Onin welcomes you, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah... the usual boring salutations. She says it is good to see you again, Jak.
But we've never met before.
Before... after... it is all the same.
Oh! Oh! Let me try! Aaah... she wants a... She wants a yakow bone! A yakow bladder! No... no... I got it! For many moons... she has... waited for... a juice pop? A jewel shop? Oh... oh... I know, she's got a hairball? A hair lip? A hairy chest?
Uh, and your contract, with just a few trifles for me. I've ah, already signed your name to save time, mmmmmnn.
We the racers hereby agree to give Krew all proceeds from race earnings, endorsement fees, broadcast royalties, syndications residuals, vehicle sponsorships, mall appearance fees, collectible card assets, fast-food tie-ins, use of likeness rights, talk show deals, clothing lines, all print rights including book, novella, comic, pamphlet, tickertape, neon sign and bathroom graffiti designs, toy rights, shoe lines, mood rings, game rights.
Vitamin endorsements, city kickbacks, movie deals, and of course, all death and dismemberment accident insurance claims.
Heh heh heh... we can work out the tiny details later.
So there I was, toe to toe with FIVE of the nastiest Metal Heads you ever saw! Slime oozing from monstrous jaws! Teeth sharper than daggers! Slowly, all TEN of 'em surround me. But do I surrender? No! I summon my highly trained killer instincts, and pounce! Hya! Chooy! Whaa! HAA! And when the dust cleared, there were TWENTY less Metal Heads in the world!
Ohhh, Daxter you're amazing!
Yeah, I know.