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Any Other Mission	By : CardDragonBall Category: +G through L > Jak & Daxter Views: 2927 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Jak & Daxter, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Any Other Mission
- 2-2
- 3-3
- 4-4
- 1
- 2
Title: Any Other Mission 1 ---Beta'd Version

Author: Card

Beta: Goosie *glomps the Goosie* Thaaaaank you!

Rating: r (Right now.)

Warnings: Bad language

Pairing involved: None yet, eventually Jinx/Jak (Jak/Jinx whatever.)

Disclaimer: NOT MINE. No ownership implied, merely playing with the boys.
"Fat bastard," Jinx said again. He dug at the nick in the table, trying to make it deeper or larger or whatever. He was just fucking bored. Krew had been the man with all the right missions and the jerk had the nerve to go off and get himself killed by Mr. I'm-so-fancy-and-freakish-and-don't-you-just-want-to-kiss-my-pretty-ass. Now he was sitting in the back of the seediest bar inside the walls of Haven, slouching in his seat, drinking something that the bartender probably drained out of his zoomer that morning with a half-smoked cigar spiraling smoke around his head.

Bored out of his skull.

Without Krew there wasn't anything fun to do anymore. No missions to the sewers to blow things up. Not that his last mission had been all that great anyway. Pretty boy had done his part like a good lackey, up until they were swarmed by a billion of those stupid fucking metal-heads and then things got just special.

Nobody had said anything about it then, but Jinx was pretty sure he was the only one standing there with great concern for his own balls. The mission got real quiet after that. Except for the explosions. Until they blew the hell out of Mar and the annoying kid with the dark-eco habit had given him a look like he had just fucked his mother in front of him or something.
Not that it mattered. Beyond the passing prettiness of the kid there was nothing valuable or desirable in him.

"You Jinx?"

He cocked his head back, regarded the man standing to the side of the table. Dark red hair, face tattoos, gravelly voice that seemed to be grating its way out of his throat� and such a sour look on his face. Disgusted, displeased, a faint sense of debauched.

"Who wants to know?"

For this bit of sarcasm he was rewarded with a look of death. Something shifted behind the man's eyes that made him seem less like a nobody and more apt to blow Jinx' head off without shedding a tear about it. He held that back, but Jinx saw it in him, and thought--just for a second mind you--that this man might be worth the time it took to harass.

"Are you Jinx, or not?" he was asked again.

"Not," he said.

This earned him an even more enraged stare. As if the fact that he failed to give the correct answer was a personal insult the likes of which was not going to be forgiven.

They held each other's glare until the other man tossed a studded sphere on the table, smirked at him and said--absolutely without concern--"Then I guess you don't know what to do with this." Turned and walked away.

Jinx was left staring at the ticking bomb in front of him.

Ten seconds on the digital clock. Ten seconds on the timer and he had no idea who had made the bitch or how or what it had in it. But it looked fucking heavy and it was the general consensus that when dealing with a heavy bomb you were liable to get your balls blown all to hell.

Nine seconds. He touched it, felt heat against the slick metal surface, picked it up and turned it over, looked for however it was held together, for any hint of what was inside the fucking thing. It surged against his fingers and he had the distinct feeling that whatever was inside of the bitch wasn't good.

Eight seconds. Sweat slipped down the side of his face, and his fingers were slipping against the bomb. He sat up straight in the seat, clamped his teeth down hard on the cigar in his mouth and held the bomb up to see it better in the dim light.

Seven seconds. There was a compartment hidden under one of the studs. He lifted it up, felt heat and ominous energy flood around him. But there was a panel there, some sort of control device that handled the detonation.

Six seconds. A fool would just smash the thing now, or maybe try to burn it out, but that would be stupid, that would kill this creation, and whoever made this baby was a master artisan. Jinx wasn't about to destroy what was obviously a labor of love.

Five seconds. He leaned forward so his nose was all but pressed to the bomb, trying to read the controls in a light so faint he couldn't make out the script.

Four seconds. There were three buttons. A sequence? Or a code? Or--

Three seconds. It started shivering in his hands, and the studs opened up. Blades popped out, one of them sliced the side of his hand open and the other narrowly missed removing his middle finger.

Two seconds. And there it was� the way to turn it off, so simple that a child would have figured it out. He pressed the hidden switch that was almost unseen against the armor around the compartment door. The bomb went dead and still.

He grinned at it, stubbed his cigar out on the table, grabbed the bomb with his bleeding hand and was out of the seat and after the fucker that gave him this beauty before anyone else in the bar even realized that they were in mortal peril. When he burst through the doors and out onto the crooked and decomposing docks, the bastard was just standing there, back against the wall, arms over his chest, look of ease and superiority on his face.

"Good boy," the bastard said.

"You've got my attention," Jinx said. Didn't let it show exactly how much of his attention tattoo-boy had gained. It wouldn't do to let anyone think they had almost got the better of him.

"I've got a mission that requires your sort of skill."

"Does it?"

"Someone is manufacturing these bombs in the Wastelands. They're being brought into Haven illegally. I want it stopped."

It wasn't a mission like the ones that Krew used to give him. It didn't have the extra interest that dealing in shady places added, but it was something better than digging holes in tables. "What'd I get?"

"The satisfaction of a job well done."

Jinx didn't say anything, figured the look on his face was enough of a 'go fuck yourself buddy' for the tattooed man to figure out what he was thinking. He tightened his fist around the bomb and felt the forming scab tear on his hand. Fresh blood ran down over his fingers.

"You can keep the equipment you confiscate--provided," he was told, "None of that equipment is used illegally."

Jinx gave him a wolfish grin. "Fine. I'm in. Now who the hell are you?"

"Torn."

He nodded, gave this Torn idiot a half wave and turned around to leave him standing there. Feeling that this day had made his life infinitely more worthy of living.

"There's a catch."

Jinx didn't even pause in walking away.

"You've got a partner."

He tossed the spiked bomb up in the air and watched it come down, caught it by one of the long blades by the thumb and the forefinger and smirked. Life was definitely better� especially if he was going to be tracking down the master that made this beauty.

"Its Jak."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~***

Jinx: I hate you.

Card: Look uke.

Jinx: STOP DOING THAT TO ME.

Jak: Oh, sorry.
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Any Other Mission