Story:Jak and Scott: Any Means Necessary
Jak and Scott: Any Means Necessary
Written by Unskaeth and Cherry
Google Doc (for better formatting)
January 15th, 2026, Huntsville, Alabama
ꕀ
…
The arena was already buzzing, even hours before the tip-off.
Music blared through the lower bowl while players moved onto the court. They spread out in familiar patterns. Some headed straight for the rack to get shots up, while others sat down and stretched their limbs.
Jak stepped out last, bouncing on his toes the moment his shoes touched the court. His pregame ritual was simple, as he began with a dead sprint from baseline to half-court and vice versa. Three times with no ball in hand. On the last run, he stopped at the top of the key. He slapped both his thighs twice, shook out his arms, then clapped with his hands hard.
“C’mon Jak…” he muttered to himself quietly in a thick aussie accent.
Jak pointed to the corner without looking. One of his teammates caught it instantly and fired the pass. The possum was already moving. He sprinted to the corner, caught the ball perfectly in his hands and rose in one motion.
Splash.
The net snapped tightly as Jak tapped his chest twice, hopping backwards in rhythm. Then, that’s when he saw him.
Scott.
Six-foot-five, stood still near the opposite sideline as if the noise and movement around him barely registered.
Jak’s face lit up as he jogged toward him.
“Oi, Scott,” he called, waving at him, “didn’t think I’d see ya again, hey?”
The wolf was idly rubbing his palm with a thumb, gaze unfocused, mouth hanging open ever so slightly.
Then, Jak calling out to him makes Scott visibly tense up, his ears folding back and brows furrowing.
“I, u-um...” he falters, his voice escaping unsure and barely above a whisper.
Not making a second of eye contact with the possum, he swallows harshly and suddenly turns tail, taking hurried strides towards the Swashbucklers’ bench while squeezing and relaxing his hands in rapid succession.
The possum stood there longer than he meant to.
For a second, his body was still, as if it forgot what it was doing before, no bouncing or any kind of restless movement. The music felt too loud all of a sudden, the squeak of sneakers and balls bouncing slowly blurred into a dull noise.
He scratched at the back of his neck, shifting his weight from foot to foot. The grin he usually wore before games didn’t come back this time. Instead, his ears flicked once, feeling confused.
“...um. Right.” he says, barely audible.
Jak blew a breath out through his nose and forced his legs to move. He gave a quick shake of his arms, then a hop, getting back into motion, like he trained himself to do whenever something felt off.
As he jogged back toward the baseline, he looked back one last time.
Scott was seated now, hunched forward, elbows on his knees, hands covering his face with his head lowered.
Jak then turns away and continues his pregame routine, despite that strange encounter…
…
Midway through the first quarter, Jak finally heard his name.
He popped up almost instantly. Once he was in, the pace changed. He missed his first look, a clean catch-and-shoot three on the corner that clanged off the rim. On the next possession, he attacked a closeout, slipped past his man and went up, taking contact in the paint against two bodies and missed. No call was made there.
There was no reaction. Instead, he just turned and ran.
On the very next trip, he picked up full-court, forcing the ball handler to grind his way past half-court and burn valuable seconds. He slid into help on the wing and played heavy defense on his matchup. Just constant pressure.
Then, the horn blares across the arena.
The first quarter wraps up. The score was thirty-four to twenty-seven in the Mayors’ favor.
Jak jogged back toward the bench, breathing hard. He was in his own head, trying to shake off the pressure. His missed shots didn’t bother him. What bothered him was Scott…
The second quarter starts after a brief intermission.
A switch happens due to a broken set, and suddenly Jak was staring up at the wolf. Five-foot-nine against a six-foot-five. It was an obvious mismatch. Everyone spreads out.
Scott jabbed once, as he dribbled out to the side.
The wolf looks out of rhythm.
Jak hesitated, only for half a second, then leaned in slowly.
“Oi… you still with us, mate?”
Scott froze suddenly.
Jak noticed something wrong with him. The disconnect between thought and body. Scott’s dribble came a little too high, and the possum hated himself for it, but he swiped the ball out of his hands anyway.
The ball popped loose, straight into Jak’s path. He scooped it up and bolted. Scott was trailing behind. As Jak went up for the layup, the wolf launched from behind.
Scott’s arm crashed down across his body as momentum carried them both forward. Jak spun sideways, slamming into the floor and skidded several meters before stopping.
The ref blew the whistle.
Jak lays there as his lungs refuse to cooperate. He tried to breath, fingers gripping the floor. A few seconds passed that felt like forever before his chest finally loosened. He rolled onto his side, gasping for air.
Hovering over top of Jak was Scott. He was actually looking down at him on the floor now, but he didn’t seem to actually regard the possum, as if that intense gaze of the wolf’s wasn’t meant for him.
He’s panting heavily through snarling breaths, chest rising and falling unevenly. It takes a moment, but when he finally comes to, Scott’s eyes flutter and he snaps his head away from Jak, bringing a shaky hand up to his face.
“Damn it…”
He puffs out a sharp breath, then fully turns away, wiping his muzzle with a forearm before storming off as both teams set up for the free throws, not even lending Jak a hand to help him up.
The possum watches him go, still catching his breath.
Right… so that’s how it is…
A teammate hauled him up, and he jogs to the line. Same routine as always: two dribbles and one deep breath.
Swish.
Then the second one.
Swish.
As he backpedaled on defense, he glanced past Scott. The possum lets out a small huff, a subtle grin appears on his face.
“Yeah…” he muttered quietly, as his energy sparks up again.
You’re definitely in there somewhere Scott.
…
Come out, Scott.
C’mon, just wanna talk.
…quit being a damn crybaby and get out he-
Rattle, rattle.
You locked your door??
Scott, open up. Now.
Thump, thump, thump.
Scott!
Bang, bang, bang!
You open this fucking door right no-
Slam!
The impact reverberates throughout the empty locker room. Scott carefully pulls his fist away from the wall and shakes off the tingling ache in his knuckles, glaring daggers at the considerable hole he’d made in it.
You won by ten.
“I know.”
It should’ve been twenty.
“I know…”
You could’ve done more.
“...I know.”
He then snatches a towel from his locker and dabs his matted face with it before wrapping it around his hand.
“Ugh…”
What do you think he would think if he saw you tonight?
“I don’t give a shit what he thinks anymore…”
He stops and turns to look into a mirror nearby. His face is blank as he idly stares into his reflection, restlessly rubbing his shaky hands together.
Oh, but you do.
Somewhere, deep down, you’re still hoping he’ll see you doing all this and come crawling back wearing his heart on his sleeve.
“No-”
Yes. You think by showing him how great you’ve become, he’ll love you like you always wanted him to.
“No! I don’t need anyone’s love, especially not his! I’m doing this for me!”
What about her?
He pauses, warm memories flashing in his mind’s eye momentarily before dissipating.
“...what about her?”
You think she’ll want anything to do with you after you left her for this?
He swallows harshly, then shakes his head and turns away from his reflection, “we promised…”
No one’s waited for you your entire life. What makes you think she will?
“I… I don’t know…”
She’s just noise. Everyone is noise. Distracting you from your one true goal.
“To be the best…” To be the best.
“But… when I didn’t have all this, I had her, and…”
And what? You wanna go back there?
Silence. An uncomfortable one.
Exactly. You wanna see what would’ve happened if you didn’t leave?
“Wha-”
You would’ve gone to a normal high school with a bunch of other faceless nobodies, stuck with parents who despise your existence. But, hey, you have her at least, right?
“Wait-”
You’d just barely graduate, marry straight out of high school, work a job you hate until you retire a bitter old man, and maybe have some pups of your own along the way…
“S-stop-”
Then, there you are, fat, sad, and alone, sitting on your bed bug-riddled armchair, cheap, room temperature beer in hand… remind you of anyone?
“...no.”
You’d be JUST like your-
“I’m NOTHING like him!”
Oh, but you would’ve been… and you might still be… which is why you can’t stop now.
“SHUT UP! Just fucking be quiet!” he places a hand on the mirror to steady himself and brings the other to his head.
“Oi, Scott…?” No. You NEED this to succeed. “Scott?” You need ME. “Scott!” Without MY help, you’d be no better than your FATHER. Tap.
“SHUT THE FUCK UP!”
SLASH!
The slash came with a sound Jak would never forget. All he could do was react by pulling his body back. He felt something wet for only a moment before the pain arrived.
It carved across the side of his neck and up along his jaw. Shallow, but enough for his whole body to drop on instinct, hitting the floor hard.
“Oh- fuck-”
His hand clamped to his neck immediately, his mind going completely blank except for one thought:
That would have killed me.
He pulled away just enough to check. Blood smeared across his fingers and wrist, trailing down toward his collarbone. The cut hurt like hell, but he was still breathing. Jak sucked in a deep, ragged breath that turned into a shaky laugh halfway through.
“Ah- what the fuck…” he whispered, his voice filled with panic. “Nah… nah…”
He looked up. Scott was still there, frozen, staring down at the bleeding possum.
His legs felt weak as he pushed himself back up. He held one hand out, palm open, the other still hovering near his neck.
“O-oi… easy mate- easy, fuckin… hell, that’s… that’s not okay…”
He got to his feet slowly, back pressing against the wall as he edged sideways. His eyes never left Scott, not even a blink. Another step. Then another. The moment he’s out of the locker room, survival takes over.
Jak turned and bolted. He didn’t stop until he slammed into a bathroom, locking the door behind him. He braced his hands on the sink and stared at himself in the mirror, blood slowly leaking out along his jaw and neck.
“Holy shit…” he whispered.
His hands were still shaking as he hastily snatched paper towels from the dispenser, pressing them down hard against the cut until the bleeding slowed. He quickly took out tape from his small bag, too much of it, wrapped awkwardly, but tight enough to hold. He cleaned what he could while clenching his jaw.
Only when it was covered did he finally sit on the edge of the toilet’s closed lid.
What the hell just happened…
Bloke snapped, Jak thought.
That was the only way it made sense to him. Pressure and expectations piling up until something gave in. Jak wiped at the dried blood along his jaw.
He wasn’t tryin’ to kill me… he told himself.
Was he?
Were you?
Scott stared down at the possum like a deer in headlights. He wanted to say something, anything, but it all happened so damn fast that he couldn’t even process what he did.
“J-Jak…”
He wasn’t sure if he said that or just thought it.
Then, the possum is back up, and before Scott can even react, he’s already left the locker room and his footsteps echoing away in a sprint rings in the wolf’s ears.
“Jak, fuck, w-wait!”
He holds out a hand and steps like he’s about to run after Jak, but suddenly stops.
“W… wha…?”
His eyes lock onto his outstretched hand. His claws are dripping with blood. Blood that isn’t his own. Jak’s blood.
He huffs sharply, slowly and shakily pulling his hand back towards himself, now staring down at it as if it’s some alien creature.
“N-no…”
The image of Jak moments ago, in a heap on the floor with a nasty gash on his jaw running red flashes in his vision.
“No, I… I didn’t… I didn’t…”
Scott, dazed and confused, turns back to his locker and stops in front of the mirror again. He looks at himself, eyes wide as saucers, pupils but pinpricks, and his fur is stood on end.
His gaze then falls to his hand in his reflection, the blood already having run down into his palm as it continues to drip onto the floor.
Then, the nausea hits him.
“O-oh, fuck…”
In a panicked frenzy, he peels the towel off of the other hand and begins frantically wiping and dabbing up the crimson, but it only gets smeared about, staining into his fur and pads.
“No, no, I-I didn’t mean to, I…” the gory image flashes again and he shuts his eyes tightly, his ears beginning to ring, causing him to drop the towel and bring his hands up to his head, “fuck, f-FUCK!”
He wants to scream. He wants to cry. But, he does neither.
Because it was just an accident.
“H-huh??”
Scott’s hands slip down his face and he peeks through the cracks of his fingers at his reflection. Red is smeared across his face, causing him to suddenly rip them away and hold them out in front of his chest, rising and falling unevenly with shaky pants.
It’s not your fault he got in the way.
He was just… there. Yeah, you hurt him, but honestly? He got himself hurt.
“No… no, no, no, I-I could’ve really h-hurt him, m-my claws, they-”
Caught on something that was in the way.
“J-Jak isn’t just something, he’s-”
Nothing.
“N-no!”
Yes.
Another distraction.
This is just another precaution you need to take on your path.
Dealing with distractions.
Scott slams his hands against the mirror, cracking the glass slightly, and he glares into it, his vision tunneling as fresh tears roll down his face.
“That isn’t what this is…” he growls out in a broken whisper.
A dark mist begins to cloud around his head in his reflection, all around.
What was it, then?
An assault?
Attempted murder?
“NO! GOD, NO, IT WAS A FUCKING ACCIDENT!” he spits out, openly sobbing as his fingers and claws press hard into the glass.
Are you sure?
“YE-ES!” he falters and sniffles harshly, his head dropping, gaze meeting the floor where droplets of crimson are sprayed about.
…
Then, an accident for who?
Jak accidentally got in your way. You dealt with it.
Because what’s the alternative?
That you hurt him on purpose?
Scott sniffles, opting for silence. He peels a hand away from the glass and wipes his muzzle with a forearm, then meets his own gaze in the reflection again.
“I didn’t…”
You did what you had to.
“I-I…”
He was noise. You silence noise.
By any means necessary.
He felt sick. His face burned with shame and hot tears.
“...I do.”
You will silence whoever needs to be silenced.
“...I will.”
Now, get back out there.
And show everyone EXACTLY what unfettered greatness looks like.
…
“...yes.”