WARNING: THIS FIC CONTAINS HORROR AND 2 BAD WORDS! NO READERS UNDER THE AGE OF 13!!! This is a Poemfic to "Pride" by Dahlia Ravikovitch. A Jak and Daxter Fanfic.
"I tell you, even rocks crack, and not because of age"
You're a broken man. You know it. You feel the hurt, feel the cracks in your heart. It owns you, the darkness gathering in your chest. It never lets you forget it. It aches with a hunger for blood, and they put it there. Everyday they drown you in the dark, and today is no different.
Footsteps. Just in time too. They are never late. The door slides open to your pitiful little cell. You remain still in your corner, head bowed in submissiveness. You dare not fight; they are merciless. They grab you, their red shells emotionless. They show no remorse. You know what comes next. You've known for two whole years.
"For years they lie on their backs in the heat and the cold"
First they take you, drag you from your tiny prison and along the unforgiving steel floor. You see the poisonous green mist cloaking the platform to which they haul you. Sometimes they kick you, beat you with the ends of their weapons. It is cold, so very cold. You suffer from the chill, thin prison garb and scarf doing little to warm you.
But you like the cold. It's better than what comes next.
The chair. Metal cuffs. You knew it was coming. It's what you fear most. A metal machine looms over the restraint, whirring and clicking ominously. It is where the nightmares began. You are a broken man.
They lift you up, lay you on your back, hastily fasten your limbs. They wouldn't want you struggling, now, would they? You hate how your back presses into the comfortless embrace. When you sleep on your back, it's when the nightmares begin. You're a ( )oken man.
"So many years, it almost seems peaceful"
The treatment begins. The push of a button, the monster above the chair, above you, wakes from its slumber. It growls, a lightning sizzle. You have been here so long, it is almost serene, like seeing through another's eyes. Violet shines, crackling around the chair in whip-like arcs. Gracefully violent, you watch with empty cerulean orbs. You've become as emotionless as the red-armors. You've been here too long. The procedure is calm. You are a broken man.
"They don't move, so the cracks stay hidden. A kind of pride"
In a flash, it fills you. Black and purple, like a bruise. It burns and freezes all in an instant. Any other would shriek and thrash. Not you. You are a broken man, but you still have your pride. You squirm, yes, but you do not struggle. You do not want to give them the satisfaction of struggling. It hurts less. That's what scares you. You are adapting to the dark, merging with the force you tried to fight away for so long.
You are a broken man, but you will not let them see your faults.
"Years pass over them, waiting. Whoever is going to shatter them hasn't come yet."
Time. It means little here. Every minute is a moment too long. A promise. He promised. You waited. You know he's coming, he wouldn't leave you here. He is your bestfriend. But two years have come and passed, and you are still here. You gave up hope over time. Every time you are in that chair, he is the one you see. So many months have come and gone and you have forgotten his name. Perhaps that is what broke you.
Sometimes, like now, you wonder if he remembers you. Does he think of the friend he left behind, being hurt and tormented? You think to yourself that he has forgotten your name, like you have forgotten his. It is only fair. You are a broken man.
"And so the moss flourishes, the seaweed whips around, the sea pushes through and rolls back - the rocks remain motionless"
The pain is becoming more real now, as it does near the end of every treatment. But still, the lightning flickers around you in a dreamlike manner. A scream shatters the stillness and there is movement. They took the place of the red-armored sentries. The ones responsible for your torture. You do not know where the scream came from, but the sight of your tormenters fills the hole in your heart with rage. Then the lightning flow is cut off, and you fall back into the chair with exhaustion as a computer's voice announced the end of the cycle. You are tired, and the world fades around you. They are talking, your two jailers, but you cannot hear what they say, only snippets. The larger grabs your blonde-green hair, lengthy from the years. It's dull, everything is gray. You barely feel the tearing of the fingers at your scalp. The smaller lifts you by your shirt. A threat. Retreating footsteps. They are gone, and left you behind, still chained to the chair. You are a broken man.
Did you hear that? A voice. It speaks of comfort. Familiarity...
"...oach food, torture devices!"
No, it can't be...
"Till a little seal comes to rub against them, comes and goes away"
He drifts over, a little orange animal, on a hovring platform. He jumps, crouches on your chest. You are vaugley aware of the weight, but it is not real. A dream.
Funny, you haven't dreampt since they put you in this hell.
"Hey buddy, you seen any heroes around here-WHOA! What'd they do to you!?"
He sounds just like how you remember. He reminds you of home. He keeps speaking. You are not convinced he is real. He forgot you, remember? A soft back paw lands firmly in a sensitive spot. He keeps chattering, just like the real one would. No, don't think about him. Theytook you from him. He is a trick, they are trying to break you further. Fury. Hatred. Haven't they done enough to you!? Why must they hurt you like this!? It is building, the darkness is, swelling and surging against your insides. It wants out, to take on everyone who hurt you. But most of all-
"I'M GONNA KILL PRAXIS!"
He puts a paw to your mouth, says he will get you out of here. He made that promise before. It didn't happen. Dark lightning buzzes around you, and you throw him off. You think the machine is active, but the mechanical beast remains silent. The flashes emanate from you, from within. The brightly colored animal hunkers down, mumbles something. You stumble out of the chair, restraints torn through. There! The liar! The Fake! He is not your friend; he is a lie! You stalk towards him, clawed hands reaching to tear his limbs. The rage has turned your skin gray, and sharp onyx claws and horns have sprouted from your fingertips and hair. You are powerful, and no one can stop you. You go for the kill, claws inches from his face and then-
"...IT'S YOUR OLD PAL, DAXTER, REMEMBER!?"
And you stop.
"And suddenly the rock has an open wound"
You are you again. But... you have a voice. You were always a mute back in Sandover. The anger has passed and you stagger backwards, hands gripping your head. The claws and horns have dissapeared, your skin returning to it's pale color. You see his expression, though he tries to hide it with one of his witty comments.
"What the HECK was that!? Sheesh, remind me not to piss you off! Come on, tall, dark and gruesome, we're outta here!"
He scrambles atop your shoulder, his claimed perch since your first adventure. The comforting weight should bring you happiness, same with the promise of freedom, but your heart is heavy. Not because of the dark eco pumped into your veins, but because of him-Daxter! Your best friend. He finally came to rescue you, And you nearly killed him.
In the many years you have been friends, neither you nor him have ever been afraid of the other. The look of horror and fear on Daxter's face before you nearly killed him haunts you. You never wanted to hurt your best friend. But you almost did. And seeing him scared of his childhood friend kills you more than enduring endless hours of the torture. You vow to avenge what they did to you, to make them pay for hurting your best friend. That's what it comes down to; you and them. But sometimes, it comes down to HIM. Your best friend.
Your name is Jak.
You thought you were broken. You weren't.
"I told you, when rocks break, it happens by suprise."
But you are now.
"And people too."