enjoying this reunion far more than Janga was. "Welcome back to the world of the living, Janga! Though I would recommend you succumb to your incompetence less severely in the future. The cybernetic implants you needed to pull through were a killer, let me tell you!"
Janga mouthed his confusion for a moment, before looking down and screaming out in shock. A good amount of his torso, his right leg from the knee down, and numerous parts of his other limbs, had been augmented with chrome robotics, in sharp contrast to his lavender fur. Seeing a barely recognisable robotic leg instead of his real one nearly made him collapse in a dead faint.
"WHAT THE FUCK HAVE YOU DONE TO ME?!" Janga yelled out, barely sure if he should be furious or terrified about how much of his body was now replaced with metal.
Garlen let out a theatrical wounded gasp. "Why Janga, you should be thanking me! With the damage you took, quite a bit of your body needed replacing! Besides, you haven't even seen your brand new vitals!"
Janga put a hand to his chest, a sickening pit in his stomach as he felt his heart accompanied with a robotic tick every time it beat.
He tried to slow his breathing, so he wouldn't completely lose his nerve. "For the love of God, don't go bitching to me, Garlen. This is hardly some great gift."
Suddenly, a thought crossed his mind. "Where are my poison claws?"
"Shattered beyond repair from the fall, I'm afraid." Garlen said matter of factly. "As I understand, those things were custom made, so good job getting them broken."
"Well, that's just fuckin' perfect." Janga growled.
Then, his expression became more vulnerable. "Did we at least succeed in bringing Nahatomb back? Is… is he…?"
Garlen winced, clearly hamming it up rather than actually being reproachful. "Weeeeelll… not exactly."
Janga's head snapped back up to face his former boss. "The fuck d'you mean, 'not exactly'?"
"I mean," said Garlen, with a bit more seriousness. "That Nahatomb failed in his plans. Before he could even do anything of use to anyone, least of all himself, he was struck down by Klonoa and his friends."
Janga's eyes widened, a noticeable fire starting to build in his usually dead gaze. "…What."
"Yes, it's most frustrating." Said Garlen with a smirk. "Some 'ultimate hero' he was. Guess all that effort was for nothing, eh?"
In the next moment, Janga, in a surprising return of strength, leapt from the operating table he was laid on and grabbed Garlen by the lapel, pulling him close as he screamed at him. "DON'T YOU FUCKING ACT LIKE THIS IS NO BIG DEAL!" he yelled at Garlen, who looked not the least bit threatened. "DO YOU KNOW WHAT I SACRIFICED FOR THIS PLAN?! WHAT I DID FOR YOU?! YOU GAVE ME YOUR WORD THAT REVIVING NAHATOMB WOULD RESTORE THINGS THE WAY THEY SHOULD BE, AND NOW YOU'RE TELLING ME HE'S DEAD?!"
"Jeez, Janga, maybe invest in a dentist sometime." Garlen said with a noticeable increase of venom in his voice as he waved away his minions from assisting him, knowing in Janga's fragile state he was in no real danger. "And as I recall, you were the one who failed to stop them on the moon, so don't go blaming me for things not going your way."
Garlen's own failure in this affair went unsaid, as he dryly remembered how Nahatomb had consumed him upon being resurrected to absorb his energy. All that effort he put into bringing him back from dormancy, and that was the thanks he got? Then again, he had suspected such shabby treatment, and had put together a little device to keep his life force from being completely assimilated on the off chance of such a contingency, which could then reintegrate it back into his body after Nahatomb was slain. It relied on a lot of luck, but such was the way of backup plans.
Janga snarled at him, but his rush of adrenaline ran dry, and he was forced to let him go as he doubled back in pain. "Fuck… this… fuck you… I'm gonna.. rip out your damn… throat…"
"In your state? I think not." Garlen drawled as he looked at his former minion, knowing that he was the dominant one in this situation. "Besides, I have no intention of dying. Not with the little contingency plan I got cooked up."
Janga let out a bitter laugh. "So what, you're just going to go on as if nothing happened?!"
"Yeah, that's right. Your point being?"
Janga gave a murderous glare at Garlen. "If you think for a second that I'm going to help you—"
But he was cut off by Garlen's sudden and intense laugh, as if he had told the most amusing joke. "Oh, I have no intention of soliciting your help any longer. After your little failure back there, I've decided I have no further need for your 'services'."
Janga was just bewildered now. "Then what's with the back-from-the-dead routine?! This some kind of fucked up severance package?"
Garlen chuckled. "Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you?", he said before getting right in Janga's face and giving him an unnerving look. "No, this is a punishment. Those cybernetics keeping you alive? They're designed to run perpetually. Any amount of damage you do to yourself, they're going to fix right up for you. From a gunshot to the head… to aging… will heal in a matter of moments. And they're going to work for as long as they sense my own vital signs ticking on. Simply put… as long as I'm alive, you're gonna be knocking around too."
Janga quivered under his former boss' gaze. "But… why the fuck…?"
Garlen grinned. "Why? To give you plenty of time to dwell on the depth of your disgrace, even as the world ages around you, the sweet release of death always out of your reach. You're going to be here for a long time, my friend. Like I said… I have no intention of dying. Not now, not ever."
He finally turned around from Janga, who was staring at him in sheer terror. "You… you can't do this…"
"Show Mr. Janga out." Garlen commanded to his minions, who dutifully swarmed Janga and started dragging him out of the room.
"THIS ISN'T OVER, YOU FUCKING—" Janga yelled at Garlen as he was dragged out, the closing door muffling the rest of his words.
"Oh, I'm sure it isn't." Garlen rolled his eyes as a communication device on his wrist went off. Turning it on, a transmission from another one of his minions came through.
"What's your status report? Are you ready to extract the Aeternus?" Garlen asked.
"Not yet." The minion replied. "It's too well protected, but we're currently planning out a siege on its current location."
"Very good. Keep me informed on any new developments. Garlen out."
...
"I don't know about this, Klonoa."
"Aw, c'mon, Guntz! You barely get out of the house, you really oughta let your hair down more!"
Klonoa led Guntz along through the market of the village where they both lived. Ever since their adventure in stopping Nahatomb, they had become de-facto partners, completing hero assignments that they believed deserved their attention. Klonoa had really grown to enjoy having Guntz around, but Guntz, as much as he owed Klonoa a debt of gratitude, still had trouble properly expressing his own appreciation, much less letting his guard down and being sociable.
"I'm just not a market kinda guy. I get all my supplies delivered, I have no need to come here."
"But the stuff in this market is fresher than anything you could get at the store!" Klonoa trilled as he led Guntz along by the hand, much to the slightly older canine's chagrin. "You haven't lived until you've tried some of the things hidden away in these stalls!"
Guntz sighed exasperatedly but tagged along to indulge the cabbit. It ended up being about as rough going as he'd expected, with a lot of the vendors at the stalls he got dragged to trying to start conversation with him against his will. Some sold produce and food, others were clearly trying to get rid of whatever useless tat that was cluttering up their homes. Still, he did pick up a few different items during their look round that had caught his eye, like fresh vegetables, which probably beat the processed crap he'd been putting up with for sustenance for a while now.
"Ooh! Look, Guntz! Ice cream!" Klonoa yelled as he pointed to an ice cream vendor in much the same way he'd pointed out half of the items for sale in this place.
"Ice Cream?" Guntz smirked. "C'mon Klonoa, that's kiddie shit."
Klonoa looked at him with a theatrical pout. "Aw, Guntz! You're never too old for ice cream! Here, I'll buy you a cone!" With that, he dragged Guntz over to the vendor to get them both something.
Guntz sighed and rolled his eyes as Klonoa conversed with the vendor, who mercifully paid him no mind. He'd be glad to get out of here and back home when they were done.
As he was ruminating on this, Klonoa handed Guntz an ice cream with a flake on it, already going to town on his own cone. Looking at the slightly pink ice cream, Guntz shrugged. No reason to turn down free food, he thought, as he took a small lick.
His eyes widened as the flavor hit his tongue. This was no artificial flavoring, that was for sure. It simply popped with fruity undertones, not too overwhelming, and mixed wonderfully with the dairy. He couldn't hold back a slight genuine smile as he took a bigger lick.
Klonoa noticed and smiled. "Looks like you're enjoying that, Guntz!"
Guntz chuckled. He must've forgotten how tasty these were. He hadn't had an ice cream in a long time, not since…
…not since his dad was alive.
"Heh. Yeah…"
...
Janga, wearing some hastily found clothes he'd managed to find thrown out behind a department store, stumbled exhausted into his hideaway. It was actually just a small apartment a ways out of Volk City, which was all his money from working with Garlen had allowed. After Garlen's minions had transported him from the tyrant's secret base and unceremoniously left him in a back-alley in the outskirts of Volk, he'd tried to end his suffering a few different ways, but whether it was drowning or jumping off a tall building, the cybernetics kept him from dying. Defeated, he had finally ended up limping home.
He looked around wearily, seeing the grime, garbage, and numerous beer bottles strewn around what could barely be called living quarters. How the mighty had fallen...
He shook a few of the bottles on a nearby table to find one not completely empty and took a swig of the strong alcohol inside. Sweet liquor eases the pain, after all.
So this was his life, he ruminated between sips. Once upon a time he actually had a respectable roof over his head, and someone he cared for. Now, with his plans in complete tatters, he was better off dead, but he didn't even have that luxury now. All he could do was drown his sorrows and hope he could go into eternity too blasted to care.
As he glugged from the bottle, a knock came at the door.
"Go away!" he yelled out to whoever it was.
"Janga! It's me!" squeaked a high-pitched voice from beyond the door. It was a voice he recognised, the jester Joka, who had been a partner of his when he had worked for Garlen.
That fucking…
"Tell Garlen to go fuck himself with his damn claw!"
"Janga, Garlen didn't tell me to come here! I need to tell you something!" Joka called out from beyond the door.
Janga sighed, but knowing Joka they weren't going to let up without being let in, so he went over and reluctantly opened the door to let the moo-esque jester inside, carrying a small package and some papers.
"The hell's there to talk about? Seems like the last word's been said."
Joka looked frustrated, but not necessarily at Janga's lack of cooperation. They knew how badly the plan to resurrect Nahatomb had gone, but... "I heard what Garlen did to you. That's no fun, what he did."
Janga let out a bitter guffaw. "Dunno what you mean. I'm gonna live forever, aren't I?" He looked down between gulps of alcohol to eye Joka's form. "Don't see any robot shit on you. What, did Garlen show you mercy?"
"You playing a goof?!" Joka said with a little urgency. "I'm on the run! Gonna lie low and find somewhere sunny to rest my bones! Hopefully he won't find my hiding spot 'till I've kicked the bucket!"
Janga looked down at him with derision. "Sucks to be you, I guess."
Joka looked around uncomfortably and cleared their throat. "Well, anyway, that's not why I've come… I wanted to find out what Garlen's next scheme is. I had to crack open a few heads to stay out of his sights, but I managed to get it from one of his high-ranking guys. Here…" he held up a few sheets of paper covered in detailed notes. Janga flipped through them, as his eyes briefly flickered in recognition, before he turned away and dropped the papers on the table.
"And I care because?"
Joka stared at Janga incredulously. "Because you could use this to stick it to Garlen and stop his tricks before it's too late. He's expecting me to try something, so I can't have a last hurrah, but he thinks he's already beaten you! He won't expect you to be an actual threat!"
Janga laughed again, this one more manic, alluding to his increasingly fragile mental state. "Don't you get it, Joka? It's over. I'm finished. There's no way I'm going to be able to stop Garlen, might as well stop joking around and just admit we're beat!"
"Janga!" Joka yelled out as they leaped up and grabbed Janga's shoulders, their shorter stature meaning they were basically hanging onto Janga's frame as they looked at him with an uncharacteristically stern expression. "Those aren't the words of the hardiest miscreant I've ever known! The one who's been powering through the past several years! Get outta this self-defeating attitude; there's still hope yet!"
"Joka…"
"No, listen to me!" Joka said as they got closer to Janga's face. "Don't you see?! You now know what he's planning, and what he's gonna do to succeed, so you know what to start doing to stop him from doing it! And if you can't do it yourself, then go and get yourself some help from the ones who can!"
Janga couldn't hide his disbelief. "And who the hell would that be?"
"You know who."
A flicker of surprise crossed Janga's eyes, followed by indignation. Surely they don't mean…
"You gotta be fucking kidding me, Joka."
Letting Janga go, Joka leapt onto the table next to Janga's sofa. "They beat us all before. And if that Guntz fellow is anything like his Pops, this should be a walk in the park for him. And all you have to do is nudge him in the right direction."
Janga looked at Joka, almost too outraged at the suggestion to speak. Joka began to move back towards the door, their main purpose for visiting fulfilled.
"And isn't that what this is all about? You being reunited with him?"
Janga barely registered Joka's words openly, but his mind was racing as he took it in.
Joka grinned. It seemed their point was made, and if they knew Janga, he'd know better than to let this opportunity pass him by. They dropped the package down on the table for Janga to open at his leisure.
"So long, Janga. I'd say we'll see each other again, but… well, I guess we'll see, won't we?"
And with that, Joka closed the door behind them, leaving Janga alone once again.
Janga's mind raced. As much as he hated the thought, Joka… had a point… they had done it before, if he could… lend a hand… not like they'd take his help after all he'd done, then his nightmare could be over…
Looking at the package on the table, he opened it up... and found his purple coat, hat and striped scarf inside, a little damaged from his fall but still fully intact. Garlen must have withheld them from him to break him down even further.
God, he felt sick.
He stumbled through his home, towards the bathroom, feeling the urge to vomit. He was stopped before he could by the sight of himself in the mirror.
His face was older, more tired, but mercifully unblemished visibly by his cybernetics keeping him alive. The Janga he had once been was still there, somewhere, even if he couldn't believe it himself.
He looked down at the bottle in his hand and bitterly remembered the good old days. How he had barely drunk at all when he'd been with his special someone and had been genuinely happy. Content.
He gripped the bottle as his anger grew. So many goddamn years wasted on a wild goose chase, choking down booze to keep the pain of that fateful day out of his head, taking it out on the one person least deserving of his wrath… he was a waste of life like this, a shadow of his old self… a disappointment to Batz…
At that last thought, Janga threw the bottle of alcohol into the mirror in a fit of rage, shattering it. He panted hard as he looked at his fractured reflection, glancing back at the copious bottles lining his home, taking a deep breath as a look of determination filled his eyes.
No more. No more running...