Only a Memory – by Keaton the Black Jackal

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Author’s Note: Nobody’s asked how Zephyr got her scar, nor nobody has probably noticed, but I’ve written this merely because I wanted to, and because I wanted to try my hand at macabre. This is, indeed, a violent story—but no assorted squiggly bits and gores flying about or people being ripped to shreds (literally) are in this. But yes, there is blood, so if you don’t like this sort of stuff, leave. And, I don’t like flames, either, thankyouverymuch. I prefer constructive criticism, not some random person I don’t know or care about coming up and screaming “OMGWTF U SUK” at me. If you don’t like my work, that’s fine, but explain why you do, and the flaws in my writing, so I can improve the best I can.

Disclaimer: I think it’s pretty obvious I don’t own Jak II—the only thing I own is Zephyr, and the writing itself. If you’re not familiar with the character Zephyr, she appears in my tweaked Jak II novelization, ‘Demons and Angels: A Jak II Novelization’, in chapter 11. It’s on by the way. Go and read, if ya want, it’d probably give you a better idea of who Zephyr is, since I don’t describe her in this—just small hints. And by the way, to all who are waiting for the next chapter in Demons and Angels, I’m really, really sorry about the wait—I’ve been dreadfully lazy, and I guess I kind of needed an unofficial break from writing. I promise the next chapter will be up soon, maybe by the end of the month. But, I thank everyone who has helped me with their kind words, I really appreciate it, and it’s thanks to you that I have reached 17 or so chapters and 50 reviews! God bless all of you, and thank you again!

Another Note and Update: Since banned songfics, I removed the lyrics at the beginning of the story. This isn’t a song fic, but I wanted to make sure.

………

It really came as a surprise to most people who came to visit Haven City that it could actually snow there.

Most days were either intensely hot or basically just a dark, gloomy downpour of rain, which, even during those wet days they still, somehow, managed to stay relatively warm. Droughts, wildfires, and other heat-related disasters were a common occurrence there originally, until the Baron issued for water fountains and springs to be created around the city when he was still in power. By now it was at least five months since Baron Praxis was defeated, and Ashelin took his place on the throne, ruling Haven City.

Soon, mid-December arrived, the skies slate grey, with the exception of the semi-transparent, floofy white clouds circling in the skies. Small flecks of white descended towards Earth, coating the roofs and the sidewalks with snow. And, for once in a long time, it was actually cold.

Actually, this was an understatement. It wasn’t just cold; it was bone-chilling, frostbite-inducing FREEZING, which nobody in their right mind would be outside without the proper gear. In almost every building, its occupants were trying to find some way to warm up, one way or another. However, at the Hip Hog Saloon, now under new management, and renamed the Naughty Ottsel, this was an entirely different story.

“Dax, don’t—“

“Jak, it’s not like she’s gonna burst into tears if we—“

“—That’s not the point, you idiot. Don’t you EVER listen to yourself talk—“

“—You’re not exactly Prince Charming either, you f—“

Zephyr blinked, watching the elf and ottsel exchange retort after retort at each other, her brown eyes darting back and forth as one or the other spoke up. Although a part of the girl wanted her to simply ask them why they were arguing over Daxter simply taking her aside and going to ask her a question, another part of her simply told her, ‘No, you don’t want to get in the middle of those two when they fight’. She wholeheartedly agreed with this side, wincing as Daxter snapped a rather derogatory insult at Jak, only for him to swing back and hit him with one of his own (no, not literally. That would just be silly).

Daxter squirmed in Jak’s grip as the tall elf held him by the scruff of his neck, flailing his arms about wildly. “MIND YER OWN BUSINESS, WILL YA!” he shouted, banging his fists against Jak’s wrists. Despite this, however, Jak was unrelenting, his grip tightening on Daxter’s fur.

“You’re so damn NOSY! Why can’t you just keep your face out of everyone else’s business an—“

Zephyr gnawed on her lip nervously, jerking her thumb back over her shoulder. “Uh, I… really gotta… uh…” she looked over her shoulder and blinked. “…Go to the bathroom.” She said, staring at the entrance to the girls’ bathroom. “Yeah, that’s it—“

She was cut off by a loud cry of pain, which made her automatically look back at them, eyes wide. Daxter had sunken his teeth into Jak’s wrist, the thick leather gloves preventing him from really hurting Jak, but still causing him a lot of discomfort. Jak let out a yelp and flung his arm about, trying to shake Daxter off-eventually the ottsel let go, going flying into a stool, knocking it over.

Silence.

“Okay…” Zephyr said, taking a step back, “Now I really… REALLY need to go to the bathroom—“

“WAIT!” Daxter shouted, sitting up from where he was draped over the tipped over stool. “HOWDIDYOUGETYOURSCAR!” he shouted quickly before Jak could stop him, panting.

More silence.

“…What?” Zephyr arched her eyebrow, blinking curiously. For once, she actually looked serious.

Daxter took a deep breath, ignoring the piercing glare Jak was giving him. “How… did you get your scar?” he asked, much slower this time.

Zephyr stared at Daxter in stunned silence, reaching up and touching the side of her face. “My scar?” she asked, blinking.

In total contrast to Zephyr’s tanned skin was the long, jagged, deathly pale scar which was etched on her face, descending from the tip of her ear, which had a slight tear in the lobe, all the way over to the bottom of her chin. Her fingers rapped lightly on it, slowly tracing the edge. Jak let out an exasperated sigh, dropping his head in his uninjured hand and shaking it.

Daxter looked at Zephyr expectantly, smiling sheepishly. “Uh… well?” he asked, already starting to regret the ramifications of his curiosity.

Zephyr’s eyes widened a little as if she had awoken from a nightmare, shaking her head. “Oh, sorry. I… uh…”

It was a surprisingly dark night, as cold as the present time. Clouds completely eclipsed the moon, but only a few rivulets of light managed to pierce the thick veil of fog to illuminate the Earth. Snow whipped by, propelled by the fast-moving winds. Sitting huddled in a trench beneath the shadow of a gargantuan Dark Eco silo wasn’t exactly the greatest form of protection from the harsh temperatures, but it would have to do.

As Zephyr looked over her shoulder towards the three other shivering members of the Underground huddled beside her, she could only wonder if they were feeling as doubtful of going on this mission as she was. She was only a rookie at the time, which was mostly sent on menial missions like escorting members from one point to another, delivering eco ore to clients, and making sure no Krimzon Guards wandered in the area. This made her feel all the more sore, her ears drooping slightly. A part of her, the more courageous, unafraid part of her, told her that now, now was her chance to prove herself in the eyes of the Underground Resistance. That fate had intervened, giving her this opportunity—but the cowardly part of her continued to nag at her subconscious, whispering that Torn wouldn’t care if they all died, that he probably had just made up this mission as to destroy them all—

“Alright, men,” a deep, husky voice spoke up, jolting Zephyr from her internal conflicts. She looked up, the rest of the Underground members looking with her. The commander of the troop stood there, bravely managing to fight off the cold that paralyzed the remainder of his regiment. “The storm’s let up, so we can go on. The Krimzon Guard armory is just a few more steps ahead, so we can head over, and blow it up.”

Zephyr scowled lightly, rubbing her hands together in some vain attempt to generate warmth. She HATED waiting, even for a few minutes. Despite being a 20-year old she was so immature for her age. The grizzled commander spoke up again, looking over his troops.

“There have been Metal Head sightings in this area, remember this, so do NOT, under any circumstances, leave the group until we’ve entered the armory. Remember, from then on you’ll go to the specified generator targets there and set the bomb you’ve been given there (Zephyr looked down at the deactivated bomb nestled in her jacket, feeling slightly nervous of it being kept there despite the fact it was harmless in its deactivated state). Then it’s every man for himself or herself, same difference. You HAVE to get out of there, or you’ll be blown up along with it.”

Despite the ominous warning, every Underground member besides Zephyr didn’t even look the slightest bit afraid. From the corner of her eye, Zephyr could see the person beside her, smirking determinedly, clutching his gun. Zephyr envied him. She wasn’t quite sure if she was either scared stiff or determined to prove herself, since those parts of her were back to arguing in her head. But at any rate, it had to be wonderful, fighting for what you believe in with such determination. Zephyr felt so out of place in this group of experienced warriors, which made her slump slightly in her seat, her legs trembling.

“Let’s move out!” the commander shouted, the Underground members climbing to their feet. Zephyr gulped, taking a deep breath as she managed to keep her legs from knocking together as she rose to her feet as well. ‘Here goes nothing,’ she thought, slowly trudging behind the small group of fighters. ‘I’m ready, I’m ready, I’m ready—‘

She sighed, stopping in her tracks and looking down at her boots. ‘…No, I’m not,’ she thought sadly, and then continued walking.

After two minutes or so of walking, the two parts of Zephyr started arguing again, this time with such ferocity that Zephyr would’ve screamed at them for them to stop if they weren’t just A) figments of her imagination and mere representatives of how the subconscious worked, B) in her head, and/or C) that everyone would think she was crazy if this happened. One started to gain control, then the other to knock the other down and attempt to grapple control away from Zephyr. Zephyr was now starting to get such an aggravating headache, that she didn’t notice the soft, muffled footsteps behind her, or the rough, rhythmless breathing that accompanied it.

Suddenly, Zephyr slowly began to grow more and more tense, her pupils dilating. She noticed that in the midst of her struggling with her inner selves, she had slowed down and strayed a bit from the group. “Ack!” she muttered under her breath, the two conflicting entities within her abruptly shutting up. “Wait for me, wait for me…” she started to run forward--

--Only for a loud, raspy growl to cause her to freeze in her tracks. Zephyr’s eyes widened, her teeth gritting. ‘Oh no—‘ she thought nervously, trembling. ‘No, no, no—‘

Another growl, this one much more vicious, and much more louder-against all better judgment, Zephyr slowly turned around, her frosting, gloved hands groping for the handle of her spear, which was strapped to her back. The instant her fingers brushed past the tip, she remembered what the commander had told her before: if you run into a Metal Head, DO NOT MOVE, stay PERFECTLY STILL. Metal Heads have a strange obsession with attacking anything that moves, and don’t have very good eyesight, like reptiles and sharks, so only if they had smelled the distinct scent of blood, or noticed some movement, that they would attack. Zephyr frantically searched her thoughts for what the commander had said about KILLING, or ESCAPING from the Metal Head, but her initial fear froze her in her tracks, and far too late.

In a loud, feral snarl, which, unbeknownst to Zephyr, had attracted the group ahead to her plight, and a flash of steel claws and an eerie, neon green blast of light in her eyes, the hulking, navy blue beast circling her pounced, Zephyr desperately trying to scream-only for her throat to fail her as much as her feet had.

The Metal Head collided with Zephyr, knocking the relatively tall girl over. Although Zephyr was tall, the beast had to be at least 6’7, which greatly minimized Zephyr’s impressive height of 5’11. Zephyr again tried to scream, but this time a blast of cold wind mixed with the hot, hot breath of the Metal Head burst down her throat, making her gag from the putrid stench of the Metal Head’s breath as it reached her nostrils. Her back hit the snow, sending specks of the powdery substance flying into the air as the scaly creature hunched over her, saliva oozing from its alligator-like jaws.

The Metal Head raised its haunches, its lower body pinning her against the cold, cold snow, roaring loudly. It swung its claw, one slice quickly ripping apart Zephyr’s jacket and part of her shirt (Zephyr shrieked), shreds of fabric flying into the air. A loud, metallic clang rang out as its steely claws ripped through the bomb in Zephyr’s jacket, reducing it to scrap metal in a matter of seconds. In the same, fluid motion that it swept up the bomb and destroyed it, it tossed it away. Zephyr could hear shouting, just vaguely, and the loading of guns, but the piercing cries of the Metal Head on top of her all but obscured the majority of her usually acute hearing. It slashed again with the wind whistling behind the movement of its arm, Zephyr’s head swinging instinctively to the side the best she could in an attempt to dodge it. She could feel her extensions beside her ears lift slightly from the wind following the blow. A slight pain stung at her ear, making her wince and bite her lip, stifling a shocked cry. It wasn’t horrible or unbearably antagonizing, but it still hurt, and the fact her ears, like all elves’, were quite sensitive didn’t help her in this situation. More pain started to stem at her midsection, Zephyr shuddering beneath the Metal Head’s sinewy mass as she felt something sharp and steely against her ribcage, puncturing a layer of tissue and making more blood spill onto the ground.

Apparently, as she could make out from the corners of her eyes, the beast had set one of its hind legs on her chest, its talons piercing her thighs. The pain within her intensified, much to Zephyr’s horror, as it shifted its ankle, burying its talons further inside her—

--which only erupted into an even more horrid sensation as the monster’s scorpion-like tail reared up and struck, the long, curved blade at the tip catching into the edge of her chin, some blood spurting from the tiny gash like a miniature geyser. Zephyr’s eyes widened, tears welling up in them. She opened her mouth to scream, to SCREAM—she wanted to scream so damn badly, but nothing came out of her mouth but a low, inaudible squeak.

But then she DID scream as the Metal Head dragged his tail up across her face, Zephyr’s subconscious being engulfed in an agonizing, searing rictus of pain, deep scarlet gushing onto her face and dribbling down onto her lips. The blade ascended further up her cheek, blood pooling beneath Zephyr’s head and staining the flawless, white snow blanketing the Earth. There was another shriek from the Metal Head, this time one of agony. A bullet blast had ripped into its arm, sending green ichor spraying from the wound. Despite this, its tail just continued ripping into Zephyr’s flesh—in fact, Zephyr realized from the dreadful burst of blood which came anew from her gash, which was gradually increasing in length, that it went DEEPER. She could almost swear that she could feel the blade of the tail scraping against her bones, making her cry out again in pain, her eyes closing as tightly as they could. Although she was keeping them closed to their limit, trying to keep herself from bursting into tears, she felt cold tears slide down her cheeks, the salty water splashing into the long gash arching up her head. More bangs erupted past Zephyr’s vision, more bullets flying towards the Metal Head. Two missed, but the others hit it dead-on, sending blood and flakes of skin flying in the air, some splattering on Zephyr’s face.

Suddenly, the pain actually intensified, hot, almost acidic-feeling fluid seeping into her wound, the Metal Head’s venom—she screamed again as the Metal Head writhed, twisting its tail and sending the blade traveling further up her head, drenching part of her face in blood--

--she screamed again, her throat becoming quite hoarse—

--there was another, thunderclap-esque bang, which triggered a final, choking cry from the Metal Head—

--it deteriorated into a gurgling shriek as a bullet penetrated and ripped through its throat, more ichor spraying like a fountain from the hole as it finally was sent flying off of Zephyr, its swan song muffling when it fell, face-first in the snow. Before the world faded around her, she could vaguely see people surrounding her, the commander shouting orders to everyone…

All went numb with a single breath, the cold embrace of unconsciousness seizing her, dragging her down to its depths.

-

Most incidents like that forever change a person, and for Zephyr it was no different. Only unlike most people, it didn’t intimidate her, it didn’t dominate her, it didn’t weaken her—yet it also did. It was after that encounter with the Metal Head that Zephyr was encouraged, encouraged her becoming stronger, so that would never, ever happen again. So that, it was for this reason that she so often occasionally charged foolishly into battle, she would never be scarred like this again. The fear of pain that antagonized her thoughts drove her to avoid it in her own way-to fight it, to instantly obliterate whatever was capable of causing her pain in battle. No retreating, no screaming, no more relying on any one else.

Ever.

“Hey!”

She was again jolted out of her thoughts by the slightly nasal voice at her feet. She looked down, coming face-to-face with the little orange critter standing there, hands on his thighs. “You never answered my question.” Daxter said simply, tapping his foot.

Zephyr said nothing for a minute, only spending the next few seconds pursing her lower lip again, until she spoke up.

“…I got hit by a Zoomer.”

--The End—

…

Afterthought: Well, this is it. Not exactly your average Christmas story, and, surprisingly, I was in a perfectly good mood when I wrote this—although I think I listen to Drowning Pool far too much, since it’s sort of starting to affect my writing. However, I’m very proud of this story—which is basically my tribute to my own character, and my attempt to add some flaws to her: she’s rambunctious, she’s determined, she’s immature, she’s audacious, almost blood-thirsty, hates conformity, weakness, and cowardice, she’s kind of selfish, she’s stubborn, she’s dominant, and she fears being hurt more than anything-and will never admit to being hurt thanks to her previous weaknesses. This is Zephyr.