Disclaimer: Not mine. The end. Original characters are my own.
A connection of cut scenes in Jak 3. From the end of the third arena battle, to the throne room where Damas chews them out. Sig moves the story forward very significantly in the games, but not a whole lot is known about him.
Comments are always welcome.
Just Know I'm Gonna Regret This
By, Nicole Silverwolf
The words carried across the arena, over the cries for blood and the ominous bubbling of lava. Sig was almost relieved that Damas hadn't ordered them killed on site. This was of course before the unpleasant thought of being thrown out of Spargus to die in the Wastes occurred to him.
He glanced at Jak and Daxter out of the corner of his eye. They were watching him intently, a hint of gratefulness in Jak's eyes but mostly crowded out by angry, righteous confusion. Daxter was smirking confidently now; unlike the wide eyed horror of certain death at the hands of someone he'd considered a friend. If there was relief in his expression, it was easy to see. But even before he'd known who exactly Daxter was, the ottsel had been an open book.
Sig wished he was surprised at Jak's grim determination however. Jak had been expecting people to stab him in the back. Wasn't surprised it had been a person he'd considered a friend and ally.
Wishing he could go back and amend his words wasn't possible. It had been 'nothing personal' at all.
Bulky Wastelanders approached from multiple directions. Sig took a careful, slow step back away from his fallen Peacemaker and spoke a respectful piece of advice. "Best put that down cherry. They'll just take it from you."
Jak narrowed his eyes. He glanced around, noting the many men and obviously sizing up whether he could take them.
"Even you couldn't fight the whole of Spargus, kid. Put it down." That from a tall man, one that Sig didn't know. That statement might not have been entirely true considering who they were talking to.
But the kid glanced around again, to his shoulder for a lingering moment, then to Damas and finally to back to him. Slowly, and with some reluctance, he placed the morph gun on the ground. Then stepped back warily. A few months ago, hell even a few days ago, Sig doubted he would have done that.
Damas could garner respect from a rock if he wanted to and it was no surpise that the kid who took orders from no one would listen to him.
The Peacemaker and the morph gun were picked up and away from them. Jak's glare made sure it was done with care. The men and women ringed them in, most casting incredulous looks to Sig. He was young compared to many of these warriors, but known for his ruthless self-preservation. And for his loyalty to Damas.
Clearly he'd been corrupted by Haven's particular brand of poison their stares broadcast.
The procession from the stadium was a slow one. Jak followed behind the burly Wastelander, not unlike a shadow.
Sig glanced at the woman striding beside him, head high and eyes resolutely staring forward. After a moment, she shot him a furious glance, their eyes locking for an instant.
"You always were one for doing stupid shit at bad times."
"Nice to see you too Zaya," Sig replied evenly. His voice was subdued if a bit annoyed. But not like something meant for acquaintances, soured relationships or even friends. The tone was more familiar, warm and chagrined like they'd had similar arguments before.
He could feel Jak's eyes on his back, Daxter's too. Curious and growing impatient with the realization that Sig knew a whole lot more than they did about this situation.
"Nothing is worth this Sig. Nothing," the woman bit out in a venomous hiss.
Truth, that probably nothing was worth banishment from Spargus. Maybe not even Jak and Daxter, two of the only souls that he'd come to trust in Haven City. Aside from fellow Wastelanders who searched the city, Sig had made few lasting contacts there over the past four years.
Not to say that he didn't have the chance. Since the defeat of the Metal Head leader, and the death of his employer he'd been afforded many opportunities to solidify relations with others. Influential others at that.
But Samos rang false to him, skirted around disliked issues with an intensity he didn't appreciate. The man might be wise, a sage of eco unrivaled in this world; but he treated Jak like a threat one second, a weapon another. Berated Daxter for even silly small things and was overtly callous with these two people who were supposed to be important to him. Sig had to wonder if that spoke more about the man than anything he publicly said or did.
Torn was a fellow warrior, as was Ashelin and that alone earned them camaraderie. He appreciated their support but didn't like the idea of being so close to the (for all intents and purposes) rulers of Haven. Their high visibility was a deterrent for why he was there and the search was already nearly hopeless. He'd casually asked Torn about any missing kids at a bar one night, seeing as he'd been nearly running the underground, but the man wouldn't give much information up. Sig never liked to think about the why of that.
But all of that didn't matter out here.
Which brought him back to exactly why he'd done this.
The breeze felt faintly of Eco--his least favorite kind--and he glanced over his shoulder at the reason for the mild ozone metallic scent. Jak was a dangerous young man, mostly due to a short fused temper and a chip on his shoulder that was only getting deeper with every passing day. He was brash and impatient, often too caught up in the moment to consider the implications of his actions. Could cop a wicked attitude when he was inclined to. And on top of all that, Jak could back up all of this with a fighting ability Sig was sure very few could rival.
Sig liked him though, despite that.
And there wasn't a particular moment he could point out where he'd made that decision. It could have been at the city entrance, when he'd declared them Wastelanders for the first time. Maybe even before that, as he'd brooded over a drink and warned them of an oncoming trap.
While Damas commanded his loyalty, he didn't have a way to funnel funds to any of them within the city walls.
There were days when the need to eat outweighed the search for Mar.
Krew was a means to vitally needed information and a paycheck to keep a roof over his head.
But never more than that.
No real surprise then that he had soured to the man when he'd revealed his plan. To get rid of the pesky nuisance the duo had become. Sig was aware of the unspoken rule among the Wastelanders that searched the city, not to stick their necks out for anyone. Until that evening, he'd stuck to that rule with a zealousness that none of them had taken too.
Returning to the city amidst celebrations of the defeat of Kor nearly a month later, he'd not expected to see Krew's dive of a bar in operation. He couldn't say he was surprised to see a very large ottsel gracing the entrance, remarkably similar to Jak's loudmouthed companion. Curiosity drew him inside, though he was sure of what he'd find.
Wasn't disappointed to find the heroes of the battle inside. Jak's warmly excited and relieved welcome though; that had almost thrown him off guard. For a minute it looked like he might try to hug him, but stopped short with the realization that there were people around, and that at seventeen it might be a little embarrassing.
It came as a sharp realization in that moment how much younger Jak actually was. And that perhaps the one sided advice he'd given had meant more than he'd known. Sig had grabbed him anyways, in the firm grip of friendship that had suddenly been confirmed and vigorously scrubbed Daxter on the head when offered a drink. Appearances be damned, it was good to see those two alive.
"Aww...you DO like us don't you big guy!" he remembered Daxter shouting triumphantly. He hadn't answered but it wasn't necessary.
And though the next year was rough, he'd managed to stop by when he could to hang out with those two. For a few beers, a little sewer cleaning, some advice and even a bit of tutelage in the fine art of Peacemaker usage. If one called it friendship or even a big brother complex they wouldn't be wrong.
He'd been out of the city on a routine information run to Spargus. Hadn't known about the banishment; hadn't stopped by the bar in a week. The overrun of Metal Heads had kept him busy and far away, clear on the other side of town.
Damas had asked if he'd like a challenge in the arena. Sig had agreed out of habit.
And now he found himself here.
Though he had said he would regret the decision back in the arena; he could find no real reason to back that up now. Even as they crowded into the lift, Jak a brooding presence at his side.
Zaya repeated her earlier comment, perhaps loud enough to be heard by at least the ottsel.
"Nothing's worth this Sig. Not them, not our family and not your citizenship."
"He's worth it Zaya. They both are." Sig's response was quick, cutting and pointed. It left no room for argument, just loud enough for the two men at his side to pick up if they had been listening.
Her gaze was severe and betrayed but more worried than anything else. Sig could be as stubborn as a yakkow when he wanted to be. Along with his tendency to grandstand at the worst possible opportunities it was one of the most innately annoying and at the same time endearing traits her little brother had.
"For your sake Sig, I hope they are." she replied after a moment.
Sig suddenly realized though, that he had no reason to wonder.
Besides it better be enough to get them through the hell Damas was sure to put them through.
'You're gonna owe me a lot of beers for this cherries.' He promised silently, filing it away to pull out if they survived the next twenty minutes.
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Thanks for reading.