Chapter 1.4: Nighttime Blues

Vox's fire team had been prompt and arrived less than ten minutes later. They had struggled to contain the burning monstrosity, which didn't want to go down without a fight.

By their arrival the stage had already been entirely consumed and buckled in on itself, sending out a billowing gust of heat that knocked over dozens of chairs. The fire continued spreading, burning wildly without showing any signs of slowing.

Wade had responded to the incident equally fast, arriving a little after the fire crew had. He had entered the park swiftly, barking orders towards anyone within the vicinity and displaying sharp intuition as he managed the order of evacuation.

More guards had arrived and the park emptied even faster. The crowds packed on the surrounding streets, spilling out into roads and disturbing traffic. After herding all civilians from the park the numerous guards formed a line to prevent anyone from wandering back in.

The heavy air of conspiracy hovered over the hundreds gathered. The low drone of their unease is thick and gets no better as the fire is steadily controlled. The passage of time sneaks along quietly, with the first hints of nightfall appearing by the time the flames and smoke start dwindling completely. That'd been when the majority of the crowd finally showed interest in dispersing.

I've separated myself from the rest, watching just about everything from the roof of the jewelry shop. But I don't leave nor do I consciously want to, even when the danger has been neutralized. For most of the time I've been up here I've been detached, mindlessly watching the activity below as I daydream.

The stage is now a charred husk, with little of it standing over ten feet. I haven't caught any other sign of Menzoa or Vox ever since I've seen them last, but I don't doubt the guards had quickly led them away to safety.

The atmosphere has turned dark by now. Road by road, the street lamps begin coming to life and the bustle of tourism slows noticeably. People are probably heading to bed early to be wide awake for the events tomorrow.

I uncross my arms and lean off the shop's sign, looking skyward.

After a few moments of study I learn that the 'sky' is cleverly emulated by the Dome's ceiling, which is comprised of colossal panels the size of buildings. They convey a gradience of dark colors that create the artificial reflection of twilight and over in the western side of the Dome's horizon, I see the last hues of gold fading away, like that of a setting sun.

I jump onto the nearest light pole, spinning down to street level. The nearest clock shows 7:43. I've been out much longer than I thought. Clank is probably wondering where I am.

But I'm filled with bothered thoughts, the same ones that have been pestering me for the past several hours. I drag my feet as I walk through the darkening streets, hardly acknowledging the stares and whispers following me.

Qwark's words from earlier sneak through my wandering mind and I unconsciously make a change of direction, following one of the main streets towards the stadium.

To its west is a stretch of land that curves around to its north side. Trees grow along the promenade's fence line, almost bark-to-bark with hardly an inch between them and having tall crowns that rise over the lattice. I stop at the gate, taking a moment to unlock it with my ID and enter.

The path glows with a soft light that emanates from crystal fixtures dangling from the trees, but the darkness makes further details of the promenade lurk out of sight. Very few others are out and about in the gloom.

I keep my steps quiet as I pass a small brown fellow lying on the grass. He's asleep with his glasses crooked on his long nose, and he whistles sharply through his long teeth with every exhale.

A pair coming up to my left makes me look a little closer to make sure I was certain but yes, they're Valkyries, and the first males I've seen of the species. One of them is invested in the brochure in his hands. His partner notices me passing. His voice is hushed, just loud enough for me to distinguish.

"Ursin, look-look-! Wasn't that a Lombax?"

"What, where?! Oh, shit…! Yeah…!"

I hold back a snort. That's just about my reaction on seeing them. I ponder the possibility of there being female Valkyries in the competition. That'd end up being a disaster.

The stadium is suddenly illuminated by several bright spots of light. The polished, silvery surface now glows loftily, undoubtedly visible from every edge of the Dome.

It gets the immediate attention of a formerly quiet group of people up ahead. They'd been clustered around a fountain, now scrambling up and grabbing their cameras, muttering excitedly. Photo enthusiasts, probably. I stop, watching them bicker and fight for good positions and shots.

I recognize the photographer who'd had taken our pictures at the banquet, a rambunctious Markazian who's probably the loudest and pushiest one of them all. What was that guy's name again?

Well, I didn't want to have anything to do with all that. I avoid their ruckus, quickly taking a split in the path to my left before they notice me.

The trail leads to relative seclusion, and the lighting wanes as I travel behind another tall row of trees. There's a sweet scent in the air, wafting from the baskets of petals dangling from their branches. It's perfectly quiet back here.

I almost miss the slightest break in the trees where a lone figure sits at a bench. They're leaned over, staring at the bright stadium through the throng of branches and flower petals.

It's probably best for me to keep walking, but Vox has already heard my footsteps and looks around.

The area swims in a quiet, tired kind of light and we're separated by several yards. I can still make out the glistening edges of his eyes.

He realizes this and discreetly wipes them with the corner of his sleeve, rotating to face me.

"Oh, Ratchet. I didn't think you'd still be out. I didn't get to say this in all the mess earlier, but...thank…thank you for saving me."

"Of course," I say quietly. I look over his head, towards the stadium. "In the time I've been here, I can see you've put a lot of thought and care into the Dome."

"Yes…and with a little, a lot of help from a practically non-exhaustible fund…when my...uncle died, I was the one who got his earnings. All of them, from…you know."

I make a low noise of understanding. My legs twitch, but I can't bring myself to walk away just yet. Vox turns back around, lowering his head in his arms.

"…I'm not…implying that I don't approve. But I can gather why you followed me to the park," he mutters.

I'm glad he's looking away. Not even I would want to see the guilt on my face.

"I know that Gleeman did some of the worst evils known to the universe. I never once blamed you for being suspicious of me. You or…anyone else."

I let out an almost inaudible sigh, shambling forward with my head down.

"I just didn't know you, or what you were capable of," I say. "And there were plenty of things that told me you weren't like him. But…at the same time, I wanted to be careful. Very careful."

"You're not wrong."

The lights turn color, turning the surface of the stadium a glossy, rosy red. "Yes, I was...I haven't been…" I bite the corner of my mouth, "...I didn't want to come off as so hostile, but it was just…I didn't mean…"

I exhale in frustration, unable to focus my thoughts into words.

"Do you hate me, Ratchet?" Vox asks quietly.

"W-What? No, I wouldn't, I don't—"

"Don't tell me what I want to hear!"

I freeze midstep, setting my foot back down. I didn't even think he could be that loud.

Slowly but willingly I draw close to Vox's opposite side, stopping and looking at the side of his head, which he's gradually turned from me. My chest is clogged and throbs with painless, heavy emotions.

"I…I promise I don't. That's a strong word, anyway," I say, then add, "I don't even hate Gleeman for what he did."

I've never heard someone scoff so politely.

"Really. I'm not the type of person to hold grudges. Well, not anymore," I carefully specify. "But…there's a difference between a grudge and making sure people don't get away with the crimes they commit. And if I wanted to be honest…between you and me, alright…at first I didn't even really mind being at Dreadzone."

"You didn't?"

"I was a stupid teenager," I say quickly. "E-Even still, I never held prolonged hostility towards him. At the end of the day he was just another high-profile creep that we had to stop."

"But it's clear how dangerous he was."

"Yes. When I…first saw your face, I reacted without a thought. Instantly." I admit shamefully. "I came close to shooting you."

"You—why didn't you?"

"Clank was there. Whenever I stop thinking, he helps me get my mind back on track."

"What does he think of me?"

"He wondered about you too. But he never actively pursued those doubts. He always saw you as your own person from the start. And I should have done that, too. I couldn't ever hate anyone, especially not you," I say. "...…Guzman. Can you look at me?"

He turns, steadily, with caution in his timid profile.

"I mean it. Alright? I know I haven't given you a reason to think otherwise, but I, I'm telling you, and I mean it. I'm not joking or, or trying to patronize you."

His lips part slightly and he hitches, like he wants to say something but can't.

"And...Menzoa did make a point earlier," I mutter.

His face falls. "You think so?"

"It's probably the only time I will. But if you struggle with people comparing you to Gleeman, you have the choice of showing them otherwise. At the same time, I don't think it's something you should bother with."

"What do you mean?"

"Your nature shows through all you've done and said. That's without getting to know you personally. Just keep being the good guy you are and don't worry about what people think of you. And, well, you'll naturally earn the trust of others just by being yourself. That's always something of value."

"I can't."

Guzman's voice trembles, coming out in a dreadful hiss.

"He's right, you're right, but you know what? I'm not as strong as either of you. You both gave me fair advice, but…I can't…I've gotten too caught up in my own insecurities. I always wonder what people think of me. I think even more of the things I would want to do but can't to make them look at me with favor. Continuously. And I'm…that's why I'm glad the fire happened."

"...after you almost got flattened and immolated to death?" I ask slowly, raising a brow.

He shakes his head, looking away from me. "I'll thank you for saving me until I die, Ratchet," he says, choking on his words. "But-but I would've locked up on that stage, I know I would have. It's so selfish of me, and it was my fault I put myself in that position in the first place. You're both right. I just don't think about some of the decisions I make in the moment because I…"

He doesn't sound like himself. He doesn't sound sad or anxious. He just sounds like someone who's drowning in the darkest part of his soul with no light to drift to.

I move around, sitting down on the bench next to him. The Director continues to stare up at the stadium, the light of which now shifts to a quiet shade of blue.

"You can't please everyone," I say.

He lowers his head, raising it in a nod. "Ophelia tells me that. Don tells me that. I tell myself that. But I've been like this for so long. It's a hard mentality to shake. Sometimes I wonder how I got this far, and I have to remember it's probably because of the people around me. I'm beginning to accept that without them," he lets out a humorless chuckle. "…I wouldn't make it. I don't feel like a Director. I feel like…I should have just stayed doing small time charity work, and staying in obscurity where things were much safer…"

"There was a reason, or maybe several that you didn't, though."

"There's only one at base. It's almost childish. But I just wanted to make people happy, to give them something to watch and enjoy with others."

"It's not childish to want to bring joy to others."

The bottoms of his eyes quiver, beading with tears. "…my uncle made that a rough focal point of his business. But I wanted to do it with good intents. I had begun thinking I could channel the same energy that had made him successful. I finally realized something today.

"He was much better than me at this. A much better businessman and negotiator, organizer…all on his own. Even with all the help in the universe and all the money at my disposal, I still feel like I just... can't…get it. I still feel lost. And I know," he hits a fist to his knee. "I know, if there was a quality I'd want from him, it'd be his confidence."

"I wish you weren't so hard on yourself," I murmur.

"In truth," Guzman's voice is awfully quiet now. "When I started this project up, I wanted to transform his legacy into something good, with the same passion and energy he had. Now that I'm here..."

He outstretches his hands towards the Dome; its light washes over into a brilliant gold.

"It's like...staring a monster in the face," he finishes.

He freezes. Something in him deflates and his eyes turn dark. His arms gradually lower, resting at his side.

"What can I do for you?" I ask quietly.

He looks over at me. I've never seen such deep sadness in another person's eyes. He abruptly grabs my shoulder, clenching it tight. I hold an intent gaze on his face.

"Just…please, Ratchet. Do your best, and have fun. With Clank, and everyone else. Just show me that this...this can be done. I may be the Director…but the real entertainment comes from you and the others. Seeing you all enjoying yourselves will be fulfilling. It would help me fight the doubt. Once the doubt starts gnawing at me…it's hard. It's hard to..."

He falters, then takes his hand and away and looks towards the pavement. "It would give me a little bit more faith in myself."

"Then you got it."

By now, the dark has chased away the others in the promenade and the few voices in the distance have long fallen silent. The stadium continues to glow through a range of colors. The lights themselves begin rotating and oscillating across the surface of the stadium, creating a kaleidoscopic light show.

A warm breeze sweeps through, gently shuffling the ocean of trees. The placid scent of flower petals swirls strongly through my nostrils and calms me. For a moment I almost forget we're in a synthetic environment.

I gaze up at the stars projected overhead, enjoying how much their arrangements look like that of a real night sky. Then my eyes widen and I sit up straighter, studying the dark portrait overhead even closer.

Inquisitive, I look over at Vox. "I've uh, noticed the sky."

"…oh!"

He immediately looks away, hiding his embarrassment. I was sure he'd never thought he'd be around me at this time and I didn't want to put him out on the spot. But the night sky is an exact replica of Veldin's, as if I were sitting right outside our garage.

"Copernicus helped me with its design. Uhh…I just…" Vox trails off, scratching the back of his head. When he realizes I'm waiting for an answer, he clams up even more. "I-I just…wanted to make you…more comfortable…?"

A wondrous feeling swells in my chest. My cheeks flush with warmth. I cough, discreetly trying to clear my throat.

Then I say, "I really like it."

"You do?"

"Yeah. A lot," I say earnestly. "Thanks."

"Y-You're welcome."

We sit here for a while, just becoming more comfortable with each other's presence. He was absolutely right; I'd already been settled down, but looking into a familiar night sky creates a delightful mood that I don't want to bring an end to yet.

Several minutes later, I speak up.

"I don't know about you, but I'm starving. I'm gonna get me something. I'll grab something for you too if you want."

"Oh…yes, I would like that," he says gratefully. "Thank you."

"Anything you want in particular?"

"No, you can decide for me."

"Okay!"

I leave and return within twenty minutes, toting two bags with me. He looks a bit startled when he sees everything I've got. I plop down, handing him his bag. "There you go. I went by the toastie stand and got us both one, but I've never tried them before…oh, this is yours too."

I pull a bottle of lemonade out of my bag and hand it over, and he catches sight of something else in there. "Oh, are those chocolate covered strawberries?" Guzman asks, perking. They must have been a favorite of his.

"Yeah, you can have'em."

He takes them in delight, thanking me breathlessly. I lean back and take a bite out of my sandwich, holding it in one hand while plunging the other in a bag of popcorn. Now only the crinkle and rustling of bags breaks our silence.

I shouldn't be eating so unhealthily the night before the events start, but the food here is really good. I get done with two sandwiches, one hot dog, a bag of popcorn and a chocolate covered pineapple, but I still want to go back and try something else out.

Oh well, too lazy and even more tired. I reach over and grab my lemonade, popping the top.

A chuckle comes from my left. Vox is staring up at the rosy stadium with a dazed smile.

"It's really nice, isn't it? The lights. It was Ophelia's idea," he says. "I like it the most when it's all red like this. It looks very nice..."

I go and take several huge swigs, trying to wash my food down. Wait—I swallow, then turn the bottle over to read the label.

Twelve percent alcohol. How didn't I notice that when I bought it? Wait, weren't they supposed to ask me for my ID?

I mean I was wearing my competitor ID, but what the hell? That shouldn't have been passable!

"Ophelia is the best," Vox continues. I notice his bottle is half full and cringe, you know, since I'd gotten him the same kind. "I don't know what I'd do without her. It's because of her I can do what I can do, and she's so very sweet. She can get a little crazy when she watches sports, though. It's a little scary when her eyes glow red and she starts screaming like a madwoman…"

"Uhh..." I drone. "I think I might've..."

"I know, I forgive you, Ratchet. You did really hurt my feelings at first. I know you were only looking out for everyone. We're friends now?"

"We sure are," I say automatically, inching closer to him. "What do you think of that, eh?"

"I'm glad," he says pleasantly, crossing his legs. "And you know, I—Kodi—Donny has been a bit distant lately, so I've not had another fellow to talk to. It's a bit of a shame…I wonder if it's because of something I've done."

"I can tell you that you've done nothing. And don't worry about that lunkhead," I say, getting ready to strike. "If he's being like that, you can always talk to me."

Right as I try to swipe the bottle, the Director obliviously snatches it from reach and takes another drink. I almost topple off the bench.

He doesn't notice. "Thank you, thank you, Ratchet. This is also very quite strong. Aren't you going to drink yours?"

I straighten, holding my breath. "Well, it's...oh boy…"

My head is clouding and my senses are already beginning to lose traction. I can't believe my stupid ass had downed about half of the bottle before realizing it was alcohol.

I knew this wasn't a good idea. I was competing tomorrow and it was already late, and I needed to get to bed...

But Guzman is looking at me with an expectant, lighthearted sort of expression. It's...honestly a little endearing. He had just been in such a rotten mood. I didn't really want to end his good mood, even if it was, uh...not necessarily brought upon by himself.

Well! Looks like I got the achievement, Get the Director Drunk on the First Day. I really outdid myself this time.

"…alright," I say, despite all my common sense and logic saying otherwise. "So uh…what was it you were talking about?""

It gets super late. We pass time talking but I can't remember much of what we spoke about. I do learn he'd been running a small time business in the Solana Galaxy, one that produced and sold—of all things, electronic collars for all shapes and sizes of pets. That sends me into hysterics.

"Oh, but that's not even the punchline, are you ready? That was even before I found out that my uncle used his Dreadzone collars!" Guzman says, laughing along with me. "Funny, isn't it? How things work out."

"Things tend to stay in the family, I think."

"Oh yes? What has stayed in your family?"

"Uhh…" I almost make my head explode from how hard I think. "Errr…Clank has green eyes, Talwyn has a tail…lessee, Qwark is an organic, and I look like my father. That's all the same thing, right?"

What a lovely, peaceful night. I eventually lose myself in the expanse of the skies, feeling nice and cozy and warm. It's like I'm all the way back home…

"Uh…excuse me? Hello?"

It's all dark. Oh, it's because I can only see the inside of my eyelids. I've fallen asleep without realizing it. Not a new thing for me.

Someone with a vaguely familiar voice is shaking me. I pretend to still be asleep, since I'm way too comfortable to get up now.

The instigator shuffles to my left. "Mr. Guzman! Hellooooo?"

My head thuds dully, agitated by his voice. "Hey, leave him be," I bark.

"No…you've both got to get up, right now!"

I open my heavy and glazed eyes, staring hard at the person now moments from death. When I see his face, the recollection of when I'd heard his voice comes back. He'd been walking into the hotel yesterday with his brother and I'd also seen him sleeping on the grass not too long ago.

I take a better account of his appearance. His pelt is tawny, battered and a patchwork of nicks and bumps. He's missing an ear and the other is stubby, missing a chunk out of it. His large black eyes appear to force his face in a droopy, almost somber expression. It's a mystery as to how his glasses stay on the bridge of his short snout.

"Blake—no, Blax?" I guess.

"Y-Yes, that's me," he stammers, squinting with worry. "I'm sorry to wake you up. You're the Lom…you're Ratchet, right?"

"Uh huh," I rub my throbbing head, dying to lie back down. "What's the fuss about then, buddy?"

He looks as though he doesn't understand. He shuffles his hands, rocking on his heels. "Uh…you know it's early in the next morning, right?"

The next morning.

The next morning.

Oh, crud.

I leap off the bench, looking around with crazy eyes. The stadium lights are off. It's much lighter and the lamps are dimmer. It really is the next morning.

"...crud, crud, CRUD!" I yell. I fell asleep on the bench...no, we both had! The Director is lying on his side on the other end. I begin shaking him. Ugh, the pressure in my head is made ten times worse with how fast my heart is racing. "Vox...Guzman! Manny!"

He rouses, flinching at how loud I am. "Ah, Ratchet, what's..."

"It's the next morning, we fell asleep on the bench! The events are going to start soon!"

His eyes turn wide and he sits up, looking towards the third party. "...Blax?"

"Yes, um, Mr. Director, sir," says Blax, pointing at his wristwatch. "The morning block starts in…less than one hour."