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Chapter Text

"Spread out! They can't have gotten far!"

"Suspect is fleeing on foot—!"

"The boy is the primary target! Don't let them get away!"

The Krimzon Guards really were some of the least observant idiots on the planet. But at least it worked to his advantage. Jak sincerely hoped they never learned that the easiest way to escape them was by hiding right under their noses. Booted feet clomped past the sewer grate above Jak's head as the guards rushed toward his crashed zoomer. Alarms blared in the distance and echoed eerily in the gutter. Jak hovered back in the shadows, nearly doubled over to fit in the narrow passage with his boots soaked in filthy rainwater. He had the kid balanced on his hip to keep him out of the water, ready to clap a hand over his mouth if he so much as sneezed.

But the boy was quiet. Jak felt him shiver each time the voices came too near, but he never screamed or cried. The closest he had come was a surprised gasp when Jak grabbed him and made a rolling dive out of the flaming zoomer just before it exploded. He glanced down at the little green-haired head tucked under his chin. Either he was far braver than he looked or he was too terrified to even make a sound.

Or maybe he was used to this level of danger. That wouldn't be a surprise at all, Jak thought grimly, eyes dropping to the dull red amulet hanging around the kid's neck. An heir of Mar would never be welcome in this city, not as long as Praxis remained in power.

A noise from above made Jak recoil, but the furry face that appeared above the grate was a welcome sight. Daxter waved at him to be quiet, still scanning around nervously. "Some of 'em are clearing off, but it looks like a couple are planning to hang around. You're in for a fight if you come out now."

Jak gritted his teeth with another look at the kid. Wide blue eyes blinked up at him timidly. He couldn't carry the boy and fight at the same time, but the kid couldn't run very fast, and Jak would be hindered trying to protect him. They needed to avoid meeting more guards at all costs. He looked up and down the gutter, getting his bearings. "This probably goes all the way to the Port. Think you can make it that far on your own?"

Daxter grinned cheekily and flexed his biceps. "Just what do you take me for, Jak? Those morons don't stand a chance against Orange Lightning!"

"Just stay out of sight," Jak warned him. "We'll hole up at Krew's place until the coast is clear and make another try for the Tomb then."

"The old geezers won't be happy about that," Daxter informed him, but he seemed more amused than concerned by the prospect. He spoke in a long-winded drawl that supposedly was his imitation of the Shadow. "Now remember, we're counting on you, my boy! Be on your guard as you make your way to the Tomb, which is only smack dab in the center of the city where all the guards and turrets and the freakin' Palace are located! Surely you can handle it, my boy!"

"Kor and The Shadow are just going to have to wait," Jak said darkly. "I don't know about you, but I'm not eager to see what they have planned for this kid."

Daxter sighed, uncharacteristically grim. "You and me both, pal," he muttered and hurried off. Jak waited a moment to make sure Daxter had made a clean getaway before he slogged down the passage, ducking past the sporadic grates and pausing when he heard a guard speaking into his comm. From what Jak could glean, they were planning to make a sweep of the nearest buildings and then move off toward the slums. A contingent had already been dispatched to the entrance of the Port to keep him from going that way.

A contingent that he would bypass entirely, Jak thought with a smirk. He hefted the kid a little higher on his hip, arms aching. Damn, he was heavy. Briefly, he wondered if he should have let Kor take the kid like they'd originally planned, but the sudden and spectacular destruction of the Baron's vanity statue had put the city in an uproar. All things considered, Jak had decided he would feel better if he took the kid to the Tomb himself. He had taken a detour through the Industrial section to avoid detection, but as his crappy luck would have it, some jackass KG had turned a sharp corner and nearly collided with him head on.

And once the KG in question had recognized him as the blond-haired, eco-infused fugitive, all hell had well and truly broken loose.

Something growled behind him, and Jak spun. The sewer alligator snapped at him, eyeing the tasty morsel in his arms. Jak huffed irritably and crushed the thing's skull under his boot. Dark blood seeped into the water around his ankles. The kid took one look at it and shuddered, nose buried in Jak's shirt.

"We're okay, kid," Jak murmured absently. He rounded a corner, relieved when the passage widened and ended at a circular grate as tall as he was. All that he could see beyond was water, and Jak craned to look at the pathway above. They were on the far edge of the Port and there was no one in sight, which of course meant no zoomers to hijack.

Jak unlatched the grate and swung it outward before setting the kid down. "Don't move for a second."

The kid gave him an uncertain nod, hands braced on the grimy wall while Jak approached the ledge. He reached over his shoulder and took out his Jetboard, throwing it at the water and jumping at the same time. The Jetboard bobbed when Jak landed, making a small splash. He maneuvered closer to the grate where the kid watched him with his mouth hanging open.

"Jump!" Jak ordered.

The kid hesitated, then squeezed his eyes closed and leapt straight into his arms. The Jetboard wobbled dangerously, but soon Jak regained his equilibrium and sent them zooming across the Port at a speed that made his eyes water. This far from the streets, he didn't have to worry about being recognized. At some point, the kid opened his eyes, and his entire face lit up. He pointed straight ahead in a wordless demand to go faster, and Jak decided that he loved this kid. Grinning recklessly, he leaned lower to pick up speed, jumping a few buoys just for fun and earning a joyful whoop from his charge.

He sped up the ramp just below the Hip Hog and ended the ride with a neat backflip before he slipped the Jetboard into his pack. As he set the dizzy boy down, Jak grimaced when he realized the flaw in his plan. The last thing he wanted was to expose a child to the kind of things that went on in the Hip Hog. Worse, if Krew learned the kid was important to both the Underground and Praxis, the crime lord would have no qualms about profiting from it somehow.

Jak examined the kid critically. He didn't look like anything special at first glance. Scruffy was the term Daxter would use. The only thing that stood out about him was that amulet. Jak leaned down and snatched the seal of Mar from around his neck. The kid reached for it with a soundless cry, for the first time looking truly upset.

"I'll give it back soon," Jak assured him. He made sure the kid was watching as he hung the amulet around his own neck and tucked it beneath his shirt and out of sight. "Look, I'll keep it right here, see? I'll keep it safe for you."

The kid's bottom lip quivered, eyes fixed on the bump in his shirt where the amulet was. He turned a pleading look on Jak. You promise?

"Yeah, I promise."

The kid didn't look thrilled with the idea, but he offered up a wobbly smile. Jak tried not to let it get to him, but damn, the kid's guileless trust made his heart ache. This horror-filled world would never be good enough for trust like that. Jak rested one palm on the boy's head as he escorted him into the bar, keeping a sharp eye out for trouble. Thankfully, there was no sign of Krew. The only people he saw were Tess, Sig and a few regulars who didn't give them a second glance. Sig had his elbow propped on the bar while Tess giggled up a storm, and Jak didn't have to wait long to discover the object of their attention.

"So there I was squared off with fifty Krimzon Guards!" Daxter said dramatically, his tail whipping around as he spun back and forth between his audience of two. "They had me surrounded on all sides, packing enough heat to start a war and spewing all their crap about, Surrender or die in the name of Praxis! Wanna know what I did next?"

"I'm guessin' you didn't surrender or die," Sig chuckled in amusement.

"You're damn right, I didn't!" Daxter exclaimed. He leapt around in a pantomime of a glorious fight. "I dodged to the left, and again to the right, and while they were looking the other way, I went for one of them Hellcat Cruisers! I just went hiya, and while the driver's down for the count, I grab the steering column and plow right through all sixty of 'em! Strike, baby! It's too bad Jak and the pipsqueak were so busy high-tailing or they woulda seen Orange Lightning in action."

"Don't worry, I'm sure I'll see it one of these days," Jak snickered, taking a seat. The kid clambered onto the stool next to him and plopped his butt on the bar, staring in awe at the hundreds of multi-colored liquor bottles behind the counter.

"There you are!" Daxter said petulantly, hands on his hips. "Oh good, you've got the kid too. I was gettin' worried there for a sec, I thought I'd have to rush back out there and save you again..."

"Oh, he's so CUTE!" Tess squealed. Daxter blinked in shock when his number one fan abandoned him to ruffle the kid's hair and pinch his cheek. "I love kids! Now how come you boys never brought this little guy around before, huh?"

"You...love...kids?" Daxter croaked. It seemed the possibility that Tess had a motherly side simply hadn't occurred to him. Jak pursed his lips as he watched Tess tickle the giggling boy. For some reason, he had assumed she would already know about the kid. But it was possible her position in the Underground wasn't well enough established to warrant letting her in on their greatest secret, the existence of an heir of Mar. Maybe he should reconsider keeping the kid here, but it was too late now.

The back of Jak's neck prickled in warning. He glanced sideways, realizing for the first time that Sig was staring at them with a very strange look on his face. Surprised and struggling not to show it, his one eye flicking between Jak and the kid. Jak tensed, his hand twitching with the need to whip out his gun. He trusted Sig a great deal—there was no way he couldn't after the number of times they'd fought back to back—but the Wastelander was one of Krew's hired guns. If he recognized the kid as the one the Baron wanted...

"Hey, you feelin' alright, Siggy? You look kinda peaky. Indigestion acting up?"

Daxter waved his paw in front of Sig's face, breaking the spell. Sig spared him a glance and grinned hugely. "I'm fine, chili pepper. I just never took our boy Jak for a daddy, that's all."

Tess gasped, and Daxter howled in laughter as the blood drained from Jak's face, all thoughts of Barons and crime lords flown from his head. "The kid's not mine!" he sputtered, mortified at how high his voice jumped. "I'm just looking after him for the day. That's all."

"Aw, you don't gotta pretend with us!" Sig said with a booming laugh, punching his arm lightly. "I'll bet you're a great daddy!"

"Don't call me that! And stop laughing, Daxter!"

Daxter reigned in his hysterics long enough to direct huge, watery eyes on him. "Aw, b-but Daddy, we're having so much fun!" he mocked.

Jak's next words were nothing more than a growl of frustration. He groped blindly for the nearest bottle behind the counter, but Tess slapped his hand away. "No drinking while you're babysitting," she said sternly. "I want Little Cutie to be in good hands."

"You don't have a thing to worry about, sugar!" Daxter piped up immediately. He gave Tess a sweeping bow and nearly bonked his nose on the bar. "Your very own Orange Lightning won't let this kid outta his sight! I'll watch him like a hawk, and if anyone tries to mess with him, they'll answer to me!"

"Oh, I know I can trust you, Daxxie," Tess said warmly and smooched the gratified ottsel on the cheek. "You'll look after our boys for me, won't you?"

"Of course!" Daxter said, grinning at Jak wickedly. "Our boys are in good hands."

Jak propped his chin in his hand and rolled his eyes at the bewildered kid. "Some days I think the whole world's gone insane," he confided in the boy grumpily.

The kid beamed and pinched his cheek in a perfect imitation of Tess. Sig choked on his drink and had to cover his mouth to hide his chortling. When the kid looked at the Wastelander, his eyes bugged out. He scooted across the bar and trailed a hand over the metalhead skull on Sig's shoulder in fascination. Sig held still for the full-scale exam that went from his armor to his graying hair and ended with his mechanical eye, which the kid tapped with his finger in puzzlement until he spotted the peacemaker leaning against the bar. Sig deliberately moved the weapon out of reach, giving the kid a peculiar look. "Funny, most kids are scared by the sight of me," he said.

"This kid's seen a lot," Jak remarked, and Sig glanced at him sharply. "The first time I met him, he saw me fight and kill a bunch of KGs. And I was in my dark form."

Sig whistled impressively. "No offense, cherry, but I nearly wet myself the first time I saw you go dark."

Jak shrugged. "Don't blame you."

"So why are you looking after him in the first place?" Sig asked with a slight frown. He took a casual look around the bar to make sure no one was paying them attention and lowered his voice. "I didn't think your other employers considered babysittin' a top priority."

Jak hesitated, checking to be sure Daxter was otherwise occupied with Tess and wouldn't go blurting anything out. "He's...one of the orphans the Underground picked up. I'm just moving him to a safer place. Wasn't much else to do, and I needed a break from the KG and metalheads."

"Oh now, cherry, that ain't the way a Wastelander should talk," Sig chided him. "We live for bashing metalheads!"

"Good thing I'm not a Wastelander then," Jak snorted. "I don't think I'd survive long."

Sig seemed on the verge of saying something else, but he was cut off when the bar's automated door whooshed open. Jak scowled when he heard the unmistakable sound of Krew's hover chair. Damn, he hadn't wanted the kid anywhere near that bastard. Before he could decide whether to stay or leave, Krew's resentful voice drifted in.

"...just keep it short this time, will you lads? Your last inspection put my customers off their drink, and I just can't have that in my bar, you see? People come here to relax, not to be interrogated!"

"We're just having a look around, sir," an impatient voice answered. "We believe a dangerous fugitive may have fled into this sector, it's for your own safety."

Jak went rigid, shoulders hunching instinctively. Damn, damn, damn. He peeked at the door. Krew seemed to be stalling the KGs for as long as possible, and he wondered why until Tess' head shot up from the purring ottsel under her hands. She gave Jak a meaningful look and tilted her head at the door behind the bar. Jak nodded in understanding. Of course Krew would have a back door. Many of his hired guns were criminals and often in need of a quick getaway.

Jak rose and scooped up the kid, only peripherally aware of Sig still watching him. "Dax, let's go."

"We're leaving already?" Daxter whined. He nuzzled Tess' neck, no doubt treating himself to a lovely view. "But Jaaak..."

"Now," Jak said shortly. He circled the bar with quick steps, but he and the kid were still clear in the open when the first KG swept inside and approached the bar. Jak was about to reach for his gun when Sig's large back appeared right in front of him, shielding them both from the guard's sight.

"Get movin', chili pepper," Sig said in low tones, settling into a wide-footed stance that made him look very much like a bouncer. An armed and armored bouncer that the KG took one look at and decided to avoid at all costs. Gratefully, Jak slipped through the door behind the bar and marched purposely down the dim hallway. He found the back door easily enough, a sturdy metal portal that was securely locked. He only had to wait a moment before Daxter came trotting up with the small keycard in his paws.

"Is my lady something or what?" Daxter said smugly as he passed the card to Jak. "Brains, boobs and balls! Of course the third one's only figurative, but hot damn, even if it wasn't I don't think I'd care!"

"Too much information, Dax," Jak muttered. He swiped the card through a scanner, and the portal opened onto a veritable maze of alleyways that looked and smelled like they had become a collecting ground for the city's refuse. Jak left the keycard on a shelf just inside the door and let the portal shut behind them. Setting the kid down, he led the way forward with a firm grip on his wrist. The last thing he needed was for the kid to run off back here. He'd probably never find him again.

Daxter hopped up on his shoulder nimbly, making a disgusted noise. "Ugh, this must be where all the rats hang out. Did you see the size of that last dropping? It was almost as big as me! Yearrgh!Let's just hurry up and get there before those geezers die of old age..."

A distant squeal of metal hinges made Jak flatten himself to the wall and glare back the way they'd come. It had almost sounded like someone opening the back door of Krew's place, but he couldn't hear any further footsteps or voices, and the Krimzon Guard was notorious for being so loud that a deaf criminal could hear them coming and make his getaway an hour in advance. The thought that it might be Sig crossed his mind, but Jak shook off his misgivings uneasily and picked up the pace. Just to the north he could hear a steady hum of zoomers and a multitude of voices which meant they were nearing the bazaar. It would be easy to lose themselves in that crowd.

As he helped the kid over some debris, Daxter tugged on his ear. "Hey, Jak? You're all, uh...tense. And not in a good way. Should I be worried?"

"Possibly," Jak replied, and he heard Daxter gulp. "Just watch our backs once we get in the open. I'm feeling paranoid."

"Is that cause of Sig?" Daxter said with an insight most would find surprising. "Oh yeah, I noticed that too. It was like he recognized the kid or something. Do you think he, ah...knows?"

Daxter waved his hand in a vaguely mystical way, his method of referring to anything that had to do with the Precursors or Mar or history in general. Jak cast the Palace looming over them a dark look. "I don't know, Dax. The Baron hasn't exactly made it a secret it's the heir of Mar he's hunting. Most people think it's just a rumor, but...there are plenty others who'll turn in any kid that even remotely fits the description for a few credits."

"Hey, Sig ain't like that!" Daxter protested. "Come on, we've known him for how long? That big lug wouldn't hurt a fly! Well okay, if it was a metalhead fly, but other than that he wouldn't."

Jak remained silent and kept his reservations to himself. But Daxter had a point. Maybe sometimes Sig was forced to do some unpleasant things in his line of work, but at his core, he was a decent man. Hurting a child was a line he wouldn't cross, not for anything. Jak hoped so, at least.

At long last, they turned a corner and the bazaar came into view, throngs of shoppers and vendors offering all the anonymity he could ask for. Jak crept to the mouth of the alley with the curious kid at his side. The alarm didn't seem to have spread to this part of the city, and the only guards in sight were relaxed as they carelessly went about their patrol. Once they were out of sight, Jak took a step forward. "Okay, I think it's as safe as it's ever going to—"

"Jak, look out!"

The warning came too late. Footsteps rushed him from behind and something slammed into Jak's temple with enough force to bash his head against the wall. He collapsed in a heap, ears roaring. He pressed a trembling hand to his skull and his fingers came away bloody. He could hear Daxter bouncing around him, urging him to get up and move, move now, but even a tiny attempt to rise made the world spin and bile rise in his throat. Jak let his head flop back down, sick with dread when he realized there was only one person who could have gotten the jump on him like that.

"Sig, w-what the hell did ya do that for?" Daxter shouted from his place crouched by Jak's head. But his own horror over what the Wastelander had done made his voice crack in panic. He buried his fingers in Jak's hair, shrinking into a tinier and tinier ball as Sig approached them. Jak made a feeble grab for his gun, but Sig's got there first and kicked the weapon aside.

"I'm sorry, cherries," Sig said, and for a moment Jak almost believed him. "I can't explain...and I can't let you stop me."

With that, Sig seized the kid by the wrist and led him away through the crowded bazaar. The boy couldn't have resisted even if he tried, and he was too frightened to do anything but stare at Jak's prone body. Jak gave an inarticulate cry, a surge of adrenaline bringing the world into sharp focus for an instant. No! he thought in helpless rage. No, don't you dare take him! No, no, NO!

Daxter made as if to go after Sig, but aborted the action with a backward glance at Jak. After another attempt to get up failed, Jak slammed his fist to the ground hard enough to make the ottsel flinch.

"GO!"

Daxter bolted, weaving through the forest of ankles with amazing agility. For the moment, Jak just focused on breathing and staying conscious no matter how much his pounding head wished he wouldn't. An eternity passed as he wrestled with the dark curtain and finally pushed it back for good. Painfully, Jak rose to his hands and knees, cradling his head in one hand. When he finally found the strength to look up, it was to see Daxter return to the alley.

Alone.

"I-I'm sorry, pal. T-They got a zoomer, and I tried, but I c-couldn't k-keep up...and they're gone, Jak. The kid's gone."

Chapter Text

Two years. Two long damn years of hunting all the rumors, no matter how wild and improbable, working with and for the scum of the human race, scouring every square inch of this vile city when he wanted nothing more than to hop a transport back to the Wasteland. And then on the one day when he didn't expect to find anything, there was the object of his search sitting on Krew's bar, being tickled by Tess and watched over by none other than Jak. Sig almost hadn't recognized the boy after all this time, and the double take when he realized what he was seeing nearly gave him whiplash.

It was Mar. A little bigger and chubbier, clad in tattered overalls and a leather cap instead of desert garb, but his father's eyes were unmistakable. The same eyes that used to go huge with wonder whenever Sig told him stories or lit up with joy every time the Wasteland king walked in the room. It had taken all of his willpower not to seize Damas' little warrior and give him the bear hug of the century, and most likely scare the crap out of him in the process.

Because Mar didn't recognize him. And boy, did that hurt. Especially after everything Sig had gone through to find him.

It had been all his fault, damn it. Damas had trusted Sig with his son's life and safety, and he had failed and let the boy be taken by a horde of second-rate mercenaries. He had lost Mar, lost his eye and nearly his life, and it had taken a long time for Damas to forgive him for his failure. That was part of what drove Sig on, to keep searching day after day, if finding Mar would restore their friendship to what it had once been.

So for two years, he had immersed himself in Haven's world and dedicated himself to his mission.

Please find my son. And if he lives, bring him back to me.

And now he felt like a moron because Mar had been with the Underground the entire time, the one organization Sig had actually avoided having any ties with on the grounds that he needed to move freely around the city to continue his search. Now that was just adding insult to injury.

But at least the kid had been protected. Hell, with Jak keeping an eye on him, he had to be the safest little guy in the whole universe. And there was no way the Underground would have assigned their best damn fighter as Mar's escort unless they were fully aware of the boy's heritage and hoping to use that as an ace in the hole against the Baron. Wouldn't Damas just be thrilled to hear that one.

But first things first. He had completed half his mission, finding Mar. Now came the tricky part.

"Jak, look out!"

Sig held nothing back as he smashed the butt of his peacemaker into the side of Jak's head. Daxter dove from his shoulder just in time to avoid the same treatment, crying out when his friend crumpled to the ground. Sig swallowed thickly, hating himself for doing the unforgivable and attacking a trusted comrade from behind. But one look at the frightened boy hunkered by the wall reminded him of his priorities. He could patch things up with Jak later.

"Sig, w-what the hell didja do that for?"

"I'm sorry, cherries. I can't explain...and I can't let you stop me."

But as soon as he grabbed Mar's hand, Jak's dazed eyes flashed with so much rage and raw hate that Sig realized there would be no patching things up. If he valued his life, he had better never set foot in Haven City again. Wasting no time, Sig hurried to lose himself in the crowd, hauling Mar behind him. Damas would probably ream him for not eliminating a potential obstacle outright, but Sig refused to take it that far. And he highly doubted he could have convinced Jak to hand the boy over without a fight. What could he say?

Yes, as a matter of fact, I DO know that kid. Know his father, too. What's that, who's his father? Sorry, that's classified, and I can't tell you where he is either. You'll just have to take my word for it that he's a decent guy and the kid'll be in good hands and I'm not some creep hired by the Baron to drown the kid in the Port...

Yeah, right. Like that would have gone over well. He had seen for himself how much Jak cared about Mar. Maybe not in the huggy-kissy parental way—it was more of a protective older brother mess-with-him-and-you're-dead way. If Sig hadn't done what he did, Jak would be out for revenge right this minute, and in a head to head fight, Sig honestly could not say who would come out on top.

Spotting a parked two-seat zoomer ahead, Sig tossed the boy and his peacemaker into the passenger seat before climbing in himself. He yanked open the dashboard to hotwire it just as an orange streak landed on the hood. Daxter planted himself before the windshield on all fours, every hair standing on end so that he looked more like an enraged cat than an ottsel.

"Oh no, ya don't, traitor! You are gonna shut this thing down and explain what the heck you thought you were—WHOA!"

The engine revved, and the zoomer shot into the air so fast that Daxter went flying. Once they had enough altitude, Sig punched it and sent them zipping through the bazaar traffic at a speed that wasn't even close to legal. He looked over to check on Mar and had to quickly yank him back into his seat before he leaned out too far to see what had become of Daxter. Mar spun around and beat his tiny fists against Sig's armor uselessly, fury making tears come to his eyes. If it was anyone else's kid, Sig wouldn't have hesitated to give him a light tap on the head to put him to sleep for the ride, but the memory of Damas' wrath when his son was first lost was enough to stay his hand.

"Mar, stop it!" Sig snapped and immediately cursed his carelessness. He couldn't just throw that name around in this city!

But it did the trick. Mar stilled with that same look of confused half-recognition. Sig kept his focus ahead as buildings gave way to tame farmland, keeping his eyes peeled for traffic and trouble, but he spoke more gently. "Yes, I know your real name. And you should know mine too! Sure you were only three last time you heard it, but come on, it hasn't been that long. You really don't remember me, kid?"

Mar seemed to think about that, brow furrowed. But in the end he shook his head sadly. Sig sighed in defeat and pushed his disappointment aside. Maybe seeing Damas and Spargus would be enough to jog his memory...but what if he had forgotten that too? Would he even recognize his own father?

Worry about it when you get there, worry about it when you get there...

"SIG!"

...oh hell, that ain't good.

Sig only spared a quick glance over his shoulder, but it was enough to see the zoomer speeding along the ground behind him. Then he looked again and groaned when he realized Jak had nicked a KG zoomer. There was going to be hell to pay for that. Sometimes, he wondered if Jak knew the meaning of the phrase below the radar. He swerved to the right and dropped to a lower hover zone, trying to keep his distance, but attempting to outrace Jak on this slug-like zoomer was an exercise in futility. There was no chance of reaching the air train in the Port.

Holding tight to Mar's hand, Sig made a hard turn onto a different path. The portal to Haven Forest was just ahead, and Sig would rather take his chances out there with the metalheads than in here with a pissed off Jak. But just as he sighted the ramp leading up to the portal, something furry landed on his head and clamped its paws over his eyes. Sig yelled in alarm, and his hands jerked on the steering column, causing the zoomer to nosedive and plow into the earth. For a chilling moment, Sig thought they would flip, but the zoomer's backside finally dropped, and they skidded to a halt at the base of the ramp.

"Run, kid, run!" Daxter urged. He made to jump out of the zoomer and yelped when Sig snatched him out of the air and flung him against the seat.

"You dumbass, what were you thinking?" Sig demanded. "You could have killed us all!"

"Hey, hey, you got some nerve lecturing me!" Daxter snapped. He poked a finger in Sig's face righteously. "I promised Tess I wouldn't let that kid outta my sight, and it ain't happening, got that? It ain't happening!"

Sig had no time to ponder Daxter's sudden protective streak. He could already hear Jak landing his zoomer, and thanks to the rookie's stunt, a distant alarm was blaring. They probably only had minutes before the rest of the Guard came down on their heads.

Quickly, he stepped out of the trashed zoomer before lifting Mar out as well and setting him on the ground. Sig hadn't wanted to resort to this, but at the rate things were going, he might need some help. Taking out his beacon, he activated it with the press of a button and secured the leather band around Mar's small wrist. The boy fiddled with the device curiously, but made no attempt to take it off. Hopefully, it would stay that way, and Damas would know the moment he saw the signal that there was only one reason Sig would ever activate his beacon within Haven's walls.

The portal to the forest was just to their left, but Jak was swiftly racing to cut him off, armed and ready for a fight. A fight Sig didn't want any part of, which left him with only one other option. Turning back to the zoomer, he snatched up his peacemaker and then went for Daxter. The ottsel scrambled away, but he wasn't fast enough to evade the hand that seized him around the neck. Jak was ten steps away when Sig held up his hostage, fingers closed mercilessly around the fragile vertebrae. Daxter's eyes bugged out in panic.

"J-Ja...ak..."

The choked plea stopped Jak in his tracks. His grip on the morph gun became deathly tight, and the frenzied snarl he directed at Sig was filled with dire promise. "You son of a bitch," he whispered.

"Gun down, cherry, and let me by," Sig said evenly, half his concentration on how much pressure he was applying to Daxter's spine. The little guy was tough, but it would be far too easy to misjudge his own strength and snap his neck by accident. He squeezed very slightly, and Daxter gasped, clawing Sig's knuckles. "Gun down, Jak!"

Very slowly, Jak crouched to lay his gun aside and moved back. But as Sig took his first step toward escape, Jak's attention darted behind him. "Kid, get over here!"

"Stay behind me!" Sig barked.

Mar jumped, clearly confused by the opposing commands. He looked at Sig. Then he looked at Jak. When he made a tentative step in that direction, Sig stepped in his path and herded him toward the ramp. A noise caught in Jak's throat halfway between a growl and a curse, and Sig felt his first stab of dread when dark lightning sparked at his fingertips.

"What do you want with that kid?" Jak demanded. "What's he ever done to you? He's innocent!"

"I know that," Sig said and began to back up the ramp, nudging Mar ahead of him. "And I'm not plannin' to hurt him or nothin', okay? I'm just taking him back where he belongs. All you've gotta do is stay the hell outta my way."

Jak didn't get a chance to answer because at that moment two Hellcats came screaming around the corner and hovered above the standoff. "There he is!" a voice called over a loudspeaker. "Halt right there! You are under arrest for theft of a Krimzon Guard vehicle! And you with the weapon, identify yourself! Do you have authorization to carry that?"

Sig gritted his teeth, on the verge of just grabbing Mar and fleeing. Jak took advantage of his split second distraction to dive for his gun, aim and shoot all at once. Blaster fire scorched the ramp at his feet, and pure instinct made Sig drop Daxter and fire back with the rifle on his peacemaker. The shot hardly grazed Jak's side, only enough to leave a painful burn, and he crouched low with a hand on his ribs. But then he raised his head, and Sig nearly had a heart attack when he saw the eyes of a demon, black from rim to rim and utterly without mercy.

Jak's lips stretched into a terrible grin, bringing a pair of very sharp fangs into view. "That was your last mistake."

"Uh oh," Daxter squeaked and dove behind Sig's legs.

The demon charged, dark eco leaving a crackling trail in his wake. Sig braced his feet apart and raised his gun to block the attack, but when Jak collided with him, the force knocked them both off the ramp. They landed hard in the dirt, and Sig shouted in pain when fangs sank deep into his forearm. He had to punch Jak three times to make him let go, and he groped blindly for his peacemaker, but there was no time to use it before Jak was on him, one pale hand pinning the weapon down and the other closing like a vise around his neck. This close, it was possible for Sig to discern that his eyes weren't completely black after all. The iris was still faintly visible, a ring of cobalt like the sky at midnight, and for a sickening moment he saw his death reflected in them.

"It's him, it's the eco freak!"

"What the—I thought that was just a rumor!"

"Call in more Hellcats! We're gonna need backup for this, the Baron wants him alive!"

Guards were closing in, dozens of them. Jak snarled like an animal and abandoned Sig to lay into them. Sig coughed, breathing hard from the close call. He rolled over and pushed himself up on his knees just as the first wave of dizziness hit him, lethargy turning his muscles into jelly. No mistaking it. Dark eco poisoning, and a very lethal dosage if it was affecting him this quickly.

Fighting off the urge to be sick, Sig made himself survey the situation. Jak had taken down three guards, ripping into a fourth even as Sig watched, but a third Hellcat had arrived along with more ground troops. It looked like they were blocking the entire sector off. There would be no escaping back into the city, and he doubted even Jak could hold out against these odds forever.

"Sig! Y-You okay?"

Sig raised his head groggily. Daxter peeked at him over the edge of the ramp with an air of reluctant concern, but his attention kept darting back to the battle. Mar was also watching him, eyes wide at the sight of blood. Sig faltered, torn in two directions. Have to protect Mar. Have to help Jak. Have to keep my promise to Damas.

With a painful groan, Sig used his peacemaker as a crutch to regain his feet. "Listen up, cherry," he grunted. "Time to prove you're not just all talk, you hear? Neither of us wants that kid taken by the Baron so get him outta the city. Take care of him until my friends come. I'll stay here and watch Jak's six."

"You can barely even stand up!" Daxter protested. "And why should I trust you anyway?"

"Just get him out of here!" Sig roared. He raised his gun and shot down two guards that had been sneaking up on Jak from behind—which immediately alerted everyone in the vicinity that the demon had an ally. Sig took cover behind the ramp and noticed Daxter still hesitating. "Go now! There's nothing you can do for Jak! Go!"

"Alright, alright!" Daxter hollered. With one last backward glance, he seized Mar's wrist and hauled him up the ramp at a fast trot. Sig only watched long enough to be sure they had escaped into the forest before he entered the fray again. He didn't last long. His vision became distorted until he couldn't tell friend from foe, and with his body this weak, his reaction time was basically nil. A couple KGs got in a lucky shot and disarmed him, pinning him down. Sig gave up, blessed unconsciousness closing in. The last thing he saw was Jak in a circle of maimed bodies and fighting his enemies with everything he had.

"Keep him contained! Don't just stand there, take him down!"

"Hey...did anyone see where that kid went? Wasn't the Baron looking for a kid too?"

"I didn't see anything."

"Just forget it. It's not our problem anymore."

Just before he blacked out, Sig felt a surge of triumph that tasted like redemption. Mission accomplished.

Hours after the Shadow and Kor set out for Mar's tomb with Jak and the kid not far behind, Torn paced around the Underground HQ like a caged wolf. The kid's crocadog watched his movements with its head cocked, oblivious to the fact that all hell would soon be breaking loose. The city alarms had stopped blaring not long ago, and Torn hoped that was a good sign. This entire half-assed plan hinged on Jak finding a way to evade capture and make his way back here. And of course, on whether Jak was willing to hear him out before he strangled him.

But Torn refused to regret his decision to betray the Underground. He had done it willingly, told the Baron just enough to make him believe he had won, but the old bastard had always underestimated Jak. If all went well, Torn would supply Jak with all the weapons and ammo he needed to storm the fortress, rescue everyone else and hightail it to safety. Torn didn't hold out much hope for reclaiming the Stone as well, but as long as they got the others back, the Baron's plans could be delayed until they did.

It was a risky gamble, but Torn had not gotten where he was without taking a few risks. It would be worth everyone's inevitable hatred and the probable failure of all the Underground's hard work for the past four years...at least that was what he kept telling himself.

The crocadog perked up and rose on its stumpy legs. Torn heard the automated door slide back and stopped pacing, outwardly calm but inwardly bracing himself for Jak's wrath. The punk could be unpredictable and downright violent at times. Torn didn't like unpredictable, and he especially didn't like unpredictable with violence.

Which was why he was not in the least bit amused when it was Ashelin who stormed down the stairs with a glare that could freeze hell over and slapped him. Hard. Without bothering to remove her reinforced Krimzon Guard gloves. Ouch.

"You moron! You spineless bastard!"

Torn swiped a trickle of blood from his swollen lip. "Ashelin, what are you doing here? If the Baron finds out you came here—!"

"Don't lecture me, Torn!" Ashelin shouted, slamming her fist on the center table so hard that one spindly leg gave a feeble creak and snapped in half. The table collapsed in a broken heap, strewing maps and reports and a few stray eco bullets all over the floor. Ashelin and Torn both stared at the mess dumbly, and underneath his fears, Torn felt a stab of annoyance at the thought of having to scrounge up another table on the Underground's limited budget.

"They got Jak."

Torn jerked in shock. "They what?" he gasped.

"You heard me!" Ashelin snapped at him. "Not long after the Shadow was apprehended in Mar's Tomb, they cornered him in the agricultural sector. It took them over an hour to subdue him, but they got him in the end. Now two of the Underground's most critical members are captured, and it's all because of you! How could you be so weak as to let this happen?"

"I did what I had to do!" Torn said, stiffening under her accusation. "The Baron threatened to kill you if I didn't tell him where the Stone was!"

Ashelin scoffed. "Did it ever occur to you that he was bluffing?"

"Did it ever occur to you that he wasn't?" Torn retorted. He gestured at the grimy walls around them and the city beyond. "Look at what he's done to the city! For God's sake, you've seen our intel. You know he's been prolonging this war on purpose so he can keep Haven under martial law and cling to his power like a security blanket. And now that he's got the Precursor Stone, who knows where he'll go from here! You can't honestly tell me you believe he's a good man underneath it all!"

"He is my father, Torn!"

"Well, your father is a monster!"

Ashelin yanked out her gun and shot the broken table six times in quick succession. By the time she was done, the crocadog was cowering under one of the bunks and the table was more fit to be called firewood than a piece of furniture. Better than my head, Torn mused as Ashelin shoved the gun back into its holster and paced around restlessly, cursing under her breath. Approaching her when she was in this kind of mood tended to be risky. Anything he said or did could potentially piss her off even more and make her shoot him for real. But Torn sucked it up and made himself say it anyway.

"You're right. I...was stupid to let him manipulate me. Guess I haven't learned my lesson since I was a rookie."

"Yes, you were stupid," Ashelin agreed curtly. She shifted her weight from foot to foot, then went to the supply cabinets and rummaged around until she unearthed an ice pack with diluted green eco. "Sorry about the lip. And the table."

Torn accepted the ice pack and slapped it on his jaw, letting the eco seep into his skin and heal the tooth she had knocked loose. "I deserved it. The lip, that is, but I'm kind of gonna miss that table."

"Torn, don't," Ashelin said, and she sounded truly upset for once. "I shouldn't be blaming you for this. I, of all people, know how my father can be. It just all went so wrong, so fast. Jak and Samos, the Stone..."

Torn only nodded, brooding as the situation really sunk in. It was even more dire than Ashelin thought because Mar's heir had been with Jak when they left HQ. So now the boy was either also captured or missing altogether. Both scenarios were cause for panic. The kid was their rallying point, the one thing that truly validated the Underground's cause and their sole means of deposing the Baron without resorting to civil war. Without him, they were no better than a disconsolate group of resentful KGs and would-be revolutionaries. They were nothing.

He scrubbed a hand over his tired face, trying to think through the turmoil of his own thoughts. "We have to get them back," he murmured.

Ashelin shot him a venomous look for stating the very obvious. "I'll talk to Vin," she offered. "Between my security clearance and his hacking skills, we can figure out a way to infiltrate the fortress and get Jak and the Shadow out. We'll have to wait until nightfall when the guards change shifts, but with some spare KG armor, we should be able to bypass security—"

"We?" Torn said, eyes narrowed. "Since when do you take part in Underground missions? I thought you drew yourself a very clear line in the sand about that. Information and provisions only, nothing else. Nothing that would incriminate you as a spy or pose a risk to our secrecy."

He thought at first that Ashelin would avoid the question. But her expression softened just slightly. "It's not about the Underground or the city anymore. It's about saving our friends. I won't see the Shadow executed, and you and I both know what will happen to Jak if he stays there. The Dark Warrior Program was only halted, not shut down completely."

Oh, great. That was one possibility Torn did not need to contemplate right now. He went to the back wall and slid aside a panel to reveal the multitude of weapons hanging behind it, mostly older KG models rescued from the recycling plants. All of them were meticulously repaired and maintained so Torn could always supply his soldiers with whatever they needed on their missions. He picked out two larger rifles that were similar enough to the KG weaponry to be carried openly as well as an array of smaller pistols and grenades that could be concealed, laying everything out on the nearest bunk. The time it would take to inspect each of them and make sure they were in full working order would keep him busy until it was time to move out.

"It's just going to be the two of us," Torn cautioned her. "I've warned the rest of the Underground to lay low until things settle down a bit. I won't risk any of them on a suicide mission like this."

"They should be safe for the time being," Ashelin replied. "My father's too preoccupied with what he's achieved today to be bothered with rooting out the rest of the Underground. At least, for now."

Torn paused in his task. "Ashelin...what exactly is he planning to do with the Precursor Stone?"

But Ashelin only shook her head with a troubled look. "I wish I knew. When I asked, he just said, All in good time."

"All in good time," Torn muttered under his breath. He jammed a magazine into the rifle brutally. "Lately, I get the feeling that time is the last thing we have and the first thing we need."

Chapter Text

Keira's hands stilled in the middle of sorting through her toolbox, her mind and heart both frozen. "They...they caught him?"

"They did, and about time," Erol said with a haughty air, arms stretched languidly across the back of the grease-stained couch he was currently reclined on. "The Baron's little pet freak is finally back in a cage where he belongs. I was out of the city on an inspection, unfortunately, so I wasn't able to take part in the capture myself. But I'm sure it's only a matter of time before they call me in. I was the one in charge of overseeing his incarceration before he escaped. Are you done with that zoomer yet?"

"Almost," Keira said faintly, gazing into the toolbox emptily, and it took her a moment to remember what she was even looking for. She dug out a screwdriver with shaking hands and crouched on the far side of the racing zoomer where he couldn't see her, trying to regain her composure. "What...what will the Baron do with him?"

"Well, that's probably not for me to say," Erol remarked, but from his tone, she could tell he expected her to plead for details. When Keira said nothing, he went on with a little less conceit. "If it's not outright execution, I suppose it'll be back to the drawing board. Most people don't know this, but he's not some creature the Baron picked up outside the city. We made him. He was born and raised to be our weapon against the metalheads."

Liar, Keira thought viciously. Tears blurred her vision, hopelessly obscuring the zoomer's internal workings. Jak refused to talk about his time in the prison, but Daxter's blurted explanation of dark eco experimentation had helped fill in some of the blanks and also made her want nothing more than to take a wrench to the heads of every single Krimzon Guard she met. The only thing that stopped her was, ironically, Erol. He had been so kind and attentive when she first met him, so different from the other KGs that she had simply...overlooked everything else. The arrogance, the ruthless cruelty he displayed toward his rival racers.

And to learn now that Erol had not only been a witness but an instrument to whatever happened to Jak in the fortress...

But why hadn't Jak told her? Keira glanced at the workbench behind her, struck by the memory of Jak leaning against it with arms crossed and mouth set in a thin line, listening closely as she described Erol's past races, openly admiring him and reveling in his talent.

Jak had simply looked at her, eyes filled with harrowing pain, and said, He's not what you think.

This was what he meant, Keira thought with sick understanding. Suddenly, Jak's angry and embittered attitude was beginning to make terrible sense. How could she have dismissed his words so easily? How could she...?

Heavy boots appeared in her line of vision, and Keira tried not to flinch when Erol leaned over the zoomer. "So how long before I can bring my zoomer in for your attentions? You're the best out there, Keira, or so I've heard. It's only fitting to pair the best with the best, don't you agree?"

On any other day, his words would have flattered her, but now they wrapped around her like cold chains. Keira kept her head down as she screwed the side panel back on the zoomer and gave the dull metal a quick swipe with her rag. "I've told you, you need to arrange that with my employer. I already have clients lined up so I expect you'll be on the waiting list awhile."

"That wouldn't be a problem if I was your employer," Erol countered smoothly. He hooked his fingers under her chin and made her look up. "Just look at you, forced to toil away for all those lesser racers for a pittance of what I could offer you. Do you really want to stay here for the rest of your life?"

"Maybe I like it here," Keira said frostily, taking vindictive pleasure in his sudden frown. She had always turned him down in the past, but never so abruptly and irrevocably. She pulled free of his grip and straightened. "It's almost dark. I need to close up now before the curfew, and...I'm sure they'll be wanting you at the fortress."

Erol cast a glower at their lengthening shadows, like the sun had personally offended him by reaching the horizon so quickly. "My offer won't remain open forever," he warned her. "There are plenty of other mechanics out there I could settle for."

"Settle away, then," Keira snapped. She planted her hands on the zoomer between them, holding her ground. "I'm staying right here. Got that, Commander?"

Erol actually recoiled a bit, a snarl touching his mouth. But he visibly forced it back and reached for her hand. "Why so upset, my dearest mechanic? You've never shown such sharp teeth before. And I'd hoped we could leave tonight on a high note, considering I still have that freak to deal with later—"

Keira hurled the screwdriver at the ground so hard that it chipped the concrete. "His name is Jak!"

The atmosphere darkened. Literally. The sun dropped below the horizon, leaving only the feeble flicker of the garage lights to see by. Erol's amber eyes narrowed dangerously, giving him an almost feral look in the gloom. "How do you know him?" he said in a low voice.

"He's my...my friend," Keira faltered, unwilling to dive into the complicated seesaw of hers and Jak's relationship.

"Your friend," Erol repeated skeptically.

"Yes, my friend," Keira said with a little more strength. "And you hurt him! You and the Baron and everyone in that fortress! I know about the dark eco experiments, the way you...the way you people changed him. And all for what, for a weapon? Is the Krimzon Guard really so pathetic that they can't fight their own battles and leave him out of it?"

Erol's hand shot up, and Keira thought for a moment he would strike her. "You dare to—!"

"He didn't deserve to go through all that! You had no right to do that to him, you—you monster!"

"That's rich, you calling me the monster!" Erol ground out, his words heated. "But did it ever occur to you that maybe it was his choice? That your darling Jak volunteered for the program because that hero complex of his decided it needed more power to save the likes of you?"

Keira took a step back, doubt darkening her heart. The Jak from Sandover would never have gone near dark eco, not for any reason. But that Jak had also always been willing to go the distance for those who needed him. If Jak had honestly thought the risk was worth taking, if he thought becoming a dark sage was the only way to protect the city...

But this time, it was Daxter's words she remembered. Just before the Class Three Race, after reuniting with him and Jak for the first time in two years.

Look Keira, ya can't just brush him off like that. He's been through hell, and he's got enough on his plate without you treatin' him like the monster he thinks he is. You don't gotta pretend you're not afraid of him. Heck, I'm afraid of him. Just...just let him know you still trust him, alright? Cause he's not gonna know that until you do.

Keira steeled herself. She did trust Jak. And if Jak believed Erol was the absolute scum of the earth, then he must have a damn good reason to feel that way. "If Jak volunteered, at least he would have done it for the right reasons. Now get out of my garage, and don't bother coming back."

Erol's jaw worked furiously, but he didn't waste his breath on another argument. He spun away and swept out the door, throwing a parting shot over his shoulder. "One day, Keira, that beast will kill you in cold blood. And don't expect me to stand in the way."

Keira waited until he was well and truly gone before she stalked over to the keypad on the wall and entered the code to shut the large doors. With a solid barrier between her and the world, she seized her toolbox and flung it with all her strength, screaming her fury. The toolbox crashed into a concrete pillar and burst open, spilling all her tools in a mess on the floor. Breathing hard, Keira slipped to her knees and buried her face in her hands. She wanted to run to Jak and throw her arms around him, apologizing over and over for not trying harder to find him, for not even recognizing him at first. He had been so closed off, so angry that he had looked like an entirely different person.

And Keira had blamed him for it. Blamed him, because Jak had been the one thing she counted on to never change.

But really, Keira thought as she looked at her own callused hands, how could she blame him for changing when she was just as changed? She had been forced to grow just as thick a skin to survive in this new world, to shoulder her own share of horrors. The world was different, and they were different...but that didn't mean they had to lose each other. It just meant they had to try harder.

"I'll try, Jak," Keira whispered, wiping away the tears before they could fall. "For you, I'll always try."

Once she had reigned in her emotions, she got to her feet again, a vague plan slowly forming. Not long ago, Keira had finally made a good friend in this city. Tess worked for Krew and often ran errands to deliver zoomer parts to the Stadium—though where those parts came from, Keira did her best not to question. Only recently had Keira learned that Tess, like Jak, had strong ties to the Underground. And Jak had told her with utmost seriousness that if she was ever in danger, Keira could go to Tess and seek sanctuary with the Underground for as long as she needed. They would take her in, no questions, simply because of her connection with him.

But Keira wasn't the one in danger now. And if the Underground wasn't already looking for a way to help Jak, they sure as hell would be once she got there. Seizing her keys, Keira left the garage through a side door and sprinted through the deepening twilight to her own personal zoomer. It had taken her months to build from whatever parts came her way, and even constructed of scrap metal, it ran better than most of the zoomers in the city, racing and civilian alike. Keira revved the engine and shot into the air, weaving in and out of traffic with the ease of long practice and ignoring the shouts and rude gestures left in her wake.

He was running like his life depended on it, constantly slipping on damp, fetid earth. The dark shadows surrounding him were filled with snarls and glowing eyes, but just ahead was a sliver of starry sky and human shouts. He recognized a familiar silhouette in the moonlight, though the face was hazy, its features lost to time. Someone cried his name, desperate and pleading, but he couldn't answer. He had no voice.

I'm here! Don't leave me, I'm here! Don't let the monsters get me!

But the man never turned, never saw him. And he began to cry because they couldn't find him, because he was lost and afraid, and he didn't understand why everyone was fighting. He wanted it to stop, he wanted to go home. He wanted his—

There you are.

The biggest monster of them all bore down on him, and for a split second all he saw were powerful claws and whirling opaque eyes and a grin filled with jagged teeth.

NO!

And someone came between him and the monster, holding him close as the claws pierced him instead, blood everywhere and screaming and cobalt eyes squeezed shut in agony—

"Fathe—!"

Jak checked himself, cutting the word off before he even knew what it was. He was sweating and gasping for breath in the aftermath of a nightmare he couldn't remember, honed instincts shrieking danger as he began to process his surroundings. Walls constructed of dark, rusty metal on all sides, no windows to ease the claustrophobia, and it took him several panicked seconds to locate the door directly opposite the rigid cot on which he lay.

And he didn't need the glimpse of crimson helmet just outside the barred window to figure out where he was. Not when Jak had spent two years of his life in a cell exactly like this one.

His vision flashed red. In an instant, he was flying off the cot and across the cell to slide his arm between bars and hook it around the guard's neck. The guard's alarmed cry instantly became muted choking, his rifle clattering to the ground. His feet kicked out helplessly as he clawed at Jak's arm, his struggles weakening by the second. Jak planted both feet against the door and heaved backward with all his strength, but before he could break the guard's neck, two others rushed into sight and began to pry their comrade free. One of them seized Jak by the hair and yanked hard, bashing his forehead against the bars. Jak lost his grip and toppled backward in a dazed heap.

"Jeez, didn't I tell you to stay back from the door?" one guard said over the coughing. "The eco freak's got a reputation."

"E-Eco freak? That kid? He's the one the Baron's been looking for?"

"Damn straight. Oh that's right, you weren't here when they had him incarcerated last time..."

Jak cradled his aching head, breath catching in his throat in a way that made him feel like he was suffocating. The prison. He was back in the prison. The very thought reduced his mind to that of a caged and beaten animal, crazed with the need to get out, to get away. It was only through sheer force of will that he didn't throw himself at the walls and try to physically scratch his way out, howling all the way. That wouldn't help him. He had to think.

He took stock quickly. So far his only injuries were various bruises from the guards' handling and the blaster burn from Sig's rifle. The latter stung like a bitch, but it was mostly surface damage and therefore unworthy of notice. They had taken his weapon and spare ammo, but no one had bothered to exchange his current clothes for prison garb yet. They had probably been more concerned with getting him contained first. Jak bared his teeth at the walls hatefully, knowing better than to think he would find a way out. The entire cell was bare save for the cot and privy, both bolted down. The door was too thick to break, and the ventilation shafts too tiny for even an ottsel to squeeze through.

Speaking of, where was Daxter? Jak peered at every corner of the cell and then snorted at his own stupidity. If Daxter had been there, he'd be mouthing off the guards by now. So he must have gotten away, but what about the kid? Jak could barely remember attacking Sig, but after that he had been too busy with the guards to pay attention. So it was entirely possible the boy was still with him, and Jak's blood boiled anew. He had truly thought Sig was an honorable person, but Jak wasn't so sure about that anymore. By now, there was no telling what he might have done with the boy.

He glanced at the barred window, noting that one of the guards was helping his injured friend hobble away. The guard that remained was taking no chances, leaning against the opposite wall with his rifle close at hand. Taking a deep breath, Jak made himself sit on the cot, fingers curled under the edge. Calm. He had to stay calm, preserve his strength and eco. He wouldn't be getting out of here until they let him out for one reason or another. Then would be his chance.

"Fools, you should have told me he was awake—!"

"—deepest apologies, sir! He only came to a moment ago—"

"Out of my way!"

Jak stiffened. He knew that voice, just as he knew the heavy leisured steps pacing closer and closer. Once, those sounds had heralded agony for him. A familiar face peered between the bars, and when Baron Praxis caught sight of Jak, he grinned in sickening triumph.

"Welcome back, my creation. And I hope this time you're here to stay."

"Only long enough to tear your throat out," Jak said coolly. He crooked his finger in invitation, a predatory curl to his lips. "Just a little closer, Praxis. We have so much catching up to do."

"Indeed, we do," Praxis said, all business again. He waved the guard away, waiting until he was gone before returning his attention to Jak. "Much as I wish to go forth with your eco treatments at once, I'm afraid I need your mind intact for the time being. It seems you made some new friends while on your little sojourn. I have some questions I'd like answered."

Jak said nothing. This wasn't the way things usually went. Before, the only time Praxis spoke to him directly was to gloat or to take out his frustration with Jak's lack of progress. Jak had never been questioned before—not that he'd had many secrets to keep in the first place—and he had even less reason to talk now with a solid door between him and Praxis. There was no inducement to tell the truth or to answer in the first place.

Praxis held something up, and Jak couldn't hold back a jerk of surprise at the sight of the kid's red amulet swinging from its frail leather cord. His hand flew to his neck, only now realizing it was gone. Praxis seemed pleased with his reaction and tapped the seal of Mar meaningfully. "What do you know of this, and the one it belongs to?" he asked, his expression calculating.

Jak's eyes flicked between Praxis and the amulet, heart pounding. Praxis didn't know where the kid was. If he did, he would have already done away with him and wouldn't be bothered finding out what Jak knew. But now the Baron knew for certain that he, and by extension the Underground, had had some contact with the boy. Jak thought quickly. If he remained silent or feigned ignorance, that would just goad Praxis to more creative means of finding his answers. Jak had to throw him off the trail somehow, make him second guess his own assumption and forget about finding the kid...

A very wicked idea came to mind, and Jak couldn't resist. He relaxed his posture and lifted his chin arrogantly. "It's mine."

Praxis blinked. "Yours...?"

"Not much use hiding it now."

Praxis slammed his fist into the door. "Do you take me for a fool? Mar's heir is no more than a child!"

"Yeah, funny how those pesky rumors can grow," Jak said, enjoying his view of the throbbing vein in Praxis' forehead. "Or in this case, shrink."

"My guards saw you escorting that boy—!"

Jak shrugged with a flippant wave of his hand. "Well, we had to throw you a bone once in awhile. Otherwise, how would I ever get things done around here? I'd be up to my elbows in Krimzon Guards all the time, and that's just not conductive to starting a revolution, you know?"

This was really rattling him. Jak had never seen the Baron look quite so poleaxed, and he found it nearly as entertaining as Daxter's drunken rants about his godly exploits. Praxis drew back from the door and started pacing around restlessly. "You're lying, you must be. It's just not possible for you to be...and if you are, then prove it! Prove to me right now that this amulet belongs to you!"

"And just how do you expect me to do that?" Jak demanded. "Isn't the fact that I have it enough?"

"Prove it!" Praxis roared. "Or I'll kill every one of your pitiful Underground friends! I'll make you watch while I do it!"

"If you haven't killed them already, you mean," Jak snapped. He rose from the cot and stalked right up to the door, emboldened now that he could see the coward within the tyrant. "Whether we die sooner or later won't make much difference at this point, now will it? But you'd better pray I die quickly, Praxis, because if I ever get the chance I'm taking you down with me!"

A strange thing happened then. Praxis' face drained of all color until he was nearly grey, his lips pressed together. He couldn't seem to pry his eyes away from Jak's, and his hold on the seal of Mar had become a death grip. They remained like that for several tense seconds before Praxis spun on his heel and marched away far quicker than was dignified. Jak was left staring after him with a mixture of savage triumph and just plain bewilderment.

What the hell just happened?

"This SUUUCKS!"

Daxter let his enraged howl carry on and on until his breath ran out and he doubled over, wheezing. His own voice mocked him as it echoed through the forest and just kept going. The kid peered at the massive trees towering over their heads inquisitively. He picked up a small pebble and tossed it into the creek nearby, smiling brightly when the wet clack also echoed. Daxter snorted when the kid repeated the performance with a second rock, then a third. At least one of them was having fun.

He squinted up at the sky and sighed hopelessly. The sun had dipped below the horizon not long ago, and it was getting darker by the minute. This was not good, not at all. Daxter's original plan had been to hang around just outside the city walls until the coast was clear, but when a couple of KGs had come out on patrol, he and the kid had been forced to do some serious scrambling to avoid them. And now several hours of wandering later, Daxter was hopelessly turned around. He was not lost. Lost implied that he didn't know the way back. He knew the way, it was just a matter of finding the way...

...okay yeah, he was lost. So what? Like Jak never got lost on occasion? Just let Daxter count the times! The forbidden jungle, the spider caves, the sewers beneath Haven...

Daxter made a little agitated noise in his throat and shook his head violently. Crap, he didn't want to think about Jak right now, not after overhearing those KG bastards bragging about finally catching the eco freak. It had been months since he busted Jak out of the fortress the first time, and Daxter was still having nightmares. Even then, he had known it was a suicide mission. He had gone in with all the courage and bug exterminating gear he could muster, hoping to succeed but expecting to fail miserably and die.

Precursors, if they had taken him back there...Daxter just didn't know if he could do it all over again.

Branches snapped above their heads, and Daxter jumped a mile, but it was only a couple of birds flitting through the leaves. He heaved a long sigh, silently willing himself to be just a little less jittery. The kid looked up from his game and cocked his head in a silent question.

"Don't mind me, just animal instincts kickin' in," Daxter muttered. He planted his hands on his hips. "And it looks like we're stuck here for awhile. I could care less about what Sig wanted, but Jak would tell me to look after you first thing. So that's what I'm gonna do! Say hello to your new babysitter, kid!"

The kid frowned like he wasn't quite sure what to make of that notion.

"Hey, I'm a great babysitter!" Daxter declared. "Just watch me in action! The first thing we need is shelter. Cave would be great, but if we can't find one, we'd just better hope it don't rain. Next on the agenda is food and fire..."

He trailed off, thinking hard. Would fire attract the metalheads or scare them off? He hoped it was the latter because they would need the warmth to ward off the night chill. As for food, their options seemed pretty limited to twigs and leaves. Maybe the stream had fish, but it had been years since Daxter caught a fish, and then he hadn't been ottsel-sized. The fish were probably all bigger than him now.

Looking around again, Daxter's ears perked up at a distant rush of falling water. Waterfalls meant cliffs, which could mean caves.

"This way," Daxter said, waving for the kid to follow him upstream. They worked through the dense undergrowth, Daxter keeping his eyes and ears open for danger. They had to backtrack a few times when fallen trees or rocky mounds blocked their way, but soon they stood at the foot of a slim cascade that fed the creek. He left the kid behind as he scrambled over the rocks, and luck was with him when he found a small fissure and slipped inside. His footsteps echoed promisingly.

"Over here, I found the perfect spot!" Daxter called over his shoulder. "Alright, so it's a little chilly and damp, but hey, beggars can't be choosers. I call that corner with the moss!"

A low hiss warned him that the corner was already occupied. Daxter gulped at the sight of an opaque yellow gem floating in the darkness followed by a pair of eyes filled with murderous intent. The metalhead was just a little larger than him and resembled a dragonfly with fangs. Translucent wings slowly unfurled as it stalked toward him.

Daxter backed up with a nervous titter. "S-sorry, little guy. Didn't mean to interrupt your beauty sleep! I'll just be on my way then, 'kay? Just take it easy now..."

The metalhead uttered a guttural challenge, crouching as if to attack, but just then a small rock zipped past Daxter's head and struck it. It shrieked and reared back, blood trickling from its eye. A second rock tore a gash in ones of its wings, and the metalhead howled once more before taking flight, soaring over Daxter's head and out of the cave. Slowly, Daxter's eyes dropped to the boy standing at the cave's entrance. He was shaking from head to toe, but now that the metalhead was gone, he beamed at Daxter and held out a crude slingshot.

"That...that was you?" Daxter said in astonishment. "That was...holy crap, kid! That was badass! You sent that bad boy cryin' back to its mama! But who the heck taught you to shoot that thing...?"

His eyes narrowed at the very smug, very familiar grin the kid was giving him. "Jak," Daxter said flatly. "Geez, he's setting you one bad example. What's he thinking, handing something like that to an impressionable little kid?"

The boy skipped past him happily, not seeming to notice Daxter's grumbles. With the kid safely in the cave, Daxter went about the grueling task of hauling firewood. His labors didn't yield much, but hopefully it would last the night. He wasted a great deal of time rubbing sticks together until the kid timidly held out one of his ammunition rocks, which generated sparks when struck against the cave wall. Starting the fire was considerably easier after that. By the time full night descended, Daxter was sprawled out and basking in the fire's warmth while the kid gazed out at the moonlit forest curiously.

Daxter's stomach grumbled loudly. "Ugh, I forgot about dinner," he moaned. "I should've gotten Tessie-kins to feed me before we left. I don't suppose you've got anything on ya, huh?"

The kid thought for a moment, and then he dug around in his pocket until he unearthed a small cloth wrapping two shriveled figs. Daxter pulled a face, not doubting for a second that was the Shadow's idea of a sweet treat. Really, would it kill him to give the poor kid a cookie?

But he took one of the offered fruits anyway and ate it in three bites, savoring the sweet flavor. Hunger thus satisfied, Daxter flopped on his back with his arms behind his head, watching his charge fondly. Any other kid would have flipped his lid at the sight of that metalhead, but he hadn't even hesitated to stand his ground. It made Daxter wonder why the kid had never opened up a rock barrage on a KG before now. But there was a big difference between attacking monsters and attacking people.

"You know, Jak and I used to do stuff like this all the time," Daxter remarked, not bothered in the least by the kid's silence. Heck, he should be used to it for as long as Jak had been a mute. "Camping out and stuff, exploring. We never went far, but it always felt like this big grand adventure. Just going wherever our feet decided to take us, not bothering with a map or nothing. It was freaking scary sometimes, and we had some close shaves, but we always found our way in the end."

He stretched mightily, yawning. "Those were the days alright..."

A tiny beeping sound made his ears twitch. Daxter looked around blearily, locating the source as coming from the kid. No, it was coming from the blinking device hooked around his wrist.

"Where'd that come from?" Daxter wondered aloud. He crawled over and took the kid's wrist to examine the device. It looked a little like a comm unit, but circular instead of boxy and constructed of warm Precursor metal. A white light blinked steadily in the very center with some smaller buttons surrounding it. Daxter exchanged a confused look with the kid when the intermittent beeping continued.

"Sounds like maybe someone's trying to talk to us," Daxter mused. He grew hopeful for a moment. "Maybe it's the Underground! Except, hmm...this doesn't look like the comms they use."

Daxter pressed a button experimentally and leapt back when a coarse male voice emitted from the device. The kid seemed equally startled, but with every word spoken, his eyes widened in shock and a painful kind of yearning.

"—you can read me, Sig, please answer! We are on our way, we should be there in a matter of hours. Sig, do you read? What's your status?"

"Uh," Daxter stammered, for once at a loss for words. But the mention of Sig's name reminded him of what the Wastelander had shouted at him during the chaos in Haven. Get him outta the city.Take care of him until my friends come.

Evidently, these were the friends Sig had been talking about.

"Sig, report! What is your statu—?"

Daxter punched the button again. The kid made a distraught noise when the voice cut off, but Daxter hardly noticed. Crap, crap and double crap. Jak was captured, Sig had a cavalry on the way, and at the rate things were going, Daxter would be the only one standing between them and the kid. He didn't even question how those people would know where they were. It had to be tied to that device somehow, a locator as well as a comm unit. Well then, chucking it in the stream would be the first step to stopping them. Daxter started to unbuckle the strap, but the kid yanked his hand away and clutched the device to his chest.

"Hey, don't go all greedy on me now! We've gotta get rid of that before the bad guys come! Come on, give it!"

The kid shook his head, resisting all of Daxter's efforts. Not even holding his slingshot hostage was enough to get him to relinquish it. Daxter gave up shortly, too exhausted to argue. He would just have to find a way to deal with those people once they arrived. He settled down to brainstorm, arms crossed and brow furrowed in thought. Meanwhile, the kid curled up on his side near the fire with the device close to his ear, patiently and stubbornly waiting for the voice to return.

Chapter Text

Damas crept through the undergrowth with great care for where he placed his steps, not wanting a single sound to alert potential enemies. He braced his back against the trunk of a tree, scanning the clearing ahead. Only when he was certain it was empty did he signal his allies forward. Their movements were just as cautious, and hardly a leaf rustled as the four men and one woman silently flanked him in the darkness. Quite impressive considering they were more accustomed to the desert than forest.

Keeping his Wastelander rifle ready, Damas slid the locator out of his pocket and checked the position of Sig's beacon. The signal had originated in Haven City that morning, but had moved beyond the walls and into the forest not long after. Since sundown, the blinking light hadn't so much as twitched. Damas could only hope that meant Sig had eluded any pursuers and found shelter and not that they were about to come upon a dead body.

Or perhaps two dead bodies.

Don't jump to conclusions, Damas told himself as he put the locator away. It might not mean what you think it means. Stay focused, stay detached.

But his mind couldn't help but draw parallels to the fact that this was only the second time in his life Sig had activated his beacon. And that the first time had been when Mar was kidnapped. That day was seared into his memory, not merely because of his own devastation but because of the look on Sig's face when they found him, brutally beaten and left for dead, calling Mar's name in fevered delirium and begging Damas to forgive him. He was ashamed that he hadn't, at first, forcing Sig to live with that guilt when in truth there was nothing either of them could have done. Against such odds, Damas doubted anyone could have prevailed.

Kleiver sidled up to him, doing an excellent job of keeping his profile from being visible. "What'dye reckon, lordship?" he said in a hoarse whisper.

"Sig's beacon is just ahead," Damas said and nodded at the cliffs with the pearly sheen of a waterfall tumbling down the rocks. "I'd say it's likely he's taken shelter in a cave somewhere up there. We'll proceed, but with caution. You and I will take lead point. Poll and Xander take the right flank, and Tobe and Gavin, the left. No one shoots unless fired upon, and only if you can see and identify your target."

Kleiver snorted. "We ain't stupid, m'lord. No one here's gonna shoot some helpless little kid."

"And if someone is holding that helpless kid hostage?" Damas said harshly, and he received no answer. "Sig still hasn't answered my call. We have no idea what we're walking into. It could be a trap that Praxis has laid out just for me. I feel safer assuming the worst."

"You always do," Kleiver grumbled, but he moved off to pass the word along, and once again Damas was grateful for the big man's support. Kleiver was a rare breed, a marauder turned Wastelander, and though he still retained some of their brutality, he had never given Damas reason to distrust him. In fact, Kleiver had been one of the first to call for all-out war against Haven when Mar first went missing.

Damas clamped down on those memories. If his mind kept wandering like this, they would never get anywhere. With a quick hand signal, he and Kleiver moved into the open and were soon followed by the other four. The moon offered plenty of light, but the shadows played tricks with his eyes as they made for the waterfall. Damas paid careful attention to his surroundings, and seeing nothing immediately out of the ordinary, he turned his attention to the rocky slope. One or two gloomy patches could have been caves.

Kleiver snapped his fingers and pointed at a dark opening from which a flickering orange glow could be discerned. A fire. Damas nodded, but he hadn't taken a single step when something struck the fallen log before him and took a chunk out of the bark. He dropped behind its meager cover, aware of the others doing the same when more strangely silent shots came out of the darkness. Damas searched for the telltale flash of blaster fire, but he couldn't locate the shooter.

A piercing voice that was definitely not Sig called out. "Okay, then! Now that ya know I mean business, how 'bout you all introduce yourselves?"

Damas frowned and shared a mystified look with Kleiver, who shrugged. Several possible explanations flitted through his head, but Damas couldn't rightly settle on one until he learned more about their assailant. He signaled the others to hold their fire and spoke up. "For firing on us without warning, we are well within our rights to defend ourselves and demand your identity of your corpse. But to answer your question, we are Wastelanders, and we've come for a comrade of ours."

"Sig ain't here," the voice said, startling Damas. "He and my buddy, Jak, both got snatched by the Baron and are cooling their heels in the fortress. Now listen, this is how it's gonna go down! If you want Sig and the kid, you're gonna do exactly as I say! Got it? You're gonna—hey, hey! I see ya moving there, don't even think about it!"

A distant thunk, and a muttered curse from Xander. Damas breathed deeply to calm himself, mind racing. If the voice was telling the truth, then the fact that Sig had been captured was worrisome, but there wasn't anything they could do about it yet. More important was the brief mention of a child, though whether that was a slip-up or a calculated addition, Damas couldn't be sure.

"You said a friend of yours is in the fortress as well," Damas said slowly, trying to get a feel for the other's motives. "Then I take it you are not an ally of Baron Praxis?"

"Hell no! I hate that bastard!"

"Then we have something in common! Which is why I'm puzzled as to why you would attack the enemy of your enemy without provocation!"

"Hey, I'm just trying to keep the kid safe!" the voice said crossly. "Don't give me that crap about 'enemy of my enemy' when Sig practically killed Jak trying to play kidnapper!"

Ah, now it was making sense. Sig had tried to take his son back from this Jak person by force, and it had not gone well. Now they had an irate friend—who was a terrible negotiator—to deal with in addition to Sig possibly being captured. And Mar...

"Tell me where the child is," Damas demanded in a low voice.

"Yeah right, you think I'm that stupid?" the voice said snidely. "Look, I said it once! You want the kid, you do as I say! The first thing you're gonna do is go bust Jak outta the fortress. And Sig too, if ya feel like it. After you go do that, we'll see if we can't work something out, alright?"

Damas arched a disbelieving eyebrow at the ridiculous demand. Impatient movement around him indicated he wasn't the only one fed up with the negotiation. Damas signaled to Kleiver, who in turn would signal the others, to seek out and disable the enemy, although he had to repeat the motion for disable three times before Kleiver grudgingly stopped pretending to misinterpret it as kill.

"Let me see if I understand you," Damas said to keep their assailant distracted. "You expect us to infiltrate the city and the fortress, our meager numbers against the whole of the Krimzon Guard, with no backup and no idea what we'll be facing just to rescue someone we've never met? And all of that on your word alone that we might come to an understanding?"

"Um...yeah, basically?"

Truly, a terrible negotiator.

"Let me make this very simple!" Damas shouted. "You will surrender to us now, without delay. You will give us the child, unharmed and also without delay. And you will do all this in under ten seconds or we will attack and not stop until you are dead. Is that clear?"

"H-Hey wait, j-just hold on a second!" the voice said in shrill panic. "L-Look, we're all on the same page, right? Down with Praxis, power to the people, all that jazz? So let's all just put our guns awayand keep talking, right? Talking is good!"

"Talking is over!" Kleiver bellowed and rose from hiding to shoot directly at the cliffs. The voice yowled when a rocky ledge gave way and sent something small and orange plummeting to the forest floor. The Wastelanders all converged on the little creature, and Kleiver scooped up a slingshot that had landed nearby. "Not bad, holding us off with a peashooter like this. You got guts, that's for damn sure."

Gavin poked the rodent with the butt of his gun curiously. "What's it supposed to be, anyway? Looks like those ugly ferret things the rich people in Haven keep as pets."

The rodent shied away from the weapon in a huff. "It is Daxter! And I am not an it, I am a he! Just take a look under my fur if you don't believe me! Shouldn't be hard seeing as I'm not even wearing pants..."

"What should we do with 'im, lordship?" Kleiver inquired, stroking his mustache in speculation. "Come to think of it, I could use a new scarf for artifact running..."

"Take a step back, Kleiver," Damas told him sternly. He approached Daxter, mildly impressed when the rodent stood on two legs and glared at him straight on. "First, I want it to tell me where my son is."

"Where your...where your what is?" Daxter blurted in genuine surprise.

"The boy, rat!" Kleiver snarled. "When Lord Damas asks a question, I suggest you answer."

Daxter edged away from Kleiver nervously, but he still held his ground. "D-Damas, was it? Well ya know what Damas, I've got some questions of my own! How do I know you're telling the truth about being that kid's dad? I had a hell of a time keeping him safe from metalheads and KGs and whatnot, and I'm not about to just hand him over without—"

Out of patience now, Damas drew Kleiver's skinning knife from its belt sheathe and stabbed it point down in the dirt an inch from the rodent's nose. Daxter went cross-eyed, visibly shaken, and Damas favored him with his most chilling and ruthless smile. "I don't think I heard you the first time. Where is my son?"

Daxter gulped. "U-Up in the cave," he squeaked. "Sleeping like a baby, I swear!"

Again, Damas found his eyes drawn up to the cave from which the firelight came. And now that the moment was at hand, he hesitated, expecting some cruel twist of fate to snatch it away. If he went up and Mar wasn't there...

"Want us to go, lordship?" Kleiver said, jerking his thumb at the other four. Each Wastelander met his eyes steadily, ready to move at his word. Of course many in Spargus were aware that his son had gone missing, but these were among the few trusted souls who knew of Sig's true mission in Haven or else Damas wouldn't have brought them.

"All of you, wait here," Damas said finally. He hefted his rifle and started up the slope. "Kleiver, don't eat the rat. I might have more questions when I get back."

"No promises," Kleiver said drolly. Damas ignored the rodent's frightened yelp as he began to walk, every muscle humming in readiness. But no enemies appeared. Nothing stood in his way except his own fears. Two years had been building to this moment, and now all his half-formed nightmares came rushing to the surface. Sig had literally scoured every part of Haven, from the orphanages of the upper and middle classes to the sweat factories and child whorehouses in the city's lowest dregs. Always, Mar's fate had tormented him with its mystery.

Not any longer.

At the mouth of the cave, Damas stopped and listened for a split second. All was silent. He turned the corner and swept his eyes over the interior, rifle raised. His gaze immediately fell to the smoldering coals at his feet, and just beyond that...

A painful fist closed around his heart. He's grown so much.

A step forward, then another. Mar didn't stir from his slumber, head pillowed on his arm while his ribs rose and fell slowly, steadily. His amulet was missing and his hair hardly visible beneath the tattered leather cap, but everything in Damas cried out in recognition, aching with the need to curl around the small form and hold him close and safe where he belonged. But he was oddly reluctant to disturb him when he looked so peaceful. Damas knelt by the fire, weapon laid aside, and contented himself with stroking one rounded cheek. It was solid and real under his fingers, if a little rosy from the night air.

"My little warrior," Damas breathed. A flashing light caught his attention, and his gut became leaden when he saw the beacon around his son's wrist. Only another Wastelander would recognize the significance. Sig had been willing to lay down his life to reunite them. It was possible he already had. Damas carefully slid the beacon off Mar's wrist and shut it off, tucking it in his pocket. And he caught his breath when the slight movement roused Mar. Vivid blue eyes slid open groggily.

"Mar?"

Mar blinked and slowly sat upright, yawning and rubbing his eyes. A knot unwound in Damas' chest. There was no instinctive recoil like a child who had been abused, no bruises or scars, nor was he starved and half-feral like the street urchins Sig had told him about. Wherever he had been these past years, he had been safe.

Now fully awake, Mar took another look at him, curious but mystified. Damas' heart quailed at the thought that perhaps his own son wouldn't recognize him. It had been years, after all, and he had been quite young...but then the incomprehension cleared. Mar's eyes widened, filled with shock and relief and love. He flung himself at Damas with a breathless cry and hugged him hard, burying his face in the crook of his neck. Damas swept the cap off his head and inhaled the familiar scent that not even Haven's pollution could hide, biting back a sob of his own.

Finally, finally his heart could beat again. Having his lost son in his arms once more was like waking from an endless nightmare, and half a dozen fervent prayers fell from his lips that would have made Seem smile. Damas cupped Mar's face in both hands and for a moment just looked at him, swiping away a tear with his thumb.

"What's this, crying?" Damas teased gently. "Aren't you happy to see your father?"

Mar nodded emphatically and threw his arms back around Damas, openly sobbing now. But Damas felt his own joy slipping when he realized how quiet those sobs were. Not a sound had left Mar's lips, not a single cry of Papa. Damas knew he could talk, and at his current age, he should be up to full conversations.

"What's wrong?" Damas said anxiously, studying his face. "You...you haven't said a word yet. Why haven't you...?"

Mar's face fell, and Damas was alarmed to see a fresh stream of tears. He opened his mouth, closed it again and shook his head, distraught. A horrible realization dawned.

"Please say something," Damas whispered. "Anything? Please..."

Mar just hung his head. Damas shut his eyes in bitter disappointment, and it was instinct to draw him back into his arms. He should have known better. It had been too much to ask that Mar escape this ordeal entirely unscathed. Whether he had the kidnapping itself to blame or some trauma afterward mattered little because the outcome was the same.

His son couldn't speak.

He wanted to be angry, he wanted to curse the entire world for this. But neither of those things would help, and it was clear Mar was far more distressed by this than Damas. So he pushed the rage back and put on a smile for his boy. "It's alright, I'm sure you only forgot. I'll help you remember, but only if you promise to keep trying too. Understand?"

Mar sniffed and nodded against his chest. That was good enough for now. Damas stood, lifting Mar to his hip as he did so, and picked up his weapon. "Dry your tears now, little warrior. We're going to meet with my friends, and then we'll go home."

This time Mar gave him a small smile, and Damas took heart from that as he left the cave behind and worked his way down the slope to the group waiting for them. Even in the darkness, he was conscious of their relief as well as a few marveling looks. Until this moment, many of them had never actually seen the father within the warrior king.

"No doubt some of you have already met," Damas said a little ruefully. "But for those who haven't, this is my son, Mar."

Damas introduced each of the Wastelanders to his son, pausing now and then to accept a clap on the shoulder or a hand ruffling Mar's hair. Mar seemed bemused by all the attention, but he waved eagerly at each new person. Kleiver took one look at the boy and snorted. "Too chubby," he declared. "The city spoiled 'im."

In answer, Mar stuck out an expectant hand. Damas looked between the two in puzzlement until he understood what Mar wanted, and then he smirked. "I think you have something of his, Kleiver."

Kleiver glanced at the slingshot in his hand with narrow eyes and slowly set it in his small hand. As Mar tucked it away in his overalls, Damas made a mental note to find out if he really knew how to use it. Daxter was openly gawking by the time they reached him. Mar squirmed in his arms, and Damas set him back on his feet, watching their interaction with interest. Daxter looked from Mar to him, still skeptical, but he seemed to be coming around.

"So...so you guys are all Wastelanders? You're like Sig?"

"That's right," Damas replied. "When Mar was taken from me two years ago, Sig was the one I asked to find him. Whatever happened between Sig and your friend, he meant no harm toward my son."

"Mar," Daxter muttered with a quiet snort. "Who the heck names their kid Mar? Hey kid, are you absolutely positive this guy's your dad?"

Mar smiled as if the question was silly and nodded. Oh yes, he was quite sure. Some of the Wastelanders chuckled, but Kleiver was still frowning faintly. "What about Sig? Any sign o' him up there?"

Damas' smile fell, and he showed them the beacon. "Only this. Mar had it with him. I'm beginning to think the rat was being truthful with us about Sig and his friend, Jak."

"Of course I was—!"

"So what now?" Tobe asked worriedly. "Should we try to get Sig back?"

Poll scoffed. "Good luck taking on the fortress!" she said in disdain. "I was in there before I was exiled, remember? Place is built like a castle."

"Well, we can't just leave him!" Gavin put in. "Sig's done more for Spargus than any of us, we owe it to him!"

"Hey, what about Jak?" Daxter griped. "You owe him way more than just a pat on the back!"

"Your friend is not our problem!"

"Well, I'm about to make him your problem!"

Damas moved away from the argument, gazing up at the smoky haze hanging over Haven City. It had been nearly a decade since he set foot in those walls, and ordinarily Damas would never let something as simple as a wall stop him from helping a comrade. But things weren't simple anymore. Their numbers were too small to attempt a rescue, and they still had Mar to consider. Damas wouldn't rest easy until his son was back in Spargus.

A little hand tugged on his wrist. Mar looked very much like he wanted to say something, and Damas crouched, noting how he pointed at the city with a beseeching look. "You think we should save them?" he asked in surprise. "Even Jak?"

Mar nodded, and Damas pondered this. On the one hand, it boded well that Mar cared enough about this Jak person to want to help him. But children were easily misled. Damas still had no idea why Mar had been with Daxter's friend in the first place. For all he knew, Jak had been the one to originally take him.

"Tell me, why do you think we should save Jak?"

Mar thought for a moment. Then slowly, he pointed at Damas. It didn't take much effort to interpret that. He's like you. Damas couldn't work out whether that was a compliment to himself or Jak. But he straightened up, silencing the disagreement.

"Sig found my son," Damas said slowly. "Against all odds, he found Mar and returned him to me. For that, I can never repay him, but I still intend to try. Now, I won't ask any of you to come with me..."

Four hands shot into the air. Kleiver didn't bother. He wasn't the type to ask permission.

"This is a suicide mission," Damas said gravely. "The less people that come, the better. And anyway, I'll need someone to escort my son back to Spargus safely."

The hands in the air wavered, perhaps torn between aiding their king and the honor of escorting his son. Kleiver stepped forward, shaking his head. "Ain't no way, lordship. You know this ain't the kind o' thing a leader should risk his life on. You oughta leave Sig in our hands and get yer royal ass back to Spargus."

"First, don't ever use that phrase to describe me again, unless you want a few extra battle scars," Damas said sternly, and Kleiver grumbled under his breath. "And you know our law. The day I let my people fight for me is the day I'm no longer fit to lead them. This is my decision."

"Whatever," Kleiver muttered, and he turned to the others. "Right then, you lot! You'll all be escorting the tyke back to Spargus, and I'll keep his lordship from gettin' his head lobbed off in Haven. And I don't wanna hear no arguments either!"

Gavin seemed mildly disappointed, but the rest accepted their duty without complaint. Poll came forward to take Mar's hand with a smile and a half salute. "We'll keep him safe, Lord Damas. You can count on us."

"When you reach the city, you may leave him in the care of Seem and her monks until I return," Damas said. Looking down at Mar, he went on, "They're going to take you back to our home now. Mind what they tell you, and wait for me. I'll return soon."

Mar didn't look at all happy with this turn of events. He broke away to give Damas a quick hug around the middle, but he didn't cling. He put on a brave face and allowed Poll to lead him to the edge of the forest in the direction where they had hidden their vehicles, the other three following. Just before the darkness swallowed them, Mar waved over his shoulder. Damas felt a small pang of sadness. Somehow, he had hoped finding his son would mean an end to goodbyes.

Daxter took a few faltering steps after the group and eventually stopped and gave a little heartfelt wave of his own. "Later, kid," he mumbled like an afterthought.

"And now we need a plan," Damas said, wrestling his mind back to the current problem.

"Relax, I've already got that part covered," Daxter spoke up with far too much confidence for Damas' liking. "Just let me talk to a couple friends of mine, hook us up with some disguises, and we'll be all set to sneak into the fortress without anyone being the wiser. Piece of cake!"

"Right, and you expect us to put our faith in a rat like you?" Kleiver said dubiously.

"I've got just as much riding on this as you!" Daxter protested. "My friend's in there too, remember? Don't worry, I've got the know-how to get us in, and you guys have the firepower to get us back out. We'll save 'em before ya know it!"

Damas and Kleiver shared a bleak look. Somehow those words were of very little comfort.

Chapter Text

Since they made it a necessity to avoid any KGs, it took some time for Tess and Keira to work their way from the Port to the Underground headquarters in the slums. But the residence was deserted, save for a lonely crocadog that neither woman had the heart to leave behind. Tess hadn't seemed concerned by the absence of a single living soul at HQ, so Keira took her cues from her and tried not to worry either. And so, crocadog in tow, they made their way to the Power Station where—according to Tess—there was an Underground agent who could fill them in.

"Vin doesn't look like much when you first meet him," Tess said cheerfully as they ascended the ramp to the great industrial tower. "He's not a soldier or a spy. He's actually kind of a scaredy-cat, but he's been passing us information about the Baron's plans for years. Without him, the Underground would have been crushed a long time ago."

"I'll take your word for it," Keira replied, still a little dubious. The door slid open with a faint whoosh, and Keira followed Tess inside and barely stifled a gasp at all the machinery arrayed before them. The Power Station was dominated by dozens of glowing panels and flickering monitors, and her callused fingers itched to investigate it all. Computers weren't Keira's strong suit, but in their own way, they were just as fascinating as zoomers.

On a second look, she realized most of the monitors were displaying security feeds from in and around the prison. And somewhere in all the organized chaos, a human voice was muttering anxiously. A small bespectacled man darted this way and that, oblivious to their presence as his hands flew over the controls, and Keira had an instant of déjà vu. The Blue Sage...?

"Hello, Vin!" Tess chirped.

"Gah!" Vin screeched, hands flying up like there was a gun at his back. He sagged against the nearest pane with an indignant glare. "T-Tess! D-Don't sneak up on me like that, please! I can't t-take any more surprises today!"

"Oh sweetie, you're no fun at all," Tess teased him. "I know plenty of guys who would be thrilled to get jumped by two gorgeous women."

Vin blinked and peered at Keira in bewilderment. "Eh, two? A-Are you with the Underground too? And what is that mutt doing in here? You know I can't stand animals! Is it even housebroken?"

He yelped when the crocadog snarled and backed him up to the panels. Tess knelt to scratch the croca's head, and the growling only abated somewhat. "Don't you listen to him," she crooned. "You're a good boy, yes you are. I'll bet you were so lonely all by yourself at HQ. They didn't even leave you food or water or anything, those meanies..."

Vin screwed up his face like he wanted to protest, but couldn't come up with a single thing to say. He rubbed the back of his neck and turned back to the controls with an irritated huff. "Okay, okay. The mutt can stay, but d-don't let it distract me! I-I-I've got to concentrate! Torn and Ashelin are on their way to the fortress right now to rescue the Shadow and Jak—"

"Oh, good!" Tess said in relief. "You hear that, Keira? Torn already has a plan! What can we do to help, Vin? Do you need some extra eyes to watch the security feeds?"

"No...I-I mean, yes! That would be great! Just keep an eye on the guards and let me know if something concerning comes up."

Keira joined the other two near the monitors, scanning their grainy images. "Concerning, like what?" she asked warily

"Oh, the usual," Vin said bleakly, head bend low. "Alarms, fighting, bloodshed, things like that. Torn requested radio silence a minute ago so they should be just about to enter the prison. Then once they find the others, I'll open the transport ring here and pray they don't bring half the guards with them when they make their getaway!"

Keira bit her lip, and it was an effort to push back a stab of resentment. So Ashelin would be the one to save Jak while she sat on the sidelines uselessly. She tried not to let that bother her. It should be more important that Jak be saved at all, not who did the saving, but that didn't make her feel any better about her position. To distract herself, Keira went back to watching the monitors. Some of the guards appeared to be in the middle of changing shifts, and she listened closely to the idle chatter, hoping for a sign, a clue...

"...been on duty for four days straight. I'm exhausted."

"Don't complain, I've got sewer patrol next week."

"Hehe, poor bastard..."

"I've got thirty orbs on that new kid winning the Class Two race tomorrow! You in?"

"Halt there, you three! What's your business here?"

"Kridder Ridder Extermination Company, at your service! You got the bugs, we got the exterminatin'!"

Keira froze. That voice...

"Exterminators?"

"Oh, thank God! The shower rooms have been overrun for months, it's about time someone put in a call to you guys."

"Vin, turn this one up!" Keira exclaimed, pointing at one of the monitors. The camera overlooked one of the main entrances to the fortress where two KGs were blocking a group of people from entering. That group was composed of two burly men clad head to toe in fumigation gear complete with goggles, masks over their mouths and noses and massive guns that Keira supposed were for the bugs. The third member of their group was outfitted similarly, but compared to the other two, he was a dwarf beside giants. Not an ounce of orange fur was visible beneath the rubber body suit, but there was no mistaking that confident swagger.

Vin twisted a knob, and a familiar wheedling voice filled the room. "Right you are, that's what we're here for! I've got my two best guys with me, ready to squash every last bug in this joint!"

"That's Daxter!" Tess cried in joy, clapping her hands. "My little hero! He's going in to save Jak all on his own!"

"Who are those other people with him?" Keira wondered aloud. "That's not Torn and Ashelin, is it?"

Vin shook his head rapidly. "No, they told me they were planning to disguise themselves as Krimzon Guards. I don't have a clue who those people are!"

"I don't recognize them," Tess said, hands on her hips. "But judging by their build, I think they're Wastelanders. Hey, maybe one of them is Sig! He and Jak have run a few jobs together for Krew. I knew he was getting fond of those boys!"

"Uh, ladies," Vin squeaked. He indicated another monitor with a shaking finger. "W-we might be in trouble!"

Keira looked at the next monitor and caught her breath when she recognized Erol under the light of the streetlamps, speeding for the fortress on his personal zoomer. He vanished around a corner and reappeared on the first monitor where he parked his zoomer just outside the fortress and stalked toward Daxter's group with a dark scowl. "You there, what are you doing in a restricted zone? Unless you'd like to become permanent residents, be on your way!"

Daxter jumped and whirled around to face the commander. One of the KGs spoke up with a hint of distaste. "Exterminators, sir. They say they were called in about an infestation."

"And who called them?" Erol demanded.

"Captain Ximon Ruperttikjakmos," Daxter said without skipping a beat. Keira groaned and covered her eyes with her hand, unable to watch the disaster about to unfold. Daxter had always been a hopeless liar, but this was pathetic even for him.

"Captain Ruperttik—?" Erol began, taken aback. He approached Daxter and leaned down to inspect him. "Wait, I know you. Aren't you the exterminator that was at the Palace a few months ago?"

"Uh...yeah, that's right!" Daxter said quickly. He hefted his spray gun proudly. "One of my better jobs, if I do say so myself. And I'll bet you haven't seen a single bug since I was there, am I right?"

"Hmm," Erol mused. Then with a very unfriendly smile, he drew a comm unit from his pocket. "Well Mr. Exterminator, I don't suppose you'd mind if I just call the captain and verify your reason for being here? He's not on leave this time, you see?"

"Uh," Daxter faltered. "Uh..."

The larger of the two exterminators stepped forward. "Go right ahead," he said, and it sounded like a challenge. "We don't mind one tiny bit."

Keira exchanged a panicked look with Tess, who was also starting to look a little worried. The other woman turned to Vin. "Can you get in contact with Torn and Ashelin and tell them what's going on?"

"Radio silence!" Vin reminded her, quivering in panic. "I can't risk calling and getting them caught!"

The three of them huddled close around the monitor while Erol made the call. Keira thought she could see Daxter fidgeting as they waited for a response. The two men with him were more composed, though it was hard to tell under their suits if they were even paying attention. A gruff voice emerged from Erol's comm, made even raspier due to the static, and Vin turned up the volume so they could hear the exchange.

"Yes, what is it?"

"Captain Ruperttikjakmos," Erol said with a small sneer in Daxter's direction. "This is Commander Erol. We have some, ah...exterminators here at the fortress saying that you permitted them entry to deal with an infestation. Did you call them in?"

"...oh, yes. Yes I did."

"You...did?" Erol stammered in surprise. "You made the call?"

"Yes, sir. I apologize for not informing you right away."

"No...no it's fine, carry on," Erol said reluctantly. He shoved the comm back into his uniform, clearly displeased with the way the exchange had turned out. Daxter cringed away from his glare and half hid behind the legs of one of the exterminators. The unknown man held his ground as Erol turned his focus on him, examining what little of his face was visible beneath the mask and goggles.

At last, Erol turned away with a sullen noise in his throat. "I don't care for the look in your eye. You remind me of someone I don't like."

Keira breathed a sigh of relief as Erol entered the prison. Once the other KGs went back to their posts, Daxter and the two exterminators also vanished into the doorway. Vin went back to monitoring the rest of the security feeds, lost in his world of technology and once more ignoring their presence. Keira felt Tess put an arm around her shoulders.

"Our boys will be fine," Tess assured her with a quick squeeze. "They're heroes, after all. They'll be okay."

"I know," Keira said softly, wishing she could make her heart believe it too.

Torn tucked the stolen comm unit back into his equally stolen KG uniform and breathed a sigh of relief. "What the hell kind of name is Ruperttikjakmos?" he muttered to himself.

Ashelin shrugged beside him, keeping most of her attention on driving. "I didn't bother to get the guy's name before I stripped him."

"That's awfully rude of you," Torn jibed, smirking. He couldn't see Ashelin's expression beneath the visor, but he thought she might be rolling her eyes. Maybe he shouldn't be so cavalier about this whole thing—Precursors knew how many times he had berated Jak for having the exact same attitude—but it just felt so damn good to get out on the frontlines. Contrary to popular belief, he did not spend most of his time holed up in HQ by choice, but by necessity. No one joined a rebellion to do paperwork, and the Shadow was preoccupied trying to outmaneuver the Baron's forces, so Torn was left to deal with the day to day affairs himself.

But this time he wouldn't have to wait and wonder and hope that it all turned out alright because Torn would make sure it did. That suited him just fine.

The fortress loomed ahead. Ashelin parked her Hellcat near one of the side entrances, and they took their rifles and got out. Long years of training took over, allowing Torn to fall into a disciplined march, though he had to hurry forward to keep Ashelin from taking the lead. "I outrank you, remember?" he reminded her.

"I knew I should have taken the captain's uniform," Ashelin griped and reluctantly fell into step just behind him. Her stride still held a little too much attitude for Torn's liking, but there was no time to correct it. The guards at the doors didn't challenge them, allowing them to enter unopposed. The prison was just as cold and clinically cruel as Torn remembered. Back when he was first recruited, he had spent far more time than he would have liked within these walls as a guard. Not much had changed. There were the same hallways, as dark and twisted as the minds that created them, the same cameras and hidden turrets at every corner...

...the same gaunt faces of the prisoners peering out of the cellblocks. None of them clung to the illusion that they would receive a trial and a proper sentencing. They had simply been locked up and forgotten. Every so often Torn started at the sight of a familiar face and had to make himself tear his eyes away. These people would see their freedom with the Baron's downfall. Until then, there was nothing he could do for them.

When they reached the elevators, Torn paused. "Up or down?"

"Jak will be on level D, the lowest," Ashelin told him. "That's where the...where the test subjects were kept."

"And the Shadow?"

"Vin pulled an earlier security feed and saw them lock him up on level B, which is just over our heads."

Torn sighed. "We're splitting up then. They couldn't make this easy, could they?"

"You go after Jak, and I'll find the Shadow," Ashelin said decisively. "Vin will activate the transport ring down in the injection room exactly ten minutes after he sees that their cell doors have been opened. Sooner, if the alarm gets set off."

"Right, good luck."

Ashelin nodded over her shoulder as she stepped onto the elevator, and after the doors closed, Torn took a second elevator and descended to the lowest level. The place where the Dark Warrior Program had unfolded. He took a steadying breath as the doors opened onto another grungy hallway. The main lights had been shut off to save power, and only the floor was illuminated by faint strip lighting at ankle level. As he walked, Torn tried not to look too closely inside the cells. Ashelin had warned him, but nothing prepared him for the reality. Many of the failed experiments had been so contaminated that their twisted, malformed corpses had been left to rot in their cells rather than taking the risk to dispose of them properly. The few glimpses he caught would have given a hardened man nightmares.

He didn't have to look hard to find the right cell. It was the only one with a guard still watching the door. The KG straightened up and saluted when Torn came into sight. "Yes, sir?"

"You're relieved," Torn said shortly, keeping his voice as offhand and unpleasant as he could manage. "I'll take the freak from here. The Baron has something...very special planned for him."

The guard chuckled darkly, and Torn wanted so badly to just punch him and be done with it. But he and Ashelin had agreed on no violence unless absolutely necessary. They didn't want anyone to realize something was wrong until they were long gone. The guard tapped the door with his knuckles. "Hear that, gorgeous? You've got a date tonight. Better take some time to freshen up."

"Open the door and say that," Jak said, disturbingly cold-blooded. "I dare you."

Violet light blazed from within the cell along with a faint crackling like lightning in a bottle. The hairs rose on the back of Torn's neck, and the guard stepped back from the door nervously. He passed Torn, jerking a thumb at the cell. "All yours."

Torn waited until the guard was around the corner and long gone before he swiped his keycard through the scanner. The light flashed green. Thank you, Vin, he thought in relief as the automated door slid aside without any alarms going off.

The door was halfway open when he realized his error. He had left his helmet on.

Jak charged over the threshold and tackled him with an angry roar. Torn lost his gun halfway to the ground and gasped when Jak landed on his chest with both hands clamped around his throat. Both clawed hands. Dark eco spiked in all directions and shorted out the sensors on his visor, leaving him fighting blind. Panicking, Torn seized the first part of Jak he could find—his ears—and pulled hard.

To his utter disbelief, Jak yelped and sprang away with an animal-like whimper. Torn ripped off his helmet, gasping for breath as Jak morphed back to his usual appearance without any further fight. "Geez, if that was all it took for you to behave, I would have done it a long time ago."

Jak cursed and turned watery eyes on him, still rubbing his ears. "You caught me by surprise," he hissed. "What are you doing here?"

"Rescuing my agents, obviously," Torn said as he stood up, touching his bruised neck with a wince. He retrieved his weapon, only belatedly looking around in case there were any cameras, but it seemed the ones on this level were offline. He kicked his helmet into Jak's cell and shut the door again. "Let's go, we need to hurry and meet with Ashelin. She should have found the Shadow by now."

"She's here too?"

"Let's go," Torn repeated, grinding his teeth at the faint thread of interest in Jak's tone. But considering where they were, he decided to save the threats for less dire circumstances. Jak followed him at a quick jog until they reached the central hallway that led straight to the injection room. Torn kept his eyes fixed ahead, alert for any sign of trouble.

"Did Daxter make it back alright?" Jak asked him.

"Hell if I know," Torn said with an indifferent shrug. "And as long as we're asking questions, what happened to the kid? I haven't heard from Kor either. Did he get the boy to safety?"

Jak slowed down, his expression darkening. "No," he said quietly. "I...lost him."

Torn halted. "You WHAT?" he roared, heedless of the way his voice echoed.

"I said I lost him, okay?" Jak snapped angrily. "One of Krew's men up and kidnapped him, which is how I ended up here!"

"You—you—!" Torn seethed, and he had never been more tempted to shoot a comrade in his life. "We need him! Do you have any idea what'll happen to our cause if that kid falls into the Baron's hands?"

Jak rounded on him. "You know, it's funny how the minute that kid is put in mortal danger, your first thoughts jump to how it will affect the cause," he snarled.

"Don't even start with me, Jak," Torn retorted. "I get that you're fond of the brat, but damn it, he was the only thing keeping us together! If we lose him, the Underground will fade to nothing overnight and the Baron will have won!"

"I'll get him back," Jak growled lowly. "I won't let Sig get away with—"

"Jak...?"

The faint, wavering voice cut Jak off more effectively than a gag. Both he and Torn searched for the source in confusion, but the hallway was completely empty, and the word poltergeist floated ominously in Torn's mind. Jak moved over to the nearest cell and peeked inside. And for the first time in Torn's living memory, he paled. "Torn, get this door open!"

Startled by his reaction, Torn swiped the keycard before he could even think to ask questions, and Jak rushed into the cell. Once he got a look at the occupant, Torn froze in the doorway, unable to do anything but stare in shock. The old man sitting on the cot raised his head as Jak knelt before him. His face was washed out in the uncertain light, marred by hundreds of wrinkles, and his hunched body was emaciated and pitifully frail. He was nearly unrecognizable in his advanced age, but his face, his green skin, even his eyes...

"Samos?" Jak breathed, looking about as horrified as Torn felt.

The old man squinted at him through cracked glasses and smiled serenely. "Ah...Jak, my boy. I knew you would come. I had promised myself you would, if I was only patient enough..."

"What have they done to him?" Torn whispered, so enraged that his hands shook. "How could...was it exposure to the dark eco down here? Can dark eco age someone like that?"

"No, it can't," Jak said, sounding troubled. He straightened quickly. "Torn, listen to me. I don't think this is the Shadow. He's...he's still Samos, but just not the one you're thinking of. It's...oh hell, this'll take awhile to explain..."

"Explain it later," Torn said and pulled out his comm. Radio silence be damned, Ashelin had to know about this. "Ashe, do you read?"

The comm buzzed. "Torn, what's wrong?"

"Listen, I've got the Shadow. He's in a cell down here on level D—"

"That's impossible," Ashelin interrupted. "How can you have the Shadow when he's standing right next to me?"

Taken aback, Torn stared at the comm blankly. Another voice buzzed through the static. "It does seem awfully strange," the Shadow remarked. "Perhaps you're mistaken?"

"I'm not sure I am," Torn muttered with another disturbed look at the decrepit man on the cot. Jak had taken him by the arm so he could help him hobble to the door. For as long as Torn had known him, the Shadow had always projected an aura of vitality, and to see him now so withered and detached from his surroundings was unnerving. But the sage's gaze sharpened when he saw Torn, and a bit of life returned to his eyes.

"Torn?" Samos said in slow confusion. "But I thought...you shouldn't be here. It was only meant to be Jak."

"Yeah well, Jak needed some rescuing of his own," Torn said dryly, earning a disparaging look from the renegade in question.

Samos shook his head, agitated. "No, no. I remember what I told me very clearly. It should only be Jak! Oh no, something must have changed, something...something altered. The boy! That's right, is the child still safe? We must ensure his survival!"

"We're working on it, gramps," Torn said and moved to support him on the other side. They made their unsteady way along their previous path, and Torn hardly spared an ear for the sage's babbling about paradoxes and rifts in time. Though he couldn't help but notice that Jak was hanging on to every word and apparently getting more worried by the minute. Not surprising. The old man had clearly lost his mind ages ago.

At long last, the central hallway ended at the double doors to the injection room. Torn swiped his keycard through the scanner, and the doors grinded apart with a groan of rusted gears. The room beyond was pitch black, but automatic lights would illuminate it as soon as they crossed the threshold. Torn was about to do just that when he realized Jak was holding back. His head darted back and forth as if really seeing where they were for the first time.

Looking at the dark maw before them, Jak shook his head rigidly. "I can't go in that room."

"It's the safest way out," Torn said impatiently. "There won't be any guards down here now, and there's a transport ring—"

"I know what's in there!" Jak snapped, eyes flashing. "How could I forget when I spent two years of my life trying to escape it?"

Oh, hell. It hadn't even crossed Torn's mind that this would be a problem. For him, it was just another room...but Jak had been scarred here, and scarred deeply. Torn wondered if he should say something sympathetic and encouraging, but his mind was drawing a blank. It just wasn't in him to coddle a grown man. In the end, he settled for the brutal truth. "Fine, then you can head back upstairs and find another way out, and say hello to the whole of the Krimzon Guard while you're at it. Me, I'll take my chances with the big scary, empty room."

Jak glowered at him hotly. He shut his eyes and nodded once, and together the three of them edged inside. A low hum of machinery greeted them along with a flood of lights. The walls were lined with even more cells, but the focus of the room was the pit and the platform containing a chair with restraints on the arms and legs and a large machine hanging over it all. And when Torn noticed the way Jak was looking anywhere but at the chair, it truly hit him what must have been done to him here. How many times had it been Jak strapped to that chair, helpless to stop the Baron's sick experiments as they were carried out on his own body?

"This way," Torn said quietly and led the way around the pit to the transport ring, being sure to keep both himself and Samos between Jak and the chair. It actually helped having the old man to look after because it gave them an excuse to avoid what promised to be an awkward conversation.

"It's awful," Samos said unexpectedly. "Take heed of this place, Jak. Awful things happened here, even worse than the atrocities carried out by the dark sages in our time."

"I know," Jak murmured. "Believe me, I know."

"Ashelin should be here soon," Torn said, partly hoping the words would make it reality. No alarms had gone off yet, but there was always a risk she would be stopped and questioned. Torn knew deep down he should trust that Ashelin could handle herself—and hadn't she proven that a hundred times over—but that didn't make him feel any better about the waiting.

Beside them the transport ring began to hum. The symbols around the edged glowed, and a thin sheen of blue eco rippled into being. Torn looked from the ring to the door, and then nudged Samos closer to Jak. "Take him through. I'll wait for Ashelin."

"Are you sure?" Jak asked him. "I could help if something goes wrong—"

Somewhere on the upper levels, a security alarm started to wail a dire warning. A woman's pleasant voice came on the intercom to announce that a prisoner had escaped and that the fortress was on lockdown until further notice. Torn scowled at Jak while Samos mumbled something about not liking teleporters anyway.

"You just had to say it..."

The Baron sure knew how to accommodate his honored guests, Sig thought caustically. The guards couldn't even be bothered to toss him a green eco pack before they stripped him of his peacemaker and tossed him in a cell, even when it was clear he would be dead by dawn without it. He'd even overheard them arguing about who would get his armor once he kicked it. Bastards.

Fiery agony spiked from the bite on his arm, followed by a painful spasm. Sig groaned and clutched his slack arm, sweating and breathing hard as blotches of red and white swam across his vision. He couldn't remember a time he had felt this awful. Of course he had been poisoned by dark eco before. It was a risk you took when you made a living hunting metalheads, but he was normally able to get treatment within an hour or two, and even that was asking for trouble. Closing in on seven hours now, Sig was honestly surprised he was still coherent.

Wearily, Sig shut his eyes. He hadn't bothered with the cot. Laying down made his head feel worse so he sat on the floor with his back braced against it and tried to keep his mind off the pain. By now, Damas or whoever he sent to seek out his beacon would have arrived from the Wasteland, and hopefully found Mar. There was a certain bitterness in the fact that he would never truly know whether he had succeeded in his mission. For some reason Sig had always imagined making this grand entrance into the throne room with the boy perched on his shoulder, seeing Damas go from shock to elation all in an instant. That would have been victory at its sweetest.

Gunshots and a harsh clanging sound jerked him from his daze. It sounded like someone banging on his cell door. Sig only had time to blink at it stupidly before the lock was blasted off and someone shoved the door open. Was that...an exterminator? With a Wastelander rifle? And a pet ferret?

"Oh great, now I'm seeing things," Sig muttered and rubbed his eyes.

"Sig!"

The exterminator ripped off both mask and goggles and crouched in front of him, one hand gripping his shoulder. Sig stared at the hand, taking in how solid and real it felt. "Damas...?"

"Sig, talk to me! Are you hurt?"

Sig started to answer, but stopped when he got another look at the exterminator gear, and his previous response devolved into uncontrollable laughter. "W-Where the hell'd that getup come from? You look ridiculous, you know that?"

Damas' smile was torn between relief and wry amusement. "And you will never be telling anyone you saw me wearing it. Am I clear? Ever."

A siren started pealing outside his cell followed by a female voice. "Alert, prison escape in progress. All entrances and exits have been locked down until further notice. Alert, prison escape in progress..."

"That's our cue, lordship," Kleiver said from the doorway. He had also discarded mask, goggles and gloves, and now kept a lookout down the hallway with his rifle at the ready. Sig's own peacemaker was strapped to his back, reclaimed from the KGs. Damas slung Sig's arm over his shoulders and heaved him to his feet. He accepted the support in gratitude, his injured arm flopping pointlessly.

Daxter whistled when he caught sight of the wound. "Ooh, Sig baby, that looks nasty. Jak got you good, didn't he?"

"I've probably had worse," Sig muttered, squinting down. "I'm surprised you're even here."

"Yeah well, make no mistake, I'm still mad at you!" Daxter insisted. "Just...you know, not as much. You could have told us you knew the kid's dad!"

Sig shook his head, too drained to bother explaining his reasoning right now, but the reminder made him look to Damas anxiously. "If you're here, does that mean you found Mar?"

"We did, he's on his way home," Damas said with a heartfelt smile. He inclined his head. "I owe you everything for this, Sig. Name it and it's yours."

"Just get me back to the Wasteland," Sig said sincerely, but he couldn't resist a tiny smirk. "And maybe name the next kid after me."

Damas laughed as he steered him out of the cell and under the flashing red lights in the hallway. Four KGs raced into sight and opened fire, forcing them to take cover in the alcoves in the walls. Kleiver fired back as soon as there was a lull, taking out one guard. "Now what?" he shouted over the noise. "You got a plan or what, rat?"

"We need to get to the lower levels!" Daxter called. "That's where Jak'll be, then we can climb out through the vent shafts like we did last time!"

"Great...so how do we get there?" Damas demanded. He let Sig lean against the wall and joined Kleiver in holding off the KGs, but Sig noticed more closing in from the other direction. He was about to shout a warning when movement above their heads caught his eye, and his gut plummeted.

"TURRET!"

The four of them only had time to look up in blank horror before the turret came to life and opened fire...but not at them. The KGs behind them cried out in shock and terror when blasts of concentrated red eco mowed them down, and then the turret swung around to deal with the ones ahead. In less than five seconds, they were the last four alive in a hallway full of dead guards. The turret swung once more and started shooting pointblank at the wall, leaving scorch marks in a symmetrical heart shape with the letters D + T in the center.

"No...freaking...way," Daxter whispered, craning his head up to the turret and the camera beside it. He flung his arms out like he wanted to hug them both. "Tessie-baby, I LOVE you!"

"That was Tess?" Sig said in disbelief.

Damas glanced at him quizzically as Daxter continued to make worshipful and amorous motions at the camera. "Do I want to know?"

"Probably not," Sig replied. "But I think we can count on a little more help from here on out."

He was right. Every time they came upon more KGs, any turrets in range would come to life and provide all the firepower they desperately lacked. When they reached the elevators and found them guarded, Daxter used his spray gun to fill the entire hallway with choking green mist that smelled as foul as it looked. Holding their breaths, they barreled past the coughing guards and into one of the elevators, the doors closing just in time to keep pursuit at bay.

Sig leaned hard on the wall while the lift descended and made himself look at his arm. Daxter was right, it looked damn nasty. The wounds glistened wetly with blood and the distinctive sheen of eco, the skin around it bleached pale. The sound of tearing cloth made him look up. Damas had ripped a strip of cloth from his shirt, which he tied off tightly around Sig's bicep. "You should have done this from the beginning," he rebuked. "To keep the dark eco from spreading."

"How bad?" Sig said quietly, fixing Damas with a look that said not to sugarcoat it. While Damas was no medic, he knew a little something about eco, partly from study and partly an instinct passed on through his bloodline.

Damas studied the wound, his expression becoming saddened. "Assuming you survive at all, I'm afraid there's no hope for that arm. It's too contaminated, it has to be amputated as soon as we can manage."

Sig's jaw went tight, but he said nothing. Wastelanders were accustomed to accepting harsh truths. "Knew what I was getting into," he said grimly. "I was ready to pay the price."

"I wasn't," Damas ground out, looking back at the others. Kleiver had his attention on the door, still focused on the larger issue, but Daxter was watching them both and looking about as pathetic as an ottsel could manage. He cringed when Damas glowered at him. "Didn't you say it was your friend who did this?"

Daxter's ears flattened against his skull. "Um...Sig started it?"

"Can't argue with that logic," Sig said frankly.

"Look alive, kiddies," Kleiver said when the elevator halted and the doors opened onto a dank hallway that looked about as welcoming as a metalhead nest, reeking of dark eco and death. Kleiver's face was twisted into an ugly snarl as he stepped out and scouted for enemies. Damas helped Sig stagger out of the elevator while Daxter took his place at the head of the party. They hadn't gone two steps when grinding gears behind them announced the arrival of a second elevator. The doors opened, revealing a KG accompanied by a much shorter man with green skin and...was that a log on his head?

Kleiver and the KG both raised their weapons, but their standoff was interrupted by Daxter's dumbfounded exclamation. "Old Loghead?"

The green-skinned man pursed his lips crossly. The KG's head merely tilted slightly. "Daxter?" a woman's voice inquired.

Beside Sig, Damas drew a sharp breath. "Ashelin!"

The KG looked at the others and gasped, wrenching off her helmet and revealing none other than the Baron's daughter. "Damas! What are you doing in Haven City? In the fortress, of all places!"

"We could ask you and the Shadow the same thing!" Daxter said, hands on his hips. He glanced between Ashelin and the green man and shuddered violently. "Oh, ew. We're not interrupting some kind of, ah...rendezvous are we? Cause that would be some serious kink on your part, sweetcheeks..."

"Shut up, Daxter," Ashelin said, seemingly from reflex. But she didn't relax, keeping a guarded eye on Kleiver. Or more specifically, the gun that he still refused to lower.

Damas sighed. "Kleiver, it's fine. She can be trusted."

"She can?" Sig said doubtfully.

"She can!" Daxter confirmed.

"Sorry, I ain't buyin' it," Kleiver growled. "She's got Praxis' blood, the conniving coward and traitor to boot..."

"This from someone who has marauder blood?" Damas said flatly. He put his hand on Kleiver's gun and forcibly lowered it. "Trust me then, if you won't trust her."

Kleiver settled for one last death glare before he allowed his gun to be turned aside. Ashelin also lowered her pistol, but didn't put it away. The green man that Daxter had called the Shadow emerged from the elevator once the threat of a fight had abated, gazing up at Damas in amazement. "My goodness...it is you! Lord Damas, we thought you perished in the Wasteland years ago!"

"Lord?" Daxter said incredulously, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Okay, is anyone ever gonna tell me what this lording and lordshipping is about? He's a freaking Wastelander, and you're all treatin' him like he's a king!"

"He is!" Sig and Kleiver and Ashelin all said at the same time.

"Was," Damas clarified with a stern look.

"Still are," Kleiver said stoutly.

"Still could be!" the Shadow exclaimed.

"Seriously, the HELL?" Daxter wailed.

Sig opened his mouth to explain, but a sharp, agonizing pain like a knife between his ribs made him catch his breath, hand shooting to his chest. His vision went dark as he sagged against the wall, frantic voices fading to meaningless background noise. Then the green man took his hand and cool, soothing energy rushed into him and settled around his heart like a protective barrier. The green eco held the worst of the pain at bay, but Sig could tell it was only a stopgap. It was hitting him hard now. At this point, even cutting off his arm was probably a moot point.

Sig looked up into Damas' stricken eyes and dredged up his voice from somewhere. "L-Leave me. I'm dead weight now."

Damas scoffed. "Don't insult me."

"Damas..."

"No!" Damas snapped. "Don't ask me to do that, ever!"

"What about Mar?" Sig rasped, and that gave Damas pause. "Y-You're gonna get yourself killed protecting me and leave him? Not on my watch!"

Off to the side, Daxter gave a start. "Mar...heir of Mar...your son...oh, oh! I get it now!"

The Shadow shook his head fiercely. "Now you listen to me, young man," he said to Sig. "I don't care what kind of barbaric laws you follow in the Wasteland, I for one will not leave you behind! Healers don't leave patients to die!"

"Then it's settled, we're taking him," Ashelin said with a finality that dared anyone to argue. "Damas and Fatso, you'll have to carry him. I doubt we have long before the guards work out which floor we've gone to so let's get moving!"

"Watch your mouth, wench," Kleiver snapped, but he and Damas each took one of Sig's arms and hauled him up. And it was clear he needed it now. Wobbly legs refused to support him, and his heartbeat was getting more frenzied and erratic by the minute. It took all his focus just to stay upright, and as a result Sig didn't take any notice of where they were heading until he thought he heard the sounds of faint pursuit behind them.

Ashelin cursed and yanked her helmet back on. "I'll go try to misdirect them. Just keep going straight from here. You'll find a room with a transport ring that'll take you to safety."

"Hey, what about Jak?" Daxter howled after her.

"Oh, right. If you see Jak, don't shoot the KG with him! It's Torn."

"Torn on a mission?" the Shadow said in interest as Ashelin sprinted away. "Now isn't that something...hmm, I think it's best we press on."

"She didn't even answer my real question," Daxter complained. No one bothered to reply to that. Following her instructions, it wasn't long before they came to a set of double doors that were already open. Sig hardly had time to take in the room with a bottomless pit surrounding some kind of platform when someone rushed up and slugged him right in the jaw, sending him sprawling.

"You BASTARD! Where is he?"

"Wait Jak, don't!" Daxter yelled in desperation. "Just listen to me for a sec—!"

"Who the hell are all you people? Where's Ashelin?"

"Hell if we know," Kleiver snorted. "The wench said something 'bout distracting them KGs."

"Please Jak, calm down!" the Shadow cried. "There's no call for—holy yakow! Who is that old man and why does he look just like me?"

"Quit gawking like an apprentice, boy. I'm the older you."

"The older me...? That doesn't make any sense at all!"

"It would if you took two seconds to think about it!"

Sig rubbed his jaw, taking in the situation with some bemusement. The two green-skinned men were yammering at one another, each fighting to make themselves heard, while in contrast Kleiver and another man in a KG uniform—Torn, he guessed—eyed each other in silent, mutual distrust. Meanwhile, Damas was practically wrestling Jak to stop him from laying into Sig. Damas tightened his hold to keep Jak's arms pinned, but from the strain in his face, it wasn't easy.

"WHERE IS HE?" Jak bellowed, eyes flashing dark for a split second. "What have you done to him? I swear if you hurt him, if you laid a finger on him, I'll—!"

Daxter leapt up to Jak's chest and seized a double handful of his shirt so they were face to face. "Jak, listen to me! The kid's safe! I promise, he's A-okay! As a matter of fact...say hello to the kid's dad!"

Jak stopped struggling and slowly followed Daxter's pointed finger over his shoulder until he was face to face with Damas. The two sized each other up for a brief moment, and Jak was considerably calmer as Damas cautiously released him. "You?" he inquired warily. "That kid is yours?"

Damas sighed gustily. "I'm getting very tired of hearing everyone call him kid. My son does have a name."

"Yeah, and you'll never guess what his name is!" Daxter said in glee. He clambered up on Jak's shoulder and tugged his ear. "Go on, guess what his name is! Guess, Jak!"

"Hold on a minute!" Torn cut in, stepping forward. "You can't be that kid's father!"

Damas arched an eyebrow. "And why not?"

Torn faltered. "Because...because you can't. Because if you are, then that would make you..."

"Oi, oi!" Kleiver called and jerked his thumb at the transport ring. "Can we discuss this after we get outta this hellhole?"

One of the green men nodded emphatically. "Yes, indeed. We should leave while we have the chance!"

"You already missed your chance."

Blaster shots tore through the air, causing most everyone to join Sig on the floor. But the shots weren't aimed at them. They hit with the perimeter of the transport ring, and sparks flew in all directions when three of the eco generators short-circuited. The blue barrier in the center flickered and faded from existence. Sig turned his head sluggishly until he could see the KG standing in the upper levels of the room. Commander Erol. There wasn't a person in the city who wouldn't recognize the Baron's right hand.

Erol turned Jak's own blaster on all of them, grinning in triumph. With his other hand, he lifted a comm unit to his lips. "Attention, all units. The fugitives and their accomplices are on level D, the injection room. Report to level D at once and lock it down."

Damn...and they almost made it too. That was the last thought on Sig's mind before the green eco in his veins was spent and the dark poison closed in once more. His remaining eye fluttered shut, and he spiraled into oblivion knowing he would never open it again.

Chapter Text

Mar, help us, the Shadow thought hopelessly as he stared at the ruined transport ring. That had been their only way out. At least, the only way that didn't involve a great deal of fighting and risk. The Shadow was not a soldier, despite what those who had never met him seemed to assume. He was a healer, a planner and something of a guiding force for the Underground, but certainly not a fighter of any kind. He would be of very little use if things got dangerous, and he could not abide guns.

"All of you set your weapons down," Erol ordered as he circled the upper levels, keeping the blaster's laser trained on Jak's chest. "Or I murder your hero right here and now."

A breathless pause followed. And amazingly, Torn was the first to lay his weapon aside. Erol nodded, lips curled in satisfaction. "Wise move, traitor. Now the rest of you?"

Reluctantly, Damas set his gun by his feet and gave Kleiver a harsh glare until he also complied. Only then did Erol deign to descend to their level. He tapped the blaster, smirking at Jak. "You have excellent taste in weaponry. I think I'll keep this for myself, if you don't mind. This room certainly is nostalgic, isn't it? I have so many fond memories. You screaming in agony, me watching..."

"Come a little closer and we'll show ya agony," Daxter challenged boldly. Jak said nothing, but the Shadow could sense the dark eco pulsing inside the young man. He had never actually seen Jak 'go dark' as Daxter put it, and he had no desire to be nearby if it happened here. The Shadow glanced at his elder self, hoping maybe he would know what to do, but Samos was too busy watching the standoff between Erol and Jak and looked awfully troubled about something.

Desperate now, the Shadow searched in vain for another way out, and that was when he noticed Kleiver studying the transport ring with a sharp gleam in his eye. The damage to the eco generators in the rim was beyond the Shadow's knowledge to repair, but...he caught the Wastelander's eye and tilted his head at the portal in silent inquiry. Can you fix it?

Kleiver grinned savagely, which he took to be, Hell yes, I can. The Shadow kept his doubts strictly to himself. At this point, he was not above putting his life in a Wastelander's hands, even if the man in question didn't look like he could change an eco bulb accurately. With that problem dealt with, the Shadow turned worried eyes on the third Wastelander. Sig had grown frighteningly still in the last few minutes, and his shallow breathing and the pallor of his skin was worrisome. Very carefully, he edged closer to the fallen man.

"And where do you think you're going?" Erol drawled, and quite suddenly the Shadow found himself on the receiving end of the blaster's laser.

"That man needs help," the Shadow said gravely, indicating Sig. "He doesn't have much time. Even if I can't save him, surely you're not so petty as to deny him a chance?"

Erol shrugged. "Apparently, I am. Stay right where you are, old man."

The Shadow bit back an indignant retort with difficulty. He was not old! If Erol wanted old, he had only to look at the decrepit sage behind him. Damas stepped forward, drawing Erol's attention, and as soon as the commander's back was turned, Kleiver stole closer to the transport ring and ducked behind the dais it rested on. The Shadow held very still and kept his eyes away from the transport ring, not wanting to tip Erol off.

"That man is nothing to you," Damas said evenly, but his voice rumbled in anger. "It would cost you nothing to let him be treated."

"Ah, but it does please me so to see you all fret over a comrade," Erol replied. He turned his full attention to Damas, studying him with a mocking look. "So you're Lord Damas. I recognize you now, I was there when the Baron sentenced you to banishment all those years ago. Have you come to reclaim your throne, oh mighty king?"

"I come only to reclaim my son," Damas corrected him. "Now that I have him back, I'll be taking my leave."

So he really IS that child's father, the Shadow thought in amazement, taken aback by the realization. Erol's brow furrowed and he made as if to say something, then caught himself. His eyes widened and darted from Damas to Jak. "T-That's impossible," he breathed. "You can't be..."

Damas' cold expression didn't shift one iota. Jak, on the other hand, grinned very slow and cat-like behind the Wastelander's back. Erol's mouth fell open in astonishment, but before anyone could react further, a promising hum arose from the transport ring. The eco barrier in the center returned, though the light was overly bright and flickered erratically. Erol cursed and made to shoot at Kleiver, but Damas and Jak seemed to have the same idea and both lunged. Jak slammed his fist into Erol's temple while Damas tore the blaster from his hands, and Erol crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

Jak and Damas looked at each other, equally surprised. The Shadow breathed a sigh of relief. "Excellent work! Now let's not waste another moment—!"

"There they are! Go, surround them!"

Dozens of KGs spilled into the room from the doorways on the upper levels, weapons raised. The Shadow retreated and took cover behind the transport ring along with Samos, positive they were done for. But his allies had other ideas. Damas passed the blaster to Jak and reclaimed his own rifle, and together they opened fire on the KGs. The assault held off the attack just long enough for Torn to pull the pins on two grenades and chuck them right into the midst of the guards.

"Everybody, down!"

The Shadow covered his ears as the explosions rocked the room and killed or stunned most of the KGs. While they were still struggling to recover, Kleiver lugged Sig's comatose body over his shoulder. "It'll be a bumpy ride so hang on to yer stomachs!" he warned and let himself fall into the transport ring with Sig.

The Shadow grabbed Samos' arm and hauled him up the dais, heedless of the way the elder sage eyed the sparkling portal in distaste. "Hurry, get inside!"

"Absolutely not!" Samos protested at once. "We have no way of knowing if this thing is functioning correctly—!"

The Shadow bodily shoved him into the ring, unable to fathom how he had become that much of a doddering, patronizing wuss. With one last backward glance at the others, the Shadow leapt into the transport ring...and he realized maybe Samos was onto something. Instead of a smooth transition, he felt the bottom drop out of his stomach and had the disorienting sensation of flying and falling, tumbling end over end. For a terrifying moment, the Shadow thought he would never reach the end, but in the next instant gravity returned and he found himself dumped unceremoniously on the floor of the Power Station.

"Daddy!"

Someone embraced him so tightly that the breath was squeezed from his lungs. The young woman looked into his face and must have seen his own incomprehension because her happy look faltered. "Daddy?"

"Here, Keira," Samos groaned off to the side. "If you would be so kind as to help me up? I need to remember which way the ground is."

Keira immediately went to assist him, and the Shadow watched their interaction in bafflement, noting their brief whispered conversation followed by an affectionate embrace. I have a daughter...?

"Clear the way!" Vin shouted, panicked as always. "The others are coming through!"

The Shadow scrambled out of the way just in time as first Damas and then Torn stumbled out of the ring. Damas shook his head dizzily and staggered over to Kleiver and Sig while Torn simply took two steps and sagged against one of the computer panels, cradling his arm. The Shadow went over to him in concern, but Torn waved him off. "Just a blaster burn, I'll be fine," he said.

"Vin, a first aid kit, if you please," the Shadow called, and he fixed Torn with a stern look. "And make sure you treat it and bandage it properly or I'll come back and do it for you."

"I'm not a kid, Samos," Torn grumbled as he accepted the kit from Vin and began the slow task of stripping off the rest of his KG armor. A third person emerged from the portal just before it shut down, and Tess screeched and nearly bowled them over trying to reach it.

"My little hero!"

"My gun-toting hottie!" Daxter cried and leapt from Jak's shoulder into Tess' arms. "That's it, the hell with Jak, I want you to be my sidekick from now on!"

"Oh, but sweetie, then who would cheer you on from the sidelines?" Tess cooed.

"His imaginary fanclub," Jak remarked and rolled his eyes, giving the ecstatic crocadog a pat on the head as he walked by. His grin vanished when he noticed Keira crouched beside the elder sage. "What are you doing here?"

"I-I heard what happened," Keira said uncertainly, rising to her feet. "I had to make sure you were okay. Are you okay?"

"Um...yeah, sure...?"

Torn snorted. "This is the part where you hug her, rookie," he said snidely. "They didn't teach you that at hero camp?"

"Samos..."

The Shadow looked around and immediately moved over to where Kleiver had laid Sig out on the Power Station floor. Damas looked up anxiously, kneeling at his comrade's side. "I saw what you did earlier with the green eco. You're a sage, aren't you? Can you help him?"

Right away, the Shadow pressed both hands to Sig's broad chest. But as soon as he touched him, the dark eco beneath his skin roiled and lashed out like a wild dog whose territory had been encroached upon. Healing warred with poison, and though he concentrated for all he was worth, he couldn't make the green eco take hold. At last, the Shadow stopped and shook his head in frustration. "I-I haven't the power or the skill for something like this. Perhaps my older self...?"

But when he looked across the room, Samos just gave him a sorrowful look. "After all that time in the prison, my powers are severely weakened. And even if that were not the case, I don't think I could purge the dark eco without causing serious harm."

"So it's just the dark eco that's the problem," Jak said slowly, coming over to them. He studied Sig with an unreadable look and, seeming to reach a decision, he nodded at the Shadow and Damas. "You two might want to stand back."

"What are you planning?" Damas said guardedly.

Jak met his eyes. "I'm planning to save him. At the very least, I need to apologize for punching him."

Damas' lips twitched like he wanted to smile. He and the Shadow both stepped back as Jak knelt and laid both hands on Sig's chest. He breathed deeply, eyes slipping shut, and a strange thing happened. Something the Shadow would never have believed except he saw it with his own eyes. Violet lightning sparked at Jak's fingertips, drawn directly from Sig's body and channeled into the young man instead. Jak grimaced as he lifted his hands away, clenching and unclenching his fingers until the last of the eco vanished beneath his skin with no other ill effects. Almost at once, Sig's breathing eased and his face was no longer wracked with pain. Even as they watched, his eye fluttered open and he smiled weakly when he saw Jak. "Thanks, cherry," he slurred and was out cold again an instant later.

"By the Precursors," the Shadow murmured, and judging by Daxter's impressed whistle, he wasn't the only one torn between awe and a little fear. He took Sig's hand again, and this time the green eco took hold and went to work as it was meant to. "He'll be fine. He only needs to rest and let his body heal..."

"Jak, what in BLAZES did you just do?" Samos bellowed, causing nearly everyone to jump out of their skins. "You—you channeled dark eco! You channeled it!"

Jak stiffened, tense and silent as he rose to his feet. The crocadog planted itself squarely between him and the elder sage with a menacing snarl. Daxter cleared his throat as he slid out of Tess' arms and dropped to the floor. "Ah, I hate to burst your bubble, but he does that a lot. It's old news, so relax, would ya? Not like it's a big deal..."

"Of course it's a big deal!" Samos shouted, leveling a condemning finger at Jak. "Dark eco is dangerous! It's unstable, and it has driven greater men than you mad! Have you forgotten everything I ever taught you? Have you forgotten the Acherons, Jak?"

"Now hold on a moment, old growth!" the Shadow objected, refusing to be intimidated by the elder sage's smoldering look. "I've been around this young man for months now, and I think you're jumping to conclusions. Sure he may have...periods of instability, but I won't deny that his abilities have helped us more times than I can count!"

Samos scoffed in derision. "As if you have the wisdom to judge! Once you've seen half the things I've seen, you'll understand that there are some lines that must never be crossed. Like channeling dark eco! Precursors, Jak! What you must have been thinking—"

"Daddy, stop it!" Keira spoke up. She faltered, glancing from Jak to her father. "Look, maybe...maybe it's not such a bad thing. I mean, Jak just channeled dark eco to save someone's life. Doesn't that count for something?"

"Keira," Jak said quietly. "You don't have to..."

"Yes, I do," Keira insisted. "I don't care what Daddy or...or anyone says about dark eco, you would never hurt us with that power!"

"That's what I've been sayin' from the beginning!" Daxter said irritably. "Sheesh people, Darkie's not that scary. He's like a big teddy bear under all the growling. A teddy bear that can, uh, rip people to shreds when he's in a mood..."

"Does no one aside from me see the lunacy of this?" Samos demanded. "If Jak chooses that road then it's only a matter of time before he loses himself completely!"

The Shadow stamped his foot. "For God's sake, it's not his fault! So why don't you just pack up all your lectures and—!"

Before he could finish that sentence, the Power Station door slid open, and Vin screeched at the sight of a Krimzon Guard. "Reinforcements! Run for your lives!"

"Quit freaking out, it's only me!" Ashelin snapped, yanking her helmet off. She gave the crowded room a quick scan, possibly doing a head count. "Did everyone make it? Where's Torn?"

"Down here," Torn said from the floor, waving his bandaged arm. "Did we get away clean?"

Ashelin set her helmet aside. "More or less. That is to say, they don't know where the transport ring took you, but the Baron had been informed of the escape and sent out dozens of units to scour the city. It won't be safe for any of you to walk the streets until sunrise. And what's worse...well, I think I'd better show you."

She moved over to one of the computer panels and entered a few commands to pull up the frequency for the Baron's propaganda channel. Most Underground members never bothered to listen, but now no one could tear their eyes from the holographic images. The Shadow grew cold inside when he realized he was looking at his own face and a headline proclaiming him to be the leader of the Underground. Torn's face was next to be shown, properly labeled as an ex-KG and a traitor, and directly after him was the familiar report on Jak with a list of crimes longer than Daxter's tail.

And as catastrophic as that was, the true shock only came when the next image shown was a dim and slightly blurry picture of Damas, clearly taken from the security feed of the prison. His name was not listed and his only crime that of aiding the Underground, but the price on his head was the highest by far and the reports made no qualms about the fact that he was wanted dead.

The appalled silence was broken when Damas chuckled grimly, arms crossed. "Well, well...I think I made him nervous."

Kleiver guffawed and slapped his knee. "Nervous? Poor bastard's probably wettin' himself!"

"These reports are all over the city by now," Ashelin said jadedly. She pinched the bridge of her nose. "I can't fathom what you were thinking, showing your face within the city walls. It was the absolute worst thing you could have done! If you had just sent someone else after your comrade instead of coming yourself—"

"Wait a minute!" Torn interrupted, scrambling to his feet. "You knew Damas was alive? Why didn't you tell any of us? And why the hell hasn't he come back before now to challenge Praxis?"

Damas snorted. "Does it look like I have the means to challenge him? Myself and those who followed me into exile spent many years just trying to survive in the Wasteland, which we might not have managed if not for Ashelin's aid. Besides this is not my city anymore and those are not my people. Not since Praxis made them his."

"But they could be yours!" Torn said ardently, stepping forward. "Don't you see, this is what Underground's been working toward for the past four years! If the rest of our people...hell, if the rest of the city knew you were alive, they wouldn't hesitate to rise up against the Baron. We could take down his regime overnight!"

Damas rounded on him with such an enraged look that it made half the room recoil. "Is that the reason you abducted my son two years ago? To use him as a figurehead for your revolution? A game piece?"

"A weapon," Jak said under his breath, sounding disgusted.

The Shadow drew a sharp, horrified breath and shook his head hurriedly. "Precursors, is that what you think? No, no, no! We didn't even know the child existed until he practically fell into our laps. With only his amulet to go on, I could only assume he had some distant ties to Mar's bloodline. I mean we thought you were dead. Had I known he was a direct descendant—"

"Wait a minute, what are you all talking about?" Ashelin cut in, looking from one face to another. "What child?"

The Shadow hesitated, bewildered by her reaction. "The...the heir of Mar. The heir to Haven City, rather. I thought you had been told already, about the child the Underground was protecting."

"My only son," Damas added darkly, "who I've been trying to find for the past two years."

Ashelin didn't say a word for a long moment, apparently needing a moment to absorb that. Then her attention snapped over to Torn, who refused to meet her eyes. "You had his son?" she demanded in a low voice. "You had him here, in the city?"

"The Shadow found him in the slums," Torn said by way of explanation, still staring fixedly away from her. "We didn't know where he came from, but whether he was actually Mar's heir or not, we hoped having him would sway the people to our cause. If you had ever bothered to tell us about Damas—!"

"Why didn't you tell me about his son?" Ashelin shot back. She seized the front of his shirt like she wanted to shake the answers out of him. "Why would you keep something that important from me?"

"You know as well as I do!" Torn snapped and shoved her hand away. "You want the truth, Ashelin? It's because you're too damn close to the Baron, that's why! I couldn't risk having that knowledge so close to his ears."

"So you didn't think I could keep my mouth shut, is that it?" Ashelin said heatedly. "I've proven a hundred times over that I'm dedicated to the Underground's cause! I just went behind my father's back and put my life on the line for every single person in this room. What more is it going to take for you to trust that I'm on your side?"

"That's not—it's not a question of trusting you," Torn insisted. "Please just believe that. The Baron is the one I don't trust, not you."

Ashelin locked eyes with him, her face like stone. Then abruptly, she turned away and stormed to the door. "No Torn, that's not it. You don't trust him, therefore you can't trust me. I get it now."

"Ashelin..."

She paused in the doorway without looking back. "I won't tell the Baron where you are, but I can't guarantee they won't come searching here. Just lay low until morning and good luck with your rebellion. And Damas...I'm truly sorry. For everything."

"Ashelin, wait!" Torn shouted and ran after her into the night. Jak almost made as if to follow, but was stopped by Keira's hand on his arm. The Shadow merely stared after his two best agents, utterly lost. In all his years leading the Underground, he had never seen Torn and Ashelin turn on each other. Part of him hadn't believed it was possible, and judging by the stunned silence, no one else had believed it either.

Kleiver sniffed mightily. "Sheesh," he muttered. "Kiddie drama."

"S-So what now?" Vin stammered.

"Well, first thing's first," Tess said with her hands on her hips, ever the practical one. "If we're all staying the night, we'll need a place to sleep."

"Oh...oh, right!" Vin said with a sheepish laugh. "I g-guess I'm the host here, huh? Strange, I've never actually hosted people before. Okay well, I only have the one bed, but I'll see if I can find some blankets for the rest of you. And oh, I've got plenty of food! Anyone up for some protein bars and eco-infused energy drinks?"

"How about plain old coffee, Vin?"

"Oh sure, I've got some of that. Just let me know if you want extra caffeine!"

While Vin and Tess went to work making the Power Station habitable, everyone else split off into groups according to individual preference. The Wastelanders remained in their corner together while Jak, Daxter and the crocadog claimed another section of floor. Keira hesitated, and with an apologetic glance in her father's direction, she went to sit with Jak. Once everyone was settled, the Shadow braced himself and approached Samos. The elder sage had settled into a meditative pose away from the others and didn't seem likely to explode at the least provocation, but the Shadow was still cautious when he spoke to him quietly.

"There was no need to be so harsh on the boy. He was only doing what he thought was best."

At first, he thought he would be ignored. But then Samos heaved a sigh and turned sunken eyes on him. "I remember what it was like to be as open-minded as you. To be as...lenient with the rules, to see the gray area between right and wrong. But I'm afraid at my age, I can't help but fear where such a slippery slope will take us."

The Shadow bit his lip, leaning closer. "But...but surely you must know where it will lead. Don't you? I mean you're the older me. That means you've lived through these events once already."

"Oh yes, I've lived through them," Samos said acrimoniously. "There's just one problem. I don't remember what happens."

"You don't remember?" the Shadow said in blank shock. "What do you mean? How can you not remember?"

Samos passed a hand over his eyes, and there was so much fatigue in the motion that it was almost as disquieting as his words. "I don't know if it's my age, or if it's just been too long since I was part of this fight, or if there truly has been a change in the flow of time. It could even be that because we're existing in the same moment, your memories can't become my memories until they've already happened. Precursors, I didn't even remember what Jak went through in the prison until I saw what he did here..."

"But you must know something," the Shadow pressed desperately. "Please, whatever you may know, no matter how trivial, could make all the difference."

"What little I know, I think I must keep to myself," Samos said, his sadness profound as he looked over at Jak. "I only know of one event for certain that must happen at all costs, but telling all of you now will only sow confusion and strife among ourselves. So for now, I will allow events to play out for a little longer. I must regain my strength, relearn all I have forgotten about this time. And then...then perhaps something can be done."

The Shadow ducked his head, discouraged by this most unhelpful speech. "And what am I supposed to do?"

Samos put a hand on his shoulder, and the Shadow had the disconcerting experience of being transfixed by his own perceptive gaze. "Just do the best you can, and leave the rest to fate. No one can ask more than that."

Torn followed her for three streets and probably would have followed her much further had Ashelin not hopped into her parked Hellcat and taken off at a speed that made her neck ache. Torn's last shout was lost in the roar of the thrusters and the rush of wind in her ears, but Ashelin felt his eyes on her long after the city had fallen away. She took a circuitous route back to the Palace, which gave her plenty of time to regret the rashness of her words. Damn it all, Ashelin didn't want to leave the Underground. In addition to having countless friends among their ranks, she truly believed in the Shadow's vision of a better city.

But how could she bring herself to support them when most of them couldn't look past her relation to the Baron? Even Torn hadn't been able to do it. He had lied to her and hadn't even had the decency to look her in the eye when he owned up to it. Did he really think she was just like her father?

If I was my father, I'd never tolerate the existence of Haven's rightful heir. But I'm not him. I don't murder children, especially not the son of someone I genuinely respect. Someone who never once looked askance at me because of my lineage.

And that wasn't even the whole issue. She could take Torn's deceit, even understand it to some extent, if not for what it meant. Ashelin had thought it was agreed that she would take control of Haven once Praxis was removed from power. She had spent her entire life watching two rulers, first Damas and then Praxis, each with their own strengths and weaknesses. She knew what it would take to fix this city. What did they expect a little boy to accomplish that she couldn't? Or had they planned to depose her once he was fully grown, making her little more than a regent?

Unless Torn had never planned to let her rule in the first place...

Her troubled thoughts kept her company all the way to the Palace. Ashelin brought her Hellcat in to land on the roof and stepped out, glancing around to make sure none of the sentries were in sight as she stripped the KG armor and stowed it in the vehicle. She rarely wore armor and didn't want anyone asking pointless questions. Taking the stairs down into the Palace proper, she made her way straight to the throne room, knowing her father would expect an explanation on her whereabouts. She had come prepared with a story about a food riot in the northern sector. Ashelin had trusted friends in the Guard who would vouch for her being there, no questions asked. Half her life these days was spent covering her tracks so no one would uncover her ties with the Underground.

In the antechamber before the throne room, Ashelin took a deep breath and strode through the great doors as they parted for her. Then she paused. Her father was not alone. Erol stood near the throne stiffly while Praxis paced above the great curved windows in the floor, looking down on the city far below.

"You're sure that's what he said?" Praxis said in a low voice. "You're positive?"

"Word for word," Erol said, uncharacteristically troubled. "I asked outright why he was here, and he said to reclaim his son. I can't think of any other reason he would be in the fortress at that time. And that aside, you should have seen the smirk on the freak's face..."

"Yes, I've no doubt," Praxis murmured, toying with something in his hand. Before Ashelin could see what it was, he tucked it away in his breast pocket and turned to her. "Ah, welcome back, Ashelin. I trust your inspection went well?"

"Well enough, sir," Ashelin replied. She came forward and brought her feet together smartly, her arms folded behind her back. "There was another food riot in the north near the water slums, but we managed to bring it under control with minimal civilian casualties."

"Good, good," Praxis said absently. "Erol, you're dismissed. Keep the search going through the night. Monitor the air trains and the outer portals, and keep those reports running around the clock. I want them found."

Erol inclined his head and turned on his heel to stalk out the doors, casting Ashelin a dark look as he passed. He had rightly guessed long ago that she was feeding information to the Underground, but he had yet to dig up any concrete proof. It was an ongoing source of enmity between them. Ashelin half suspected Erol was even jealous of her blood relation to Praxis, though she couldn't fathom why anyone would envy her position.

Once the door closed, Praxis beckoned her closer to the stairs leading up to the throne. Her eyes darted to a plain satchel of blue canvas resting on the lowest step, its contents large and vaguely egg-shaped. She wanted to look inside to confirm her suspicions, but Praxis paid her curiosity no heed, returning to his contemplation of the city.

"I trust by now you've heard about that debacle at the fortress," Praxis said, his disgust with the matter evident. "I'd like your thoughts."

Ashelin hesitated, wondering how much she could pretend to know, having supposedly been elsewhere in the city. "I find it reprehensible that so many high-profile prisoners were permitted to escape so soon after their capture," she said carefully. "The guards on duty are certainly to be reprimanded."

"They've already been stripped of their ranks and now occupy the cells so recently inhabited by our escaped prisoners," Praxis informed her. "What interests me is how agents of the Underground managed to invade the fortress so easily. Given that both the transport ring and not a few of our turrets were turned against the KG, I can only assume they had help from the inside. A spy among our own ranks."

"Not...necessarily. I had heard there was an ex-KG working with them."

"Ah yes, Torn," Praxis said, giving her a sharp look. "An old friend of yours, isn't he?"

Ashelin snorted and tossed her head. "Not since he turned his back on the Guard. I don't consider that traitor a friend."

Praxis strode closer, practically towering over her. Ashelin fought to keep her face impassive and not shrink back guiltily. Without even trying, Praxis cut an intimidating figure that could make even the bravest men quail in fear. But where others saw a battle-hardened soldier and a ruthless leader, Ashelin only saw her father. One harsh glare from him and she was a little girl again, caught red-handed in the armory with her small fingers inches away from the guns hanging on the wall.

"Clearly, he doesn't feel the same way," Praxis said at last. He crossed his arms, still studying her. "When I threatened to cause you harm if he didn't give me the information I wanted, the man folded like a house of cards. He allowed every one of his Underground allies to be captured in exchange for your life. Does that mean he still considers you to be a friend?"

With Torn's words ringing in her ears—your father is a monster—Ashelin took a deep breath and looked Praxis in the eye. "It means that you are an excellent bluffer, sir. And that it's not in Torn's nature to let someone he perceives as innocent be put in danger, regardless of his personal feelings toward them."

The tension was so strong that it hummed along her nerves. This was the closest they had ever come to touching on her double loyalties. Ashelin had no idea what Praxis suspected, or if he suspected at all, but it would be dangerous to underestimate him. And she had no idea how he would react if he ever found out for certain she was working to depose him. Her father was not known for taking betrayal lying down.

At last, Praxis nodded once and turned away, leaving her relieved and a little disconcerted. But it was forgotten when he approached the throne and took a seat on the lowest step, waving her closer. Ashelin gingerly sat down with the satchel between them, her heart pounding as Praxis rested his hand on it.

"I'm afraid I may have neglected your education in the matter of Haven City's founder," Praxis told her. "Tell me, are you familiar with the legend behind Mar's Tomb and the Precursor Stone within?"

With difficulty, Ashelin tore her eyes from the satchel. "I only know what anyone on the street knows," she admitted. "That the Tomb was constructed as a sort of...of proving ground for Mar's male descendants when they come of age. Literally, a Test of Manhood that each one must pass before he is deemed fit to rule the city."

"And the Precursor Stone?"

"There are many theories on the Stone's origins. Or should I say, stories. Children are told it grants wishes to the pure of heart while adults assume it's a source of unimaginable power and immortality. A less popular theory is that it's an egg within which sleeps the last Precursor life force in the universe."

"All viable theories, to be sure," Praxis said, nodding in satisfaction.

"And there's one more," Ashelin said uncertainly. A faded memory was coming back to her of asking Damas about the Tomb not long before his banishment. She had only been a child, and it was possible he had only been humoring her with a fairytale, but something about that conversation had stuck with her. "Those descendants who passed the trials were permitted to approach the Tomb's guardian, which would then offer them a choice. Should they choose to touch the Stone, they would glimpse their own future and whatever fate the Precursors had in store for them."

"Ah yes, the final test of Mar's descendants," Praxis said with a derisive snort. "Ridiculous. It's impossible for a mere stone to predict the future. Fate is for those who have nothing left to believe in. We make our own future. And I trust after tonight, you'll never forget that."

Praxis opened the satchel, revealing what appeared to be an enormous glowing emerald with the seal of Mar etched in the center. Without thinking, Ashelin brushed her fingers over the glassy surface and found it warm to the touch, like it had spent hours in the sunlight.

"It took years of research for me to uncover the truth behind the Stone," Praxis said, almost reverently. "During the first metalhead wars, Mar was renowned not only for his abilities and deeds, but for the incredible machines he built. The massive gun that rests on the doorstep of the metalhead nest is only one of these. But to power such a creation, Mar needed a colossal amount of energy to be unleashed all at once. Thus, the Stone was created over a course of many years. Within this gem is enough eco to power a thousand Haven Cities for decades to come."

The revelation made Ashelin snatch her hand back. It seemed impossible, that much power contained within such a tiny and fragile container. But on a second look, it wasn't fragile at all. She rapped the Stone with her knuckle, finding it harder than any rock or metal she had ever seen. Perhaps it was also eco solidified into crystal form, in which case she could drop it off the highest cliff she could find and it would remain intact.

Ashelin caught her breath and looked up. "With this, we could—"

"Destroy the metalheads," Praxis said with a predatory grin. The Stone's greenish light played off his features and made them almost monstrous to behold. "This is the key. This is how we will wipe out the metalheads once and for all, and we'll still have more than enough eco left to deal with the rest of our enemies and build our city to its fullest potential."

"Our city?" Ashelin said in a hushed voice.

"Our," Praxis affirmed, regarding her with so much warmth that it physically hurt. "I know we've had our differences in recent years, Ashelin. We see things from opposite ends of the spectrum, much of which I attribute to you inheriting your mother's soft heart. But when it matters, your resolve is like steel. My daughter, this city is your birthright."

My stolen birthright, Ashelin's heart whispered bitterly. But that little niggling doubt was drowned out by the giddy rush of knowing her father believed in her enough to call her his successor. Already her mind was racing ahead to the future. She could hardly imagine it, a world without metalheads constantly tearing them down. If that menace was gone, they could focus all their efforts on healing and strengthening the city, possibly even expanding. They could reclaim Dead Town, absorb parts of the forest as additional farming land, perhaps even lay claim to part of the Wasteland. No war, no food shortages, no fear or death...a place that could truly be called a haven.

Just the thought was enough to bring tears to her eyes. Maybe Ashelin didn't agree with the Baron's methods, but at his core he was dedicated to destroying the metalheads and ending a war that had raged for hundreds of years. And unlike her so-called friends, he trusted her with the future of this city, a trust that she knew was not misplaced.

Praxis grasped her hand, which still rested on the Stone. "This world will be ours with the Precursor Stone. So let no one stand in your way."

Ashelin could only nod, her throat too tight to speak. The hell with Torn and the Underground, the hell with destiny and bloodline and the will of the Precursors. Her father was right. Fate was for the weak. The future was only what they made of it. And once this city became hers, she would try her damndest to make sure it was a good one.

Chapter Text

Kor hooked one withered finger around the edge of the tent flap and tugged it aside just enough to admit a sliver of light from the streetlamps. The bazaar, ordinarily the most packed and bustling part of the polluted city, had grown nearly deserted at midday when the Krimzon Guards began their sweeping patrols. In the wake of the successful ambush at Mar's Tomb, the Baron must have hoped to flush out more Underground fugitives. Now it was late into the night and those patrols should have been long gone, but only an hour ago the alarms had begun blaring again and brought a fresh wave of the armored men. Kor could see them now, blundering about and shining their searchlights through every little nook and crevice, unmindful of the startled and cowering citizens.

Kor hissed low and deep in his throat, nearly forgetting to hold it back from becoming a full-throated roar. "It seems they intend to search through the night," he murmured as he let the tent flap fall shut. "I do hope you forgive me for imposing, Onin. But I had few other options when the Tomb was invaded and our allies captured."

A sullen squawk came from the feathered mouthpiece perched on the old soothsayer's head. "Onin says it is nothing," Pecker muttered. "She also says you may remain until the patrols are gone. Not that she would mind, of course, except it means I have to put up with two stinking geriatrics until the sun rises. As if this tent didn't reek enough!"

Kor paced back to the center of the tent, making little effort to mask his annoyance and seething frustration. It was certainly justified, given the most recent events. "I can't believe it...we were so close! I cannot fathom how the Baron learned of our intentions, even after all our caution! Could we have been betrayed by one of our own?"

Onin hummed softly and moved a singular hand. Tendrils of blue eco swirled around her fingers and formed whorling patterns in the air, which Pecker watched intently before translating. "Onin says that not all is lost quite yet. While the Precursor Stone has been claimed by the enemy, she senses that our allies are safe and unharmed. If we act soon, then we may yet reclaim the Stone before the Baron makes use of it."

"Then it had better be very soon," Kor said acrimoniously, leaning heavily on his staff and covering his mouth with one hand. For the first time in many, many years, he was worried. He, the mighty metalhead leader, who had ruled his kind for centuries and risen an empire out of scavengers. The Baron may not know how to properly harness the Stone's vast eco energies, but that would not stop him from seeking other, more destructive methods. Praxis had become a true threat rather than a tool and an occasional nuisance. Kor did not think for an instant the Baron would let their tenuous truce stop him from unleashing all hell on his brethren and brood.

Damn you, Kor thought, his ire mostly directed at the Baron, but also at humanity in general for being so irksome. He had spent years concocting and perfecting this plan, playing both the Baron and the Underground, hoping to gain the Stone without the need to invade the city and waste so many metalhead lives. But now it had all fallen apart because of a few careless missteps, and if Kor could not muster the Underground to reclaim the Stone, then he might be forced to play his hand much sooner than he had hoped.

"Damn you, and damn them all," Kor muttered into his palm.

"Eh?" Pecker said, jerking out of the half doze he had fallen into. Onin gave a little grunt of impatience, and the monkaw groaned. "Ugh, are we still talking? Please, woman! Let me get some shuteye!"

Onin opened her empty eyes, mouth drawn in a thin line, and Pecker sighed. "Okay, okay! Onin says there is more you must know, as well as actions you must take if the future we have all worked for is to be realized. You must..."

"I must seek out the boy and look after him," Kor said and gave a thin smile at Pecker's affronted look. "Yes, you told me as much when first I came to you years ago. The boy is my primary responsibility and must be kept safe at all costs."

"But that is not it at all!" Pecker said, angrily waving his wings. "Yes, you must find the boy, but you will have a hard time of it since he is not in the city anymore! He has gone!"

"Gone?" Kor said, his rage spiking anew. "What is this nonsense, Onin? The boy must still be with Jak..."

"Say WHAT?" Pecker screeched, and it took Kor a moment to realize it was in response to something Onin had said. Her hands moved more quickly now, her fingers blurred by the eco energies while Pecker strained to follow with wide eyes. "You...so then he...ohhh, I see now! But this is still not a good thing, no?"

"What is it?" Kor demanded.

"Well, well," Pecker said, sitting back and folding his wings before him smugly. "It seems that Lord Damas has returned to Haven city."

Kor said absolutely nothing, his knuckles gone white on his staff as ice dripped into his very core. It took him a long moment to understand the feeling, as he had not known it for many decades.

Fear.

"Tell me everything," Kor said and listened raptly as Pecker translated the visions granted to Onin through her meditation. While the details of those visions were lacking, they were never outright wrong. Somehow, in the midst of all the chaos, Damas had learned that his child was alive and come to reclaim him from the hands of those who had taken him. What was left of his plans crumbled before Kor's eyes as he slowly understood that the boy, the key to all his plans, was now beyond his reach.

"But...this is wonderful," Kor said with effort, feebly attempting to maintain his disguise as a rebel leader and citizen of Haven. "Lord Damas is alive! With his support, it is only a matter of time before the Baron is toppled! And then we can move on to the metalheads..."

"Not so fast!" Pecker said bossily. "This is where you come in, old man. Damas has sent his son back to the Wasteland precisely because he has no interest in the affairs of Haven. But without an heir of Mar, the Underground has no legitimate means of deposing of Praxis and no way to unlock the power of the Precursor Stone. The boy still has his part to play. He must be retrieved...before he reaches Damas' people."

"And you entrust this task to me?" Kor asked cautiously. He looked into Onin's blind eyes, unperturbed when she gazed back as if she could see his very soul...and she didn't like what she saw one bit. Onin was the closest thing to an eco sage that could be found in this era. Even the Shadow could not compare to her insight and her understanding of the world and everything in it. One of her nature could no doubt sense his true nature very easily.

And yet, she had not spoken a word of it to anyone. Not to the Underground, not to Jak or the Shadow, not even to her feathered interpreter. Kor had his suspicions on why she had done this, and he had nothing but contempt for them. Like the Precursors, the soothsayer truly believed in the adage of merely watching and advising, not interfering. A foolish and antiquated notion. It had been the downfall of the Precursors, and it would soon be the downfall of her and all her little chessboard pieces. Kor dearly wished the old woman would survive to the very end just to "see" how all her wishful prayers would be crushed in his claws.

"Onin says it is your fate," Pecker said with a shrug and a roll of his eyes, though it was not directed at the soothsayer. Kor suspected the monkaw had severe doubts that this mere old man could undertake such a task. "I suppose you should get moving then. She says you will find the boy at the edge of the Wasteland heading west in the company of his protectors. Now, go! Fulfill your destiny as the Mar family babysitter!"

"That orange rat is rubbing off on you," Kor said, chuckling to himself at the indignant squawk that earned as he swept out of the tent. He adopted a hobbling gait as he walked, keeping his head bowed so as not to attract the attention of the guards. But beneath his scraggly beard, he was smiling. His plans were not shattered after all. He simply had to revise them a bit. And perhaps if he orchestrated everything well enough, then he could have Damas' head along with the Baron's at the end of it all. The thought nearly had him quivering with anticipation. It would be worth it, worth everything he had gone through. It would even be worth an outright invasion of the city, if only he could at last bring an end to Mar's bloodline.

Kor bared his teeth in a manner more bestial than he intended, eyes flashing in the darkness as he quickened his pace. First, the boy. He would take care of that himself, and next would come the city. The invasion would commence as soon as he spoke with a certain iniquitous associate down in the Port sector...

Rest wouldn't come easy that night. Although Jak attributed most of that to the Power Station's sleeping arrangements. All the blankets in the world couldn't make the hard floor any more comfortable, and though Vin had dimmed most of the glaring lights, they were still left with the muted glow of the monitors and an occasional beeping noise. Jak turned over restlessly, listening to the soft breathing—and in some cases, thunderous snoring—around him. No one else had had any trouble finding slumber. Well, it was difficult to tell if the two sages were sleeping or merely meditating. Daxter and Tess were snuggled up to each other near the center of the floor, and even in sleep they still managed to be absolutely sickening in their affection.

Keira had found a spot near them, curled up in a little ball and looking very small and alone. Jak eyed the curve of her back, pondering how she had jumped to his defense earlier. There had been a time not long ago when she had condemned him like the rest of the city, refusing to accept the embittered renegade from the prison as her Jak. Likewise, he hardly recognized the spunky mechanic inside this cynical, intolerant woman who pushed him away so easily. It was the bitterest kind of irony that they had understood each other better long before he found his voice.

Sighing, he rolled on his back, head pillowed on folded arms. He knew why he couldn't sleep. His mind was still spinning with all that had happened today. Sig and the kid, the prison and the Baron...

...and Samos. Or rather Samoses, plural. That was the most confusing part, but Jak thought he was beginning to understand. He and Daxter had realized long ago that this was the future of their world. If there could be a future Sandover, then it only stood to reason that there could be future people of Sandover. Therefore, it could be possible for a traveler to the future to meet another version of himself.

But no matter how many times Jak turned it over in his mind, something didn't add up. If the Shadow was the Samos of the future, shouldn't he be older than the Samos from Sandover? Unless Samos was originally from this time? In which case, why travel back to the past in the first place?

There was one explanation twisting uncomfortably in his gut that he tried desperately to ignore. But still that insidious voice kept whispering, To find a hero. Wasn't he always calling you that? Training you to fight, teaching you to channel eco, driving you to be better and better? And once you were at the top of your game...there was the Rift Gate waiting so conveniently for you to activate.

Had Samos known this would happen to him? Had he known the whole time and done nothing to stop it? Jak didn't want to believe that, not even for a second. Samos had always done right by him, had raised him well. No one with even an ounce of empathy could watch a boy grow to a man knowing the whole time what kind of hellish fate he would be condemned to.

Ah, fate. One of Samos' favorite words, and a word Jak hated more than any other.

Precursors, is this why he never adopted me? Is it why he picked Keira instead? Guess he couldn't stand the thought of having an eco freak for a son...

He breathed deeply, held it for a moment and let it out. Brooding would only get the monster in him riled up. Jak pushed his uneasy feelings back and briefly toyed with the notion of what it would be like to meet himself in another time. At once, he had to bite back a chuckle. The first thing he'd probably do is challenge himself to a race. Jak could envision it all. He imagined pulling up to the starting line with his fifteen-year-old self beside him, grinning and making mute taunts from his A-Grav. Then the adolescent Jak morphed into the kid, and it was the two of them racing on foot down Sentinel Beach with Daxter yelling that it was dangerous up ahead, and Old Green Stuff had told them not to go this far, and it was getting dark, too dark to see, shadows and glowing eyes, why can't they find me? Don't leave me, please!

"Jak. Jak."

They're coming, don't let the monsters hurt me! FATHE—!

"Jak, wake up."

Jak jerked back to wakefulness with his heart pounding, the muddled visions already scattered and forgotten. Damas was kneeling beside him with a frown line marring his forehead, and as soon as their eyes met, he removed his hand from Jak's shoulder. Jak propped himself on his elbow, automatically scanning the room for danger. "What is it? Is something wrong?"

"No, nothing," Damas said, keeping his voice low. "You were...dreaming."

The slightest discomfort in that admission helped him figure out the rest. He had been talking in his sleep, a habit Jak had picked up after the prison. Daxter had assured him once that he never said anything embarrassing, but it didn't lessen the awkwardness. Jak sat up more fully with a nod at the other man. "Thanks. You didn't have to wake me."

Damas' expression became heavy, and he moved away to sit against the computer panels. "You were crying out for your father. I couldn't listen any longer."

Jak started at the revelation. And now that Damas said it, glimpses of the nightmare were coming back to him, along with a feeling that until now he hadn't had the words to define. Not just fear. Jak was familiar with fear, but this time the emotion had been tempered by faith. Instead of fighting, he had been looking to someone else to fight for him, knowing with all his heart he could count on that person to protect him.

Crying out for his father...

Uneasily, Jak shook off the conflicting feelings that caused him. It made no sense to dream of someone he'd never met. Opting for sleep deprivation over nightmares, Jak disentangled himself from the blankets, accidentally rousing the crocadog that had been curled over his ankles. After a moment's hesitation, he took a seat beside Damas. He didn't ask why the Wastelander was still awake, but Jak suspected the reasons were similar enough to his own not to warrant a comment. Damas didn't acknowledge him, but nor did he give any sign that Jak's presence was unwelcome.

The crocadog nudged his hand with a cold nose, and Jak idly scratched under his collar where he liked best. The croca woofed and plopped down by his leg, snoring in an instant. Jak shifted his attention on the great lump of blankets that was Sig. "How's he doing?"

Damas followed his gaze. "The same as before, which is at least better than he was in the prison. Whatever you did, it helped."

Jak grimaced, knowing he hardly deserved to be thanked when it was his fault Sig had nearly died. And all because of a stupid misunderstanding. While Damas was looking elsewhere, Jak stole a moment to study his profile. He was Jak's senior by many years, but there was nothing old about him. Now that the exterminator gear had been discarded, Jak could see that his body was heavily muscled and scarred from numerous battles, like a honed weapon that had seen years of hard use. But his eyes were sharp and perceptive, hinting at a keen mind behind a hardened visage. Everything about him said warrior to Jak's eyes, the kind he had listened to stories of as a child and wanted so badly to emulate.

And now that he knew this man's name, knew who he was...it was hard to believe Damas hadn't dropped straight out of one of those stories. Long lost kings didn't just spring up from nowhere in this day and age. Kind of like long lost heirs weren't supposed to turn up randomly in the streets.

"Are you really what they say you are?" Jak asked suddenly, curiosity overcoming his hesitance. "Are you...were you...?"

"Was I once the ruler of Haven City?" Damas finished. In answer, he reached into one of the pouches on his belt and held out a small amulet carved of rose-colored stone, the twin to the one the kid had always worn. There was no duplicating that. "It's been a long time since anyone called me by that title."

"Wow," Jak said softly. When Damas gave him an odd look, he shrugged. "Sorry, but...wow. And here we all thought the kid was an orphan. How did you end up a Wastelander?"

Damas sighed, tipping his head back with a distant look. "Nearly a decade ago, the metalheads amassed and attacked in earnest, beginning an all-out war on the city. Such a thing had not happened since Mar's time. We were unprepared, and we suffered for it. I had planned to focus all our resources on defending the city, but there were some who didn't agree with that strategy. Praxis was one of them. He became very vocal about wanting to eradicate the metalheads once and for all, and he promised to do just that...for a price."

"Give up your freedom and put your trust in the Guard," Jak said bitterly, the familiar mantra burned into his skull. "And everyone was stupid enough to believe his lies."

"They were afraid," Damas said, and there was no resentment to his words, only a quiet sorrow. "They wanted a miracle or another hero to save them. They just wanted the fighting and death to stop. Praxis took advantage of that and persuaded the masses to support his coup. On the day I was banished, they were cheering."

Jak shook his head, anger making his blood run hot even as his heart became a stone cold lump in his chest. Everyone made it sound like the Baron had seized power through some kind of underhanded takeover, and it made him sick to learn that the betrayal had come from the very people that Damas had ruled. "You must hate this city," he muttered.

"I don't," Damas said, surprising him. "Maybe I did once, but since revenge was a pointless endeavor, I chose to rebuild my life instead. I doubt Sig has told you the Wasteland's greatest secret. There is a city out in the desert, built from the ground up by the hands of those Haven has cast out. Survival is a daily struggle, but everyone is given the chance to prove themselves and their worth, which is more than this city ever offered. It's where my son was born."

"Mar," Jak said with a quick grin. "Daxter told me that's his name."

Damas nodded warmly, fingering his amulet. "Everyone told me I was crazy for putting such a legacy on his shoulders, but I knew from the beginning he would make that name his own."

Jak snorted very softly to himself. Personally, he couldn't see that little kid becoming anything special. Not when he spent half his time tripping over his own feet and covering his eyes at the sight of blood. Still, there was something so very endearing about his unfettered optimism, like he just knew everything would turn out alright.

"You're fond of him."

Jak jerked his head up. At Damas' shrewd smile, he looked away sheepishly. "That's the second time someone's said that to me today. Am I just that transparent?"

"I'm glad," Damas said unexpectedly. "It eases my mind to know there was someone who genuinely cared for his wellbeing. Tell me, are you the one who gave him that slingshot?"

Jak snickered at the reminder and propped his head in his hand, smiling wistfully. "Oh geez, I'd forgotten all about that. Awhile ago, I was laid up in HQ with a couple of broken toes. Most annoying injury ever. I could hardly walk, and I was bored as hell, so I made that toy from spare parts and started shooting up the local metalbug population. The kid...Mar saw what I was doing, and even though he didn't say it, I could tell he wanted to try. So I gave it to him, taught him to shoot anything with a yellow gem in its skull, and let him have at it. He went nuts that first week. Must've collected fifty of those little bug gems before Kor made him stop..."

He glanced up and faltered when he realized there were tears in the Wastelander's eyes. Damas looked the other way, but not in shame, taking a deep breath to control himself. "Keep talking," he said roughly.

Slowly, Jak nodded. "Once the Shadow noticed the kid and I got along, I usually got saddled with watching him. Low man on the totem pole and all that. But...he's a good kid. In a way, he's been the bravest out of all of us, and that just makes me want to keep him safe."

"Children have a way of bringing out that side of us all," Damas said softly. "They remind us of better times, of what this world could be if we tried hard enough."

Jak wrapped his arms around his knees, his smile fading. "He reminds me of how I used to be. Before Praxis made me his weapon."

Damas fixed him with a probing look, and then he breathed in sharply. "The dark eco channeling?"

"The Baron's idea of a perfect warrior," Jak spat, gripping his knees so hard that his knuckles were white. "What I suffered at his hands, I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. That's why I have to protect that kid from Praxis. I never want him to know evil like that."

"I suppose it's only natural to feel that way," Damas said after a long moment. "But I am Mar's father, and even I know I can't protect him forever. One day, he will know the evil in this world, and I can only hope I taught him well and have given him all he needs to fight that evil with his own strength."

Jak swallowed against the painful lump in his throat. "It isn't fair," he whispered, not caring that he sounded childish.

Damas said nothing to the pointlessly naïve statement, letting the silence linger as they retreated into their own thoughts. For his part, Jak's mind drifted to the boy that had been the only shred of light in this city, wondering where he was now. But mostly, Jak was just glad he was finally out of harm's way. Children didn't belong on the battlefield, and despite what Torn thought, they could win this war without him.

Damas rose with a small grunt and moved to a place near Sig and Kleiver. Jak watched him arrange some spare blankets in confusion. "What are you doing?"

"Getting some rest," Damas said as he lay down. "Earlier it didn't seem wise to sleep around potential enemies. Now, though..."

He didn't finish the sentence, but Jak got the gist, and he felt strangely heartened. And he didn't blame Damas for his initial caution. After the prison, Jak hadn't been able to sleep in the same room as others for weeks. But though not everyone here was a friend, nor were they enemies, and that comradeship in the face of adversity dulled the knife's edge of distrust. It allowed his body to relax from battle-readiness and heavy eyelids to slip shut in dreamless sleep, one hand coming to rest right in the middle of stroking the crocadog's head.

Chapter Text

It was so big. The ride over the dunes of sand was bumpy and the heat from the rising sun just starting to get uncomfortable, but even so Mar couldn't take his eyes off the desert stretching before them, the city and the forest long since forgotten. He rose up in his seat so he could watch the other vehicle speeding along beside theirs, kicking up clouds of dust in its wake. The driver sent him a quick wave, and Mar grinned and waved back. But just then, the vehicle he was in dipped forward and landed hard, causing sand to fly up in his face. He managed to shut his eyes in time, but the fine grit still coated his mouth and tongue. The two Wastelanders next to him roared in laughter at his icky expression, and Poll tugged him back down in his seat, offering him a flask of water that he drank from gratefully.

"And that's how rookies learn to keep their mouths shut," Poll said wisely. She leaned back, sun-bleached hair flying in her face as she started digging through a compartment behind the seats. "Let's see if we can find...oh, right here!"

Pulling out a pair of goggles, Poll slipped them on Mar's head and buckled the strap in place. They were far too big for him, but the lenses were tinted and kept the sun glare from hurting his eyes. The right lens even had a target painted on it. Mar examined the world with this new perspective and found that he liked it.

"Those probably belong to someone," Xander pointed out from the driver's seat.

Mar attempted to stand up to get a better look ahead, only to have Poll pull him back down again and set him on his bottom firmly. "If they do, it's their own fault for leaving them here," she declared. "Besides, they look cute on him."

Xander chuckled. "If he's anything like his old man, he'll get you for that when he's older."

"We'll see."

Bored of trying to see over the dunes, Mar twisted around to look behind them. A series of rocky cliffs marked where they had left the forest and taken a steep path down into the desert, though he couldn't see the path from here. Mar almost turned away until he noticed a little black speck in the sky high above them. It might have been a bird, but it was flying faster than any bird he had ever seen. Very strange. Mar was so distracted by this oddity that he didn't even notice when Poll ruffled his hair fondly.

"So, Xander," Poll said, turning to her companion with a sly smile. "When do we get our own one of these?"

Xander heaved a gusty sigh, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. "I thought we talked about that. Next year once I've earned my third amulet and Damas lets me go on the big haul missions. Not like we can afford to feed a third mouth the way things are now."

Poll snorted. "Sure, and next year you'll use the excuse that being on the big haul missions puts your life at too much risk to start a family. I know all your tactics, love."

"Poll," Xander said in an aggrieved tone.

"Don't Poll me," Poll retorted. "I don't want to just survive anymore, I want to live. I want to know I'll be leaving this world with something to remember me by if I kick it tomorrow."

She scooted closer to Xander, and Mar was able to stand up again without her reprimanding him, still watching that weird speck. Although speck wasn't the right word for it anymore. Whatever that thing was, it was even bigger than the vehicles with translucent wings and a segmented, many-legged body. Mar looked from the flying creature to the Wastelanders anxiously. Usually, he tried not to interrupt adults in the middle of an Important Discussion, but that thing was getting awfully close...

"We're Wastelanders," Xander said with finality. "More than that, we're artifact runners. Every day is a risk for us, and in case you hadn't noticed, Spargus is as much a deathtrap as this godforsaken desert. Is that really the kind of world you want to bring a baby into?"

"Damas did," Poll said under her breath.

Mar tugged his goggles down so they hung around his neck, and he let out a soundless gasp when sunlight flashed off the yellow gem in the creature's forehead. A yellow gem meant a metalhead, and those were bad. Very, very bad. He tugged Poll's sleeve, pointing. She looked back and gave a startled curse.

"Xander, punch it!"

Their vehicle shot ahead just as the metalhead unleashed a white and purple fireball that engulfed the other vehicle. The entire thing exploded into an inferno and spun out of control until it crashed into a rock formation. That was all Mar had time to see before Poll shoved him in the small space beneath the dashboard. She unslung the rifle from her back and crouched on the seat to shoot at the metalhead. From his hiding place, Mar could only see her back and a sliver of sky and the strain in Xander's face as he swerved to avoid the monster that was mercilessly hunting them. Then without warning, the metalhead landed on the rollcage and seized Poll, flinging her out of sight. Her cry was lost in the screech of tires and the creature's triumphant howl.

"Damn it, no!" Xander shouted. He spun the wheel, and they turned around so quickly that the metalhead lost its grip and tumbled off the rollcage. The vehicle's machine gun sprayed bullets ahead, and Mar covered his ears against the noise, terrified. He wanted to climb out of hiding and find Poll, but he was afraid of the monster. He wasn't big enough to fight it like his father.

Something exploded close by, and the vehicle rocked dangerously. The next thing Mar knew, the world was spiraling out of control and he was dumped unceremoniously on the sand while the vehicle rolled down a dune and came to rest in a flaming heap. Mar winced and bit his lip as he pushed himself up on all fours, scraped and bruised all over from the fall.

Enormous wings flapped above him, and Mar spun around, eyes wide as the metalhead landed only a short distance away and advanced on him. He tried to get up and run away, but stopped when he realized there was a person climbing down from the metalhead's back. The hunched figure jumped nimbly to the sand and limped toward him, and Mar felt his heart leap when he recognized the man. He waved frantically, and Kor waved back with an affectionate smile.

"Ah child, I've been looking all over for you. You are one difficult boy to track down. I'm so glad you're safe. Come quickly now. We must return to the city at once. Don't fear, this creature will not harm you."

Mar's relief faded when Kor gestured at him to come closer to the metalhead. No, this wasn't right. Everyone always said to stay away from metalheads. And besides, Mar thought and looked back at the broken vehicle, he had been told to stay with the Wastelanders.

"Boy!" Kor said sharply, causing Mar to jump. "We must go!"

Slowly, Mar shook his head and took half a step back, growing cold inside when Kor's face twisted in fury. Kor started to come toward him, but just then a blaster shot whizzed over Mar's head and struck the giant metalhead. It screeched when it was shot again and again until it collapsed in the sand and its gem popped out. Poll came sprinting into sight and trained her rifle on Kor.

"Mar, run!"

All of a sudden, Kor roared, and Mar watched in growing horror as he began to transform, shedding the human guise like a snake and becoming an even bigger monster than the first one. He shut his eyes when Kor lunged and struck Poll down, her scream making him feel sick, and he gasped when those same bloody claws closed around him and lifted him higher and higher. He opened his mouth and tried to cry for help, but he felt a tiny sting in his neck that made him groggy, his body falling limp. A rush of hot air dried the tears on his cheeks as the monster took to the skies. The last thing Mar saw before he fell unconscious was the desert far below and the distant ocean sparkling in the sun.

Torn returned to the Power Station early the next morning as they were all eating breakfast. He spoke very little and said nothing at all about Ashelin, but he informed them curtly that the initial searches had dwindled. The streets were as safe as they were ever going to be. The three Wastelanders left almost immediately with plans to lay low in the city until Tess managed to secure transport to the Wasteland for them. The Shadow offered diffidently to let them stay at the Underground headquarters instead, but one frosty look from Damas made the half-hearted proposal wilt and die on his lips. Tess also took the crocadog with her, claiming to everyone's bemusement that the snarling mutt was just too sweet for her to consider leaving behind.

Keira waited with her father while Jak, Daxter and Sig made their brief farewells. She didn't eavesdrop, but she got the impression from their body language that they were sorry to see the Wastelander go. At least until Daxter made some kind of comment that had Jak looking irritated and caused Sig to glance in her direction curiously. Sig said a few more words and then followed the others out the door, winking at Keira as he walked by. "Keep your golden boy in line, gorgeous," he said cheerfully.

Keira blinked while Jak made some kind of choked noise behind her. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," Jak said gruffly, brushing past her. "We should get going. Are you two ready?"

"Where are we going?" Samos inquired.

"The Stadium," Keira explained. "I managed to find a job as a mechanic, and they let me rent out one of the garages."

"Ah, well done!" Samos said in pride. "They're lucky to have your resourcefulness. I'll only be imposing on you for a little while, I hope. My younger self has promised to take me to Haven Forest to recover my powers once I've rested some."

The Shadow snorted. "Yeah, and a fat lot of good that'll do you. You're practically in your grave already, old man."

"Oh, shut your trap!" Samos snapped. "Maybe if you had taken better care of yourself—!"

"That's it, both of you, to your corners!" Daxter said loudly, spoiling the stern act with a delighted giggle. "Hehe, I've been waiting to say that since yesterday!"

The Shadow grumbled under his breath before he turned away. "Jak, keep an eye on my foolish, doddering self, would you? Torn, Vin, get over here! We need to discuss the Underground's next move..."

"Let's go," Jak said to her. Keira followed him and Daxter out the door, helping her father down the ramp to where her zoomer was parked. She didn't notice that Jak had vanished until after she was seated with Samos behind her, and when he reappeared a moment later with a second zoomer, she swallowed her questions. In some cases, it was just better not to ask. Together, the four of them set off, doing their best not to be noticed by any of the patrols that were still combing the streets. Keira kept her head down, and when Samos touched her arm, she reached back to grip his hand. Jak stuck so close to her that their zoomers were practically swapping paint, glaring murderously at anyone in a red uniform. More than once he sped up and herded her into side streets that Keira hadn't known existed, avoiding the main thoroughfares where the patrols were.

Keira wasn't sure what unnerved her more. The KGs or the fact that Jak seemed accustomed to evading their detection.

When they finally reached the Stadium, Keira breathed a sigh of relief. She helped her father hobble through the garage to her living quarters. It wasn't much, just a few small rooms with a tiny kitchenette. Samos sank onto the narrow cot in her bedroom with a groan. "Thank you, m'dear," he said, stifling a yawn. "I'll just...rest my eyes for a bit..."

"Okay, Daddy," Keira said tenderly, patting his hand. He was already snoring. Her next stop was the kitchenette where she sorted through the cupboards with sigh. Samos had politely declined Vin's bland energy bars for breakfast, but Keira's selection was not much better. She finally settled for putting some instant noodles and tea on the stove, then went to find Jak. But the main garage was empty, causing her to fret a little. In all the excitement yesterday, Keira had completely forgotten that the Class Two Race was today, which was part of the reason Jak had come to the Stadium. Had he and Daxter already gone to prepare for it?

It took all of ten seconds to locate the murmured voices behind the thick green curtain at the back of the garage. Keira crossed the space in quick strides and ripped the curtain back. "What on earth do you think you're doing?" she shrieked.

Jak jumped like a scalded cat and snatched his hands back from the replica Rift Rider's controls. Daxter recovered from his shock more quickly and plastered on a winning smile, hopping onto the tattered seat. "We're just takin' a look! So is this the 'secret vehicle project' you've been keeping from us?"

"Yes...I mean, no!" Keira stammered, flustered for some reason she couldn't explain. "It's...look, it's just something I've been putting together from scraps. In case we ever found the Rift Ring and got it to work again, I just thought maybe..."

"You did all this?" Jak said in amazement. "Keira, it looks just like the one we rode in! I thought it was the real thing, at first. You really put this together in only two years?"

Keira faltered, feeling more awkward than ever when she realized this was the first time—the very first time—that Jak had praised one of her inventions with words rather than just a big grin and a thumbs-up. To cover her embarrassment she turned away with her arms crossed, nodding toward the sketches tacked on the wall. "It doesn't even work. I got lucky a year ago and found the Time Map in the bazaar. The merchant didn't even know what it was so I got it cheap. But I haven't been able to find the Heart of Mar, that red eco gem that powered the whole thing."

"That's all you need?" Jak asked. He studied the sketch, scratching his goatee absently before he tapped the paper with his finger. "I think I know where to find the Heart of Mar. Hey Dax, remember that old statue of Mar we found not long ago? The one with the ruby key?"

"You mean that ugly relic in the sewers?" Daxter said in distaste. "Oh no, you are not thinking of going down there again, are you? No way, buddy! I am going nowhere near that place! My fur still stinks from the last time!"

"Yeah, I know, but this is important," Jak said resolutely. "After the race, we'll get that artifact for you, Keira."

"Really?" Keira said, her heart leaping, hardly daring to hope she would have the final piece at last. "But are you sure it's there?"

Jak shrugged. "Not exactly. But even if it isn't, I'm sure Krew would know something about it. He's the one who sent me to find that statue before. It might cost me to get the information though, so let's hope it really is at the statue."

"Oh," Keira said, her initial joy petering out. She sensed Jak watching her and couldn't bring herself to meet his gaze. "So you're...you're still working for that man?"

"Yeah, I am," Jak said quietly. Without shame, but without pride as well. "Look, I get that it bothers you, but I need his connections to get to the Baron."

"I thought that's what you were racing for," Keira said, a thread of acid entering her tone. "To get access to the Palace."

Jak glared icy daggers at the Heart of Mar drawing. "I'll take whatever I can get. Besides, if you're allowed to make new friends in this city, I don't see why I can't."

Keira looked up sharply, recognizing the barely-controlled rage from another argument not long ago. "Are you talking about Erol? Erol isn't my friend!"

"Right," Jak said skeptically, and he turned his back on her completely. "What is he, then? Your new racing hero? Your crush?"

"He's nothing now!" Keira insisted, making a grab for his sleeve. "I didn't know about him before, I didn't know he was one of the people who hurt you at the prison—!"

Jak started violently. He spun around and seized her upper arm. "How did you find out about that?" he snarled.

Keira gritted her teeth against the pain of his grip. His expression was so like that of a hunted animal that she had to look away, afraid suddenly of the blackness creeping into his blue eyes. "I-I only know what he told me. He was here yesterday and...Jak, he was bragging about it! He said he was part of the whole thing, and I..."

"How much did he tell you?" Jak said harshly, shaking her when she failed to answer. "Keira, what did he tell you?"

"Jak, let her go!" Daxter cried in alarm. "She's bleeding!"

Keira's eyes fluttered open, and she stared dumbly at the thin trails of blood on her arm, trickling from beneath Jak's fingers. He released her at once, and she caught a glimpse of black claws before he closed his fingers into a fist to hide them. Jak turned as if to flee, only stopping when Keira caught his wrist with both hands. "Jak, don't! I-It's okay, I'm alright. It's just a scratch."

"Just a scratch?" Jak said hoarsely. "Keira, I hurt you! Precursors, you were right. I'm dangerous now, I can't be around you—"

"Jak!" Keira said loudly, taking a deep breath to calm her racing heart. "It's just a scratch. I've had worse. Remember that time back in Sandover when you were teaching me to throw a punch and you accidentally broke my nose?"

Jak stilled. "I'd forgotten about that," he admitted.

Keira stroked his hand, hoping to soothe him. "I wasn't mad at you then because I knew it was an accident. Just like now, it was an accident. I know you'd never hurt me on purpose."

Jak swallowed hard, eyes dropping to his hand in hers, still fisted tight. Gradually, he let his fingers uncurl until she could see the black claws again, half an inch long and sharpened to a wicked point. Keira tried not to be afraid, but she couldn't hold back a slight shiver as she watched the claws shrink back and lighten into normal fingernails. Jak gave her a haunted look. "That's the scary thing, Keira. I have hurt people without meaning to. I've killed people without even trying, without even noticing. Just because something was by accident doesn't make it any less my fault. Do you really want to take a chance at being one of those people?"

He didn't wait for her to answer, pulling away and shoving the green curtain aside. "I need to get ready for the race," he muttered.

"Hey, wait up!" Daxter called and leapt down from the Rift Rider to sprint after him. Once they were gone, Keira bit her lip and examined her arm. The four puncture wounds weren't deep, but they stung with a strange icy heat. Quickly, she went to the kitchen and held her arm under the faucet, the water cleansing the traces of dark eco so she could bandage it. She checked in on her father, left the noodles and tea at his bedside and took off running for the Stadium, arriving in the stands just as the buzzer sounded the start of the race and eight zoomers shot forth from the starting line.

Keira leaned over the railing, easily spotting him as a streak of blond and orange. Jak plowed through the rest of the pack recklessly until only two racers stood between him and first. They vanished into a tunnel on the far side, and an explosion made her heart seize in fear. But Jak came hurtling out of the maw first, to the roaring approval of the crowd. After the Class Three Race, he had gained a huge following in the city. He was the people's champion, the underdog renegade who dared to challenge the elite that had lorded over these races for years.

Two sharp banks and a hard U-turn brought Jak right below her. He didn't even look up, so intent was he on the race. But as he came into the final turn, a hidden turret suddenly opened fire. Keira gasped along with the crowd when Jak swerved wildly and the racer behind him caught the brunt of the eco blasts. But the judges made no attempt to halt the race, despite the number of spectators crying foul. They were always searching for ways to up the ante, designing the courses in a way to encourage the bloodsport, but this time Keira thought they were taking things too far. Why a turret, of all things?

On the second lap, Jak was more careful, allowing someone else to take the lead. Keira could tell he was trying to locate where the shots had come from last time. But the next round didn't come from where he was expecting, and Jak almost crashed into a wall to avoid it. On the third lap, his zoomer was hit and the engine trailed a thick stream of smoke. All it would take was one more shot and the engine would probably explode. Taking Jak and Daxter with it.

Keira didn't give herself a chance to think about it before she went in search of the gunner. And she was sure that was what it was, not a turret at all. Whoever they were, they were ignoring the other racers and aiming deliberately for Jak. Someone—either the Baron or an irate gambler—had decided to stack the cards against the newest and most promising racer.

She sprinted out of the stands and used her keycard to enter one of the service corridors, which ended at a ladder that would take her to the network of catwalks built high above the racetrack. They were supposed to be used only by construction workers when the racetracks were being built, but it would be the perfect place for a mercenary to lie in wait for the racers. Once on the catwalk, Keira gripped the railing with white knuckles and made her way forward, willing herself not to look down. No one noticed her. The crowd was too busy watching the race.

Hearing the zoomers coming around on the fourth lap, Keira swallowed her fear and quickened her pace. Just above the finish line, she spotted him. The mercenary had tucked himself behind one of the support beams with his sniper rifle ready, keeping a sharp eye on the track below. But his back was to her. If she was quick, maybe she could push him over the railing...

The sight of Jak speeding out of the tunnel and headlong toward the danger spurred her on. Keira sprinted forward and shoved the mercenary hard. He staggered and nearly fell off the edge, one hand flailing out to catch the rail. Keira seized his rifle, hoping to at least get rid of it before he had a chance to use it, but the mercenary was much stronger than her and slowly began to pry it from her grip, sneering at her over the weapon.

Keira sneered right back and kicked him in the groin. She hadn't survived in this city for two years without learning a few tricks. The man wheezed and doubled over from the pain, and Keira was able to force him back against the rail. But as he began to fall, he grabbed her wrist and yanked her over with him. Keira screamed as they fell together, seeing nothing but the track rushing up toward her.

"Keira!"

She practically landed in Jak's lap, both his arms clasped around her to keep her from sliding off the zoomer. Keira clung to him hard as the zoomer banked, and Daxter yelped in fright as he wrestled the steering column. "Whaaa! Too fast, too fast! I was so not meant to be a racing ottsel! Jak, hurry up and take over!"

Keira acted quickly, swinging her leg over until she was proper straddling the seat in front of Jak. She put on her goggles and leaned low as Jak reached around her waist to take the steering column, Daxter gratefully returning to his place on Jak's shoulder. The ride smoothed out, but already the weight of two people had slowed them down. They entered the final lap in last place.

"Damn, damn," Jak growled, gunning the ignition. "We took too much damage earlier. I don't think we'll even finish at this rate!"

Keira looked back, noticing the smoky residue behind them. "We're losing fuel too!" she called over the rushing wind. Her ears popped when they entered the tunnel, and she drew a sharp breath when the zoomer absorbed a concentrated ball of blue eco. "Jak, pick up as many of those as you can!"

"The turbos won't help us now!" Jak told her. "Even if we—wait, Keira!"

"Don't let me fall!" Keira ordered as she leaned over as far as she could, steadied by Jak's hand gripping her belt. She ripped the side panel off the zoomer. It was hard to discern what was what when she was upside down, but not impossible. It was the work of seconds to yank out some circuitry and cross two specific wires that any novice mechanic would tell her to never, ever mix up.

Daddy's not going to like this when he finds out, Keira thought bleakly as she straightened in her seat, hand hovering over the small switch that would activate the turbos Jak had collected. "Get ready!"

"Get ready for what?" Daxter yelled in dismay.

"Anything!" Keira shouted and pressed the turbo. The zoomer shot forward like a bolt, but instead of slowing down again after a few seconds, they kept accelerating. The crossed wires were feeding the turbos directly into the engine rather than keeping them in reserve, which conveniently also solved their fuel problem. They practically flew out of the tunnel and almost up to the level of the spectators before their weight brought them gliding back down. On the next corner, Keira leaned into it with Jak, and they rocketed past the much slower racers at an eye-watering, adrenaline-surging clip.

"Woo hoo!" Jak howled in her ear. "Hell yeah! This is what I'm talking about!"

Keira laughed wildly, caught halfway between hysteria and exhilaration. She had always thought she would be too terrified to try racing for herself, but damned if this wasn't the most alive she had felt in years. Jak threaded between the other racers nimbly, bowing low over her back to erase air resistance and indicating which way to lean with a nudge of his arm or a shouted word. The final turn came, and they dashed between the leading two racers like a missile, taking first place by the skin of their teeth. Keira couldn't hear the crowd over the wind in her ears, but the applause thrummed in her chest, and she shouted in joy. "We did it, we finished!"

"Great!" Daxter said, hanging limp over Jak's shoulder. "What's the bad news?"

"No brakes," Jak said grimly. The zoomer wobbled dangerously. Keira tensed and shut her eyes, bracing herself for the crash, but Jak grabbed her on the next turn and threw them both off. They hit the ground rolling, and the zoomer skidded for a good thirty yards before it ran into a wall and exploded. Keira shivered at the close call, glad to escape with nothing but a few scrapes. Jak pushed himself up on his hands and knees, then shakily got to his feet, hauling Keira up as well.

Daxter peeled himself off the road with a weak groan. "Are we still alive?"

"We won," Jak said, his voice almost lost in the noise from the ecstatic crowd. He looked at Keira and beamed. "Keira, we won!"

Keira nodded giddily, unable to speak because she was smiling so hard. Jak caught her up in his arms and spun her around, laughing like they were children again and reveling in her A-Grav's first test run. But when he set her back down, they held onto each other for just a little longer than necessary. Keira wrapped her arms around his neck and drank in the look on his face, flushed with victory and still grinning foolishly. For the first time since they had been reunited, he looked happy, the dark storm pushed back by a burst of sunlight, and the sight took her breath away.

And she had never wanted to kiss him more, not even on Gol and Maia's citadel.

He must have sensed something because Jak breathed out slowly, easing her goggles down so they hung around her neck again. He held back a moment, catching her eye in a silent question. Keira tipped her head up and tugged on his collar, bringing their lips closer...

"A-hem!"

As one, Keira and Jak shot twin glares at Daxter. The ottsel held up his hands defensively. "Hey, don't give me that look! Unless you guys really do wanna have your little 'moment' with the entire city watching. Just keep it PG-13 for the kiddies, 'kay?"

...oh.

Keira flushed deeply, and Jak stiffened and released her at once. The judges had already come down to the racetrack, heads together in discussion as Keira and Jak walked toward them, and she had a moment of anxiety. Her tampering with the zoomer during the race could be considered cheating. Not that that was saying much since cheating was just as encouraged as violence, but if they disqualified Jak because of it...

But Keira relaxed almost immediately. This sport was a way for the Baron to keep the masses happy and docile. If they disqualified him after a win like that, the crowd would probably riot. Even as she thought that, the judges came forward to declare them the winners and present them a trophy and a sack full of Precursor orbs. Daxter claimed both with a wolf-like grin that dared anyone to take them away. One of the judges looked down his nose at the three of them, consulting his tablet. "So it seems your racing team has grown. Since people will most likely be asking, might we know who the young lady is?"

Jak faltered. "Oh, she's...she's my, uh..."

He glanced at her, and for the first time Keira noticed the guarded look in his eye, the way he sidled sideways as if to shield her. Afraid of naming her, she realized, of broadcasting her importance to him where the entire city would hear it. Until yesterday, Keira hadn't realized just how dangerous Jak's life as a fugitive was, or how dangerous it could be to call him her friend. More than her friend.

Well, there was an easy solution for that. "His mechanic," Keira said firmly. "I'm his mechanic."

The judge arched an eyebrow. "Is that so?"

"Yeah," Jak said in relief and squeezed her hand. "The best there is."

"Very well," the judge replied, turning away. "Enjoy your winnings. I expect we'll be seeing your team again at the Class One Race."

"Damn straight!" Daxter said avidly. "And next time, I'll be driving!"

In a nondescript bar in the Port, Damas turned away from the televised broadcast of the Class Two Race while all around him the rest of the patrons—including Sig—roared their approval of the city's golden-haired champion. Fist pounded the tabletops and feet stomped the floor, shaking dust from the ceiling which would add interesting flavors to the drinks left abandoned here and there. Damas pondered his half-empty mug in thought, ears ringing from the incessant cheers and applause. "Not bad," he murmured.

Across from him, Kleiver snorted and tried not to look too impressed. "Kid could learn a thing or two," he said grudgingly.

The Wasteland king smiled just the tiniest bit behind the hooded scarf shielding his face from prying eyes, leaning back in his seat as he let the city's euphoria wash over him.

"Not bad at all..."

Chapter Text

Perched at the very top of the Palace's northern support tower, facing a chill wind and dark clouds threatening rain and a potential drop of nearly half a mile to the city far below, Torn did the unthinkable. He gulped. "This is insane," he muttered. "Absolutely insane."

His comm buzzed, and he heard the Shadow cough meaningfully. "It is said that the distance between insanity and genius is measured only by success. If Jak could do this, then so can you!"

"Say that when you're seeing things from my perspective!" Torn snapped. The wind picked up, and the support tower swayed like the biggest stalk of grass in the world. Torn gripped the narrow railing, stomach swimming. He didn't mind heights as long as there was a nice big wall or window between him and the drop, but up here he had nothing. Sure, Jak had used this exact route not long ago to reach the Palace roof and spy directly into the Baron's throne room, but that was Jak. The brat had no sense of self-preservation. He had actually done this at night when it was raining with nothing but the city lights to guide his way.

Hell of a time for Jak not to pick up his comm, Torn thought irritably. This suicide mission to retrieve the Precursor Stone had his name written all over it. But since the damn kid couldn't be reached and the Shadow hadn't wanted to delay, Torn hadn't felt safe trusting this to anyone but himself. Resolutely not looking down, he abandoned the railing and started making his way along the enormous support cable. The platforms on which he walked had grown rusty and weak from constant exposure to the elements. More than once Torn was forced to do a bizarre kind of leapfrog to avoid the ones that simply collapsed beneath his weight.

He was a third of the way across when the automated turret was activated. Torn dove aside to avoid it and wound up rolling right off the platform, hand clinging to the edge while his feet flailed in thin air. The turret stopped shooting, and when Torn realized it couldn't sense him at this angle, he started inching sideways. His injured arm strained to hold his weight, and his fingers were numb by the time he reached the turret. Torn pulled himself up behind it with a grunt, breathing a sigh of relief. Its scanners were limited in one direction. Lucky him.

The hard part over with, Torn scaled a ladder to the Palace roof and approached the enormous skylights. "I made it," he said into his comm. "It's just like Jak said, I can see right into the throne room."

"Excellent!" the Shadow said in relief. "Is the Precursor Stone there? I imagine the Baron would want to keep it close."

"I'm looking," Torn said, pressing his hands to the glass as he scanned the room in question. He had only been inside the throne room one or two times. It was designed to impress with windows in the ceiling, walls and the floor to make the occupants feel like gods looking down on the world.

Movement below caught his attention, and he saw Erol striding up the center aisle toward the throne. As if he sensed he was being watched, Erol paused and glanced behind him warily. But strangely there was no one else around. Torn had thought only Ashelin and the Baron had access to the throne room. Erol leaned down to pick up a small satchel Torn hadn't noticed before. When he pulled the flap aside, Torn's eyes widened at the sight of an enormous green gem that glowed with its own internal light. The Precursor Stone. He watched Erol carefully. If the KG commander had been ordered to take it somewhere, Torn would have to act fast to retrieve it. But Erol made no move to leave, simply gazing down at the Stone hungrily.

"Hands off, Erol. That's not to be trifled with."

Ashelin came into sight, her face set in a stony glare that said she expected to be obeyed, now. Erol only hesitated long enough to make a point and slowly closed the satchel and set it back down. "I don't see why he's wasting his time with it," he said contemptuously. "Even if the Stone is what the myths say, there's no way to release and harness all that energy without destroying the city in the process."

"You let my father worry about that," Ashelin told him. "All you need to worry about is keeping order in the city."

"Indeed," Erol said with a dark look in her direction. "And I intend to start by rooting out all your little Underground friends. Don't think I don't know what you've been getting up to with all your forays into the city! While the Baron turns a blind eye, you've been conspiring behind his back, plotting your own little overthrow."

Ashelin smiled thinly. "That's a pretty hefty accusation, Erol. Say it again, and I'll have you thrown before a firing squad for speaking treason."

"Like father, like daughter," Erol spat. He prowled toward her. "But I wouldn't be so brash if I was in your place. You only made it to commander because of your relation to him. It's as simple as that."

"Bullshit, I earned my place!"

"Oh, really?" Erol shot back. "Just ask any one of your comrades from our academy days. There aren't many women in the KG, are there? Most drop out, unable to stomach the lifestyle. But did you ever wonder how you made it through your training free of harassment, without a single slur on your name, your blood or your sex? The Baron made it clear that anyone who touched you would answer to him. The respect you think you earned was handed to you on a silver platter!"

With every word, Torn's blood boiled and his jaw ached from clenching so hard. Anyone who had ever fought alongside Ashelin knew how hard she worked to stay in top form. She refused to be the weak link, picking up the slack where those around her faltered, and her dual loyalties only doubled the weight of responsibility on her shoulders. A weaker woman would have broken long ago, but not Ashelin. Torn looked at Ashelin, silently willing her not to listen. Ashelin was shaking with repressed rage, but she said nothing, and that was more than enough to give away her own doubts.

"You really do think you're better than the common rabble, don't you?" Erol said snidely. He turned away, fist closing around an imaginary enemy's neck. "A warrior princess destined to save her city from tyranny, is that how you see yourself? Well, you're wrong. Blood doesn't make you special. Mar bled just as crimson as the rest of us, and so does his heir. I've seen it. Prophecies, lineage, none of it matters! In the end, only the strong and ruthless survive!"

"Is that so?" Ashelin said at last, her words growing in strength and volume. "And you think you're one of the survivors? You think a couple races and minor skirmishes makes you fit for leadership? I don't think so. Erol...even if the Baron was not my father, even if I was nothing more than a street urchin with Lurkers for ancestors, I'd still be more fit to rule this city than you, you worthless scum!"

"Hell yes," Torn breathed vindictively.

"What was that, Torn?"

Torn cursed and fumbled for his comm. Once he shut it off, he turned his attention back to the throne room. He had to focus on his original mission. The Precursor Stone was just sitting there, mocking him in its unattainability. Torn started circling the window in search of a way into the throne room, keeping an ear tuned to the conversation in case they noticed him.

"—don't see where you get off bragging about your strength and ruthlessness anyway," Ashelin said scornfully. "Not only have you failed to find that escaped Dark Warrior, I heard he actually won the Class Two Race this morning. Maybe in the next race, you'll do me a favor and finish each other off. The last thing this city needs is a couple more hotheads attracting trouble."

"He certainly has attracted something," Erol said in a low, lecherous tone. "Though I supposed I can't blame you for your weakness. It's only natural for a princess to want a hero of her very own..."

"And what exactly is that supposed to mean?" Ashelin said venomously.

"Exactly what it sounds like," Erol said, heedless of either hers or Torn's death glares. "I can see right through your little strategy, dear Ashelin. He draws the people to him with that nauseating charisma, and once they're firmly in his grasp, you take them for your own. With their champion as your right hand, how could the people ever revolt against you? But tell me, will you still want him when your father is lying dead by his hands?"

In one motion, Ashelin drew her pistol, and though she simply held it at her side, the threat was there. "Get out, Erol," she snarled.

"Oh, did I strike a nerve?"

"I said get out."

"Very well. But before I go, I think I should extend my greetings to our guest."

Erol drew his own gun and shot straight up at the skylights, smashing the glass and missing Torn's ear by scant inches. He flung himself sideways to avoid it and ended up stumbling into the next glass pane, which promptly shattered beneath him. It wasn't that far of a fall, but it still hurt when Torn hit the throne steps and tumbled to the bottom at Erol's feel. And the KG commander did not look happy to see him.

"You're...not Jak," Erol said in slow confusion.

"Sorry to disappoint you," Torn grunted and kicked Erol's legs out from beneath him. They grappled for the gun, rolling back and forth with Ashelin yelling something in the background. Torn couldn't be bothered to listen. He seized Erol's hand and bashed it against the throne steps until the KG finally dropped his weapon. He kicked Erol off him and seized the gun in one hand, reaching for the Precursor Stone with the other.

Erol roared and tackled him from behind, causing them both to roll onto the curved panes of glass that made up the floor to the side of the throne. Torn froze on his hands and knees when he realized that glass was now the only thing between him and a very long drop. Not far away Erol was locked in a similar position, neither of them daring to make a sudden move. But Torn still had the gun, and he could see Erol's jaw working furiously as he aimed it right at him.

"Stay right there," Torn warned him, edging sideways until he was back on solid ground. He snatched up the satchel and tucked it under his arm.

"What do you think you're doing, Torn?" Ashelin said in a low voice.

"I'm doing what I can to keep the Baron from getting more power," Torn said with equal care, and he was astonished when his words caused Ashelin to raise her gun against him. "Ashe..."

"I can't let you take the Stone," Ashelin said, stepping toward him with her other hand held out. "Just listen to me! This isn't just about the Underground anymore. My father has a plan, a way to destroy the metalheads once and for all. Isn't that what you wanted too? In a matter of days, this war could be over!"

"Sure, and then what?" Torn shot back. "When he's got no enemies left to fight, what do you think the Baron'll do? He'll turn that power on his own people, and by then no one will be in a position to stop him. I won't let that happen to this city! This has to end. So tell me now, whose side are you going to take?"

"Kill him, Ashelin!" Erol said viciously. "Either kill him, or kill me and confirm your treachery once and for all!"

"Shut up!" Ashelin snapped. She shot Torn a livid look, saying without words exactly how stupid he was for coming here and putting her in this position, forcing her to finally make a choice that had been tearing her apart since the beginning. Torn held his ground, but inside he was starting to doubt his chances of survival. Long seconds passed, and outside the dark clouds that had rolled over the city that afternoon finally began to unload their burden, letting a gentle rain fall. Water dripping through the broken skylight was the only noise in the throne room.

Ashelin took a deep breath, looking Torn straight in the eye. "Drop the Stone, Torn. If you don't give it up within the next ten seconds, I will shoot you dead."

So it had really come to this. Torn shut his eyes, sick at heart from a betrayal he had never seen coming. He deliberately lowered his gun so it hung uselessly at his side. "Shoot me then."

"That won't be necessary, Ashelin. I've heard enough."

Ashelin paled, and Torn's stomach dropped when he looked over her shoulder and saw the Baron enter the room with at least ten KGs at his back. The KGs fanned out behind Ashelin and trained their guns on him while she faced Praxis. "Father, I—"

Praxis laid a hand on her shoulder. "As I said, I have heard enough. Whatever your transgressions before, today you put your duty to the city and your leader first. That is the mark of a true Krimzon Guard."

Listlessly, Ashelin bowed her head and nodded. Torn gritted his teeth when Praxis moved past her and faced him. "Well, it has been awhile, Torn. You've made quite a name for yourself with the Underground, or so I've been told. Second only to the Shadow, is that right?"

"The Underground has no ranks," Torn growled, eyes darting around in search of escape. He saw none. "But if you want to call me that, I won't stop you."

"I'll call you whatever I want, traitor," Praxis said harshly. "Now, you can see that we have you outnumbered. You're also alone, or else any friends you brought would have acted by now. The situation is hopeless. You can choose to die here, a nameless martyr, or you can spill all the Underground's secrets and live a little longer. The choice is yours, but the Stone will be mine either way."

"In other words, it's no choice at all," Torn muttered, feigning defeat while his mind raced. There was no point hoping for a miracle. It was over now. He was going to die at the Baron's hands, and this time he would keep the Underground's secrets to his grave. But the Precursor Stone...there had to be something he could do. If the Shadow was right, it was impossible to destroy it, but was there any way to get it out of his reach, even temporarily?

No longer held at gunpoint, Erol clambered off the glass to safer ground. He sneered at Torn, hands on his hips. "Well, what's the holdup? Still waiting for a hero to save you? Hand it over!"

"If you insist," Torn sighed, and he tossed the satchel at him. Erol only just caught it, thrown off balance, and Torn raised the gun and shot the KG commander three times in the chest. The next two shots struck the glass floor behind him, weakening it enough so that it shattered under Erol's weight when he toppled backwards. Both Erol and the Stone plummeted out of sight, leaving behind nothing but broken glass and stunned silence.

"The Stone!" Praxis roared in fury. "Hurry, go get the Stone before some idiot citizen picks it up! Go now—no wait, not all of you, imbeciles! You three, stay here and get him!"

Torn braced himself as the three KGs took him down, using far more force than necessary to disarm him and cuff his hands before him. They hauled him back to his feet, one on each side while the third pressed a gun to the back of his head. Torn cursed inwardly, hating the futility of it all. His fate was out of his hands now, and he hadn't managed to accomplish a damn thing. Even his stunt with the Stone was pointless because Praxis would only reclaim it in a matter of minutes. But at least he had killed Erol. Torn supposed that was something, though Jak was sure to be pissed when he found out there would be no showdown in the Class One Race.

"Take him to the prison," Praxis said, looking down on Torn like he was the absolute scum of the earth. "I want him locked in the lowest, darkest, foulest cell you can find, and he stays there until I decide how to deal with him."

"Yes, sir!"

"Wait."

Torn glanced over when Ashelin came to stand right in front of him. Anyone looking at her utterly cold expression would have assumed she was trying to decide how exactly she would go about disemboweling him. But Torn knew better. He had gotten a lot of practice at seeing the hidden pain in her eyes, now more pronounced than ever when she looked from his bound hands to his face.

"I...didn't want it to be this way," Ashelin said quietly. She straightened her shoulders. "But this is what becomes of traitors to the Krimzon Guard. Let your fate be an example to any would-be renegades out there who dare to defy Baron Praxis."

Torn almost smiled at her real words. Jak's going to kick your ass for this. If I don't get there first.

"Well, any last words before you're taken away?"

There were many things he could have said to that. Torn could have given words of defiance and inspiration, words that might possibly become the rallying cry of the Underground for years to come. He could have said something biting and hurtful to make Ashelin regret betraying him, he could have spat at the Baron's feet or remained in sullen silence. But just then he was having a hard time taking his eyes off Ashelin's face. And it was with a sharp pang that Torn realized this could be the last time they ever saw each other. She was really asking for something to remember him by, one last memory to treasure before she turned her back on his world for good.

And Torn realized that no words would ever be good enough.

So without any warning, in full sight of the guards and her father, Torn stepped forward, tilted her face up with both hands and kissed her straight on. Her surprised gasp made him smirk against her mouth, and before she could stop him, he swiped his tongue between parted lips. A tight, husky noise caught in Ashelin's throat, her fingers curled loosely around his wrist. It seemed to take her a moment to figure out what was happening and what she wanted to do about it, and then she punched him in the gut. Torn hissed and doubled over, only kept upright by the KGs hanging onto him.

"Bastard," Ashelin rasped, wiping her mouth. But for the first time in his living memory, she was blushing hotly and utterly flustered. It was a beautiful thing.

Torn huffed out a breathless laugh that sounded more like a wheeze. "Don't pretend...you didn't...like it..."

"Take him away!" Ashelin shouted at the dumbfounded guards. Their delayed reaction gave Torn plenty of time to absorb what he had done in a moment of suicidal nerve. And to wonder what the hell had taken him so long. All this time he had been holding back, teetering on the edge of a cliff above uncertain waters, and in the end all it had taken was a single step to find out how deep those feelings ran. For both of them.

As he was half-dragged out of the throne room, he barely caught the Baron's next words. "He's got backbone, that's for damn sure. If he weren't a traitor, I think I'd offer him your hand, Ashelin."

"Father!"

"So the east tower in the Port an hour after sundown," Tess confirmed. She leaned across the table and slid some credits into the air train pilot's pocket. "Thanks so much for giving my friends a ride. You're the best!"

The air train pilot nodded and reluctantly dragged his eyes up from her cleavage. "Uh huh...so it's not just gonna be that one Wastelander guy? How many friends are we talking here?"

Tess waved a lofty hand. "Oh, not many. He's showing a couple of newbies the ropes so they're heading out to the deep wastes for some trophy hunting."

"And when'll they want a pickup?"

"Not anytime soon," Tess said, earning a startled look from the pilot. "I'll let you know when I hear from them. Well...if I hear from them."

The pilot shook his head, baffled. "Wastelanders. I swear they're not right in the head. Going off to the middle of nowhere to hunt the kinds of monsters that could give a normal man nightmares..."

"Hey, at least it keeps you in the job," Tess said cheerfully.

"Oi, toots!" Krew hollered from the back of the bar. "Back to work!"

Tess waved to let Krew know she had heard and left the booth with another wink at the pilot, the crocadog trotting happily at her heels. The Hip Hog was busy for it being only early afternoon. Most of the patrons had come for the broadcast of the Class Two Race and hung around afterward to chat about the results, much to Krew's disgruntlement. He had lost a lot of money on that race and spent much of the day sulking and glowering at the happy patrons

But then, Tess thought with a smile, Krew should have known better than to bet against her boys. She cleared off a few empty tables, always keeping her eyes and ears open. Near the windows, she hung around to listen in on an excited group that surprisingly were not discussing the outcome of the race. Instead they were deliberating over the new batch of wanted posters the KG had tacked up.

"I'm telling you, it's him!"

"You're out of your mind, old man."

"Old, am I? Old enough to remember the city as it was before Praxis! It's Lord Damas! He's back!"

"Don't say that name! You want to get hauled off by the KGs? There're enough rumors flying around this city without you adding to them."

"It's no rumor. I've got a cousin in the Guard, and he heard the story from a couple of his buddies in the fortress. Said Damas came to get his son back."

"His son? I don't remember him having a kid...but you know, that would explain all that gossip about Mar's heir being in the city..."

"Hey, check this out!"

Someone ripped one of the wanted posters off the wall and held it up beside another. Shock and amazement rippled through the crowd and more people crowded closer. Tess peeked over someone's shoulder, realizing they had put the picture of Jak right next to the one of Damas. She tilted her head. That was odd. It was like looking at long-lost cousins. Jak's face was more slender, lacking Damas' strong jaw, but the shape of their eyes and the determined set to their mouths, that dogged glower that dared the world to take them on...

"No way, you've gotta be smoking…"

"You're telling me he's the heir of Mar? Ain't he the punk that won the race this morning?"

"Not just that, he's the fugitive that escaped the fortress a couple months back! My sister saw him hotfooting it through the slums with the Guard on his tail. Hot damn..."

"Hehe, I wouldn't want to be in the Baron's shoes right now. If it really is Damas and his son, he's in for one royal ass-kicking..."

"TESS!"

Tess tore her attention from the wanted posters and navigated her way back to the bar, thinking that Krew had had enough of the crowd and wanted her to start shooing out the ones that weren't paying. But once she reached the bar, she found a crumpled piece of paper shoved in her face along with a strong whiff of alcohol-laden breath.

"Explain this to me, Tess!"

Tess blinked at the wanted poster, taken aback to see a sepia image of Sig staring back at her along with a substantial reward for information...or body parts. The KG obviously weren't picky. Recovering from the surprise and catching Krew's apoplectic look, she smiled again. "Oh, is that Sig? They really caught his handsome side, didn't they?"

"Handsome is the last thing I would call it!" Krew roared. He tapped the list of charges beneath the picture. "Resisting arrest? Possession of an illegal weapon? Aiding the Underground? I demand an explanation! What sort of business has he gotten into that has the KG out for his head?"

"Oh, well...I'm sure it wasn't his fault," Tess said in placating tones. She readjusted the stack of dishes in her arms before they began to ache. "Besides, why does it matter? Jak has a new wanted poster every week and it doesn't bother you..."

"Yes, yes, but that's different," Krew said with a wave of his hand. "I knew Jak would be a problem child from the beginning. When I want things blown up and a lot of noise made, he's the perfect man. But Sig...oh, my dear Sig...he was the subtle one, the absolute perfect spy. The man could ingratiate himself anywhere, earn the trust of anyone with nary a doubt...and more importantly, he knew the value of secrecy and discretion! Do you have any idea how rare that is in a city full of bumbling idiots?"

"Aww Krew, you're going to hurt my feelings," Tess said, pouting, but there was hardly a need to put on a show. Krew was too busy moaning and hugging the wanted poster in a way that would have made Sig distinctly uncomfortable.

"Where, oh where did I go wrong? My number one man, not a blemish on his record! Well, nothing a little heavy bribery couldn't cure...but now he's gone and done this to me! To me! Where is he, Tess? The man hasn't been answering his comm no matter how many times I call!"

I wouldn't answer either, Tess thought with inward disgust. But on the outside she plastered on a smile and pretended her pretty little head was empty of anything but pretty innocent thoughts. "Where else? He's probably out celebrating with Daxter and Jak! You know those two won the Class Two Race this morning? They're the most amazing boys in the world!"

"Jak," Krew spat, dark anger churning in his eyes. "That little dissident...he's to blame for this, I know it! He and his pet have been a horrible influence on Sig from the moment they walked in that door. I'll be wanting a word with him."

"Sure, the next time I see them..."

"Now!" Krew bellowed. "I want him now, both him and the rat! And Sig as well! Much as I hate to break up their brotherly bonding, I need them for a job tonight. I can't trust it to anyone else, not when it's this client..."

"Which client?" Tess asked, curious. But Krew shot her a look filled with warning, and she quickly backpedaled. "Ah...never mind, that's probably a need-to-know thing, huh? Listen, why don't I give Jak's comm a call? I'll bet I can talk Daxter into dropping by with him, and maybe with Sig too. Daxxie never, ever says no to me."

"Hrrmph," Krew grumbled as he fanned his sweating face. But he wasn't paying attention to her, instead squinting at the crowd around the wanted posters. "What's got them so worked up, eh? That race was over hours ago..."

Tess glanced toward the crowd, who were still debating over the resemblance between Jak and Damas. Her gut clenched with sudden foreboding, which she tried to disguise with a shrug. "Not sure. I guess there was a break out at the prison, some KG turned rogue...something like that. The average day in Haven, huh?"

Krew harrumphed again, but that suspicious glint had yet to leave his eye as he floated closer to the crowd. Tess took the chance while he was distracted to slip through the door into the kitchen. She dumped the dishes she carried into the grungy sink, but crouched the feed some scraps to the crocadog. The croca wolfed it down and crooned when she scratched his head fondly. Tess really had to wonder why everyone was so leery of it. All the poor thing needed was a little love and he was gentle as a bunny.

"We're in trouble, aren't we?" Tess murmured, her smile fading. Less than a day had passed and already Damas was being recognized for who and what he was. And despite the excitement of those people in the bar, not everyone retained their loyalty to the house of Mar. Krew was just one of many who would not hesitate to turn Damas over to the Baron, along with anyone else who had been seen in his company.

Which meant Sig and Jak and Torn and the Shadow. And with those last three being key Underground members, it wasn't much of a leap for the entire city, the Baron included, to assume the Underground and Damas were working together. Tess bit her lip, worried for the first time in years. They had lost a lot of core members when the Shadow's face was made public, mostly out of fear that the whole organization was compromised. And now they might be in danger of losing the fragile support network they had spent years cultivating, the suppliers and double agents and hired freelancers that kept them afloat. No one, not even Krew, would want to have any association with a rebel group that in turn associated with Damas.

No, it's going to be alright, Tess told herself as she stood and patted her back pocket which held the air train tickets. Once Damas and Sig and Kleiver were out of the city, they would be beyond the Baron's reach. The uproar would eventually die down and the Shadow and Torn would pull things together again. She just had to stay positive and keep doing her part.

Speaking of...Tess glanced at the clock with a grimace. She had promised to meet Sig with the tickets half an hour ago. If she didn't turn up soon, he would come looking for her like the big worrywart he was and never mind that showing his face in the Hip Hog now was like walking into a metalhead nest with a big sign that said Eat Me. She had better get going and hope that she made it back before Krew noticed her missing.

"Come on, boy," Tess said and patted her thigh. The crocadog chowed down one last bite of food before following her from the kitchen down the back hallway, passing dusty rooms that contained desks and superficial paperwork, a ruse to keep the KGs from finding the hidden compartments stocked with smuggled goods. She had nearly reached the back door, casting a cursory peek down one last hallway, but what she saw made her halt in her tracks.

The door of Krew's private office, a plain door with a keypad that was always locked. But now...that door was open.

"Oh, tempting," Tess chirped in a sing-song voice. She had been in there before, but rarely. The code on the keypad was changed routinely, and she couldn't always find the opportunity to learn the new one and use it at a time when Krew wouldn't catch her. Which meant she couldn't waste any opportunity to get inside that room.

With a quick glance around to make sure it was just her and the crocadog, Tess darted down the hallway and slipped into the office. The place looked more like it belonged to a racing fanatic than a crime lord, with trophies and Kras racing posters decorating every spare corner and wall. There was no imposing desk and chair, only a very plush heap of cushions surrounded by dirty plates and takeout boxes. Tess wanted to gag at the reek of rotten food as she rifled through some paperwork piled haphazardly near the plates. And for a moment her heart sank in disappointment. Most of it had to do with the managing of the bar itself, very boring and menial and useless to the Underground.

Frowning, Tess turned her attention to a stack of large rolled up papers that she had never seen before. They looked like more posters at first glance, but they weren't made of the same glossy material and curiosity won her over. It was new, therefore it could be significant. She picked up one of the paper tubes and slid the rubber bands off the ends, letting it unroll.

A chill raced through her. Oh, this was most definitely significant. Tess was no stranger to weapons so it only took seconds to realize this was a blueprint for the largest and most powerful bomb she had ever seen. No one had ever made anything like it, and if she was reading the data correctly, no one ever would again because this thing would wipe out everything within a hundred square miles.

But the worst was yet to come. At the very top of the bomb, the blueprints indicated that a series of clamps were designed to hold something large and roundish and filled with a thousand times the energy as the bomb itself. Something the bomb was built for the sole purpose of breaking open.

Something like the Precursor Stone.

A noise in the hallway snapped Tess back to reality. Her hands were shaking as she rolled the blueprints back up and returned them to their place. She didn't need them. The most important thing was to get the hell out of here and get this information to the Underground. The Shadow would know what to do. Jak would be able to stop it. Daxter would look at her with that big, goofy grin and tell her everything would be alright. And then it really would be alright because he never lied to her, never broke his promise to come back from the battlefield in one piece.

It would be alright, everything would be alright...

Tess left the office, turning to make sure the automated door shut and locked behind her. But before she could take another step, a huge weight slammed into her and knocked her against the wall. She cried out when cold, sharp steel was thrust into her left side and twisted brutally. The crocadog barked frantically as Tess blinked at the bloody butcher's knife sticking out of her gut, then at the pudgy hand clutching the handle.

"Sorry, dear," Krew whispered to her tenderly, his other hand coming up to stroke her cheek. "But this is what you get for nosing around in my business, you filthy Underground whore!"

He jerked the knife out, and Tess screamed when blood spurted from the wound and soaked her shorts. She clutched at the wall and tried to stagger away, but Krew gripped her hair to hold her back. His fat fingers fished the air train tickets from her pocket, and he held them up tauntingly. "And who might these be for? The old king and his lackeys making a run for it, hm?"

"N-No," Tess gasped, weakly grabbing for the tickets just out of reach, unable to focus on anything but the pain and the paralyzing reality that her cover was blown. Or it had never existed in the first place. How long had Krew known she was with the Underground? How had he...how had...?

"How long has the Underground been in league with Damas?" Krew demanded, visibly gloating but still hungry for information. "Or...could he be the reason it exists in the first place? That would go a long way toward explaining certain rumors. Heir to the city indeed! Ha! Is it true, what the rabble are saying about Jak? Come now, dear, it isn't nice to keep secrets from your employer. You can be honest with me. After all it is your very last chance..."

His words became a shout of pain when the crocadog leapt up to sink its teeth in his spindly leg. Tess dropped to her hands and knees, seeing the air train tickets fall beside her, and she snatched them up while Krew was still cursing and trying to shake the crocadog off. Instinct took over and made her limp around the corner to the back door, hands clasped to her belly and slipping in her own blood. The keycard was still on the shelf by the portal, right where Jak had left it yesterday, and she sobbed in relief as she clumsily swiped it through the scanner. The portal opened just as Krew floated into sight, watching her stumble outside and collapse in an icy puddle in the alley. She looked back in fear, but Krew made no attempt to follow and instead favored her with a nasty smile.

"Don't worry, little rat, I'll let you crawl away this time. And if you reach your rebel friends, you can tell them...well, never mind. I think your corpse will tell them enough..."

The portal slammed shut between them. Tess remained where she was, sprawled out and shivering as the rain soaked her and did nothing to numb the agony in her side. No pain could ever be like this. Krew must have hit something vital because she was bleeding profusely and every breath made her vision swim in and out of focus.

A whine above her head, a rough tongue swiping her face. The crocadog had made it outside with her. And somehow that thought, the knowledge that she was not alone, broke through the fog of pain. Tess didn't know how she managed it, but she was on her feet again, one hands pressed firmly over the gaping wound while the other held the wall for support, leaving bloody handprints behind. She thought of Daxter, thought of Torn and Jak and everyone else who would suffer if she didn't tell them what she knew. That was what heroes did, they pushed through the pain and despair because someone needed them. Because if they died, then someone else would die too.

Come on, Tess. Keep going. They need you. Just keep...keep fighting...

She walked and walked, fell a couple of times and got back up again, her body becoming colder and colder. Rats started to follow her trail, waiting for her to collapse and become their next meal. But Tess tottered on. She thought she could see people and the choppy gray waters of the Port up ahead, but it still seemed so far away. Tess stopped to catch her breath and quite suddenly found herself on the ground again, curled up in a tight ball and crying hopelessly. She didn't have the strength to keep going. She wasn't like the rest of the Underground, she wasn't a fighter or a strategist. She wasn't anything, really.

But then, neither was Daxter. Maybe that was why she cared about him so much, why she always waited for him to come back. Because he was like her. Not the strongest, not the smartest or the most useful, but still determined to do the best he could.

Daxter...please help me...

The crocadog growled savagely when someone came to the mouth of the alley. Tess squeezed her eyes shut, envisioning Krew or some other thug standing over her and preparing to deal the finishing blow. But instead she heard a shout of fear and heavy footsteps sprinting closer.

"Tess! The hell...who did this to you? What son of a bitch did this? Tess, talk to me! Come on, girl, don't you die on me!"

She was turned over, the rain pattering her face as a familiar green eye swam into focus. "S-Sig?" Tess whispered. "K-Krew was...the bomb...h-have to tell them..."

"Krew did this?" Sig said, expression contorting with rage when Tess nodded. But she couldn't find the strength for any further words, and dimly she sensed Sig pulling her into his arms and lifting her up. "Damn it, damn it...don't talk, just keep breathing. I'll get you help, don't worry, I'll—damn dog, quit tryin' to bite me! Don't make me throw you in the Port!"

Tess lost track of what he was saying. She has having a hard time feeling anything anymore, and that was somehow even worse than the pain had been. She shuddered, missing the warmth of soft orange fur and a brash voice telling her everything would be alright.

"Dax...ter..."

Chapter Text

"You're lost."

"I'm not."

"You are so lost."

"Daxter, I'm not lost," Jak growled. To prove it, he moved ahead determinedly, sloshing through the filthy sewer water. It had to be raining up there. The water level was much higher than usual and clouded with debris. "Down the elevator, past the valve room, and after that it was two right turns and a left to get to the statue."

"Two left turns and a right," Daxter insisted. He slumped on Jak's shoulder with an irritated sigh. "Or maybe we're both wrong and we're about to walk right into a big bunch of hungry metalheads. Wouldn't that just be the perfect capper after spending four hours wandering through the sewer without any pants..."

"Okay, I get it, you miss pants!" Jak snapped. "So quit whining, find a tailor and get them to custom fit a pair."

"If only it was that simple!" Daxter lamented, and Jak rolled his eyes. There was no help for it when Daxter was determined to be miserable. He turned his attention ahead, keeping an eye out for any glowing eyes and gems in the gloom. Ever since they had drained this part of the sewers, more and more metalheads had been taking up residence. Only the security portals had prevented them from moving into the city as well, but that could only last so long. Every time Jak came down here, he made a point of killing as many of the monsters as possible so it stayed that way. It would be far too easy for one to lurk in the gutters and wait for some hapless street kid to wander by...

Jak shook off those uneasy thoughts, but he couldn't quite banish a certain boy's face from his mind. "Hey, Dax," he said quietly. "Do you think he'll be okay? The kid, I mean."

"Yeah, 'course he will," Daxter said like it was obvious. He leaned down so he could peer at Jak's troubled face. "Oh, I get it, you're wonderin' about that Damas guy, aren't you? I know he ain't exactly the world's biggest teddy bear, but you should've seen him back in the forest. One look at that kid, and you could tell Old Stony's heart was meltin'. Him and Sig both, they're just a couple softies under all the rugged manliness."

Jak nodded mutely. It had been difficult to envision what the kid's life would be like with Damas as his father, but Daxter's reassurance as well as what Jak had seen in the Wasteland king went a long way toward putting his doubts to rest. The kid would be fine. He wouldn't be coddled, but he would be loved and protected. He would grow up strong like his father, a warrior.

Still, Jak hoped he would see the boy again. Someday.

"Speaking of looove," Daxter said slyly, drawing the word out forebodingly. "It seemed like you and Keira were taking quite a bit of alone time after the race. Even I know patching up scrapes and putting ice on bruises doesn't take that long."

Jak scowled. Briefly, he wondered if he could get away with shrugging Daxter off his shoulder and into the sewer water, but decided against it. The last thing he needed was a vexed ottsel on his shoulder in prime position for hair pulling and wet willies. "We were just talking. She was pretty shaken up after that mercenary almost killed her."

"Uh huh, right, sure Jak..."

"We only talked, that's all."

"Seriously?" Daxter said in exasperation. "She was scared, you were there, and all you did was talk? You didn't even offer the poor girl a cuddle? Not even a little smooch?"

"A smooch? Really Dax, a smooch?"

Daxter huffed crossly, rolling his eyes. "Oh sorry, would you prefer if I used the phrase 'cop a feel' instead? Just tryin' to keep it semi-decent here! But come on, you've been wanting this since you were kids. Even I saw the signs! I guess I figured since she's comin' around to Dark and Gruesome, you'd be all over each other. And you can't tell me you weren't thinking something dirty back on the zoomer when she was leaning over like that, offering the view of the century in those tight little pants..."

Jak stopped in his tracks. "You looked?" he said in a lethal tone.

Daxter choked on air at the look in his eyes and backtracked hastily. "O-Of course I didn't look! Sheesh, what kinda animal do you take me for? I've got a woman, remember? And what a woman she is! Have I told you about her eyes? And her lips? And the way certain parts of her jiggle when she laughs...?"

Satisfied, Jak tuned him out. As long as Daxter was ranting about Tess, he was safe from any more awkward topics. Like Keira and that almost-kiss after the race. That moment kept replaying in his mind, over and over. For just an instant Jak had felt as if he was back on the citadel again, so emboldened by his victory over the dark sages that there had been nothing he couldn't do, nothing he couldn't have. And seeing Keira there, looking at him like that, it was like everything was finally right with the world, all the pieces falling into place.

That feeling...Jak wanted it all the time. Every day. He wanted to look at Keira and know beyond a doubt that as long as he had her, he had already won. As long as she was in his arms, he would never need to win again. But that wasn't going to happen, not until something else happened first. He couldn't keep what happened in the fortress from her forever, and Keira would never stop asking about it. The question would always be there in her eyes. What made you this way? What changed you? What are you so afraid of? Why won't you tell me?

The funny thing was, it wasn't a question of whether she could handle it. Keira was strong, even before Haven. Jak knew he could tell her everything, all the gruesome details of his torture and transformation, and though she wouldn't like it, she would listen and bear it and believe every word. What Jak feared was how she would look at him after she knew. After she understood that nothing could undo his pain, not even her, and that mute Jak was never coming back.

Could she, like him, learn to live without hope?

Out of nowhere, a distant explosion wracked the sewers. Jak instinctively flung himself behind the nearest cover as the ground heaved and dirt and rocks rained from the ceiling. An alligator hissed in alarm and dove back into the water. Jak breathed deeply once the rumbling faded and cautiously stepped into the open, blaster ready in his hands.

"W-What the heck was that?" Daxter squeaked, his racing pulse clearly audible.

"There's someone else down here," Jak said darkly. "I'd rather not stick around to find out who. Let's hurry."

Daxter nodded and hung on tight while Jak broke into a loping run, splashing through the ankle-deep reservoir. At last his surroundings began to look familiar. He made a sharp turn into another short tunnel that soon widened into a larger chamber. The grimy statue was unmoved from where they had found it when they came in search of the ruby key. Jak circled the rocky base, examining it from all sides for any sign of the Heart of Mar. Daxter abandoned his shoulder to climb all over it, but to no avail.

"Do you think it's inside the statue?" Jak wondered aloud, rapping the base with his knuckle.

"I hope not because I ain't going inside this thing," Daxter said vehemently. "It's probably full of rats and gunk and...hey, check this out!"

Jak circled the base to where Daxter was perched. Beside Mar's oversized foot were six tiny gemstones embedded into the rock. Citrine, ruby, emerald and sapphire arranged in a square around two central gems, a sparkling diamond and a deep violet amethyst.

"What do you think that's about?" Daxter inquired. He touched the citrine and made a fascinated noise when the amber crystal glowed briefly. "Ooh, shiny…"

"Must be a puzzle like the ones in the mountain temple," Jak said as he brushed the sapphire. His finger tingled at the faint touch of blue eco. "I bet these colors represent the six different kinds of eco, and we need to light these up in a specific sequence. The question is, what sequence?"

"Colors of the rainbow?" Daxter guessed. At Jak's shrug, he started touching the crystals. "Red, yellow, green, blue..."

But that availed nothing. They tried lighting up only the center crystals first, then only the outer ones, and Jak grew increasingly frustrated when nothing seemed to work. He crossed his arms, wishing he could sling a few curses at Damas' long-dead ancestor. "We're going about this wrong. Supposedly, Mar was the strongest eco channeler in his era so it's got to be something pertaining to that."

"What about the order he learned to channel the colors in?" Daxter suggested. "I remember when you were first learning, the mossy stump wouldn't let you touch anything but green at first. You almost gave him heart failure when he caught ya playing in a blue vent that one time."

"Are you saying Mar could channel dark eco?" Jak said caustically, indicating the amethyst. "I kind of doubt someone like him would sink to that level..."

"Green, blue, red, yellow, light and...yes, it worked!"

"It what?" Jak said in disbelief. True to Daxter's word, all the crystals were now glowing steadily. An invisible seam appeared in the rock and widened enough to admit his hand. Jak reached in the small niche and withdrew the life-sized version of the sketch in Keira's garage. The Heart of Mar.

Daxter beamed at his incredulous look. "Where would ya be without me, eh buddy?"

"Dead or insane, most likely," Jak admitted with a rueful chuckle. He tucked the Heart safely into his pocket. "Okay, let's get out of here."

"Hold it right there!"

Jak whirled around and held his blaster at the ready when three men entered the chamber, all of them armed with weapons and explosives. The two larger ones were unshaven and very brawny, the very picture of thugs, while the third was more lanky with his lower face covered by a red scarf. Shrewd eyes took in the entire situation over the edge of the cloth, and Jak decided on the masked guy as the most likely leader and addressed him. "We were just leaving. If it's the statue you want, it's all yours—"

"Not so fast, pretty boy," the leader drawled. "You an' the rat ain't goin' nowhere 'til we search ya and make sure ya don't got what we came here for."

"And if I say the hell with you and refuse?" Jak retorted, hearing Daxter gulp behind him.

One of the others laughed harshly. "You really want to start something, kid? There's three of us, and one of you!"

"So?"

The cold and calculated way he said it wiped the smile off the thug's face. He gave the leader an anxious look, who was studying Jak with renewed interest. "Hey blondie, ain't you one o' Krew's guys? Jakky or something like that?"

"It's Jak," Jak said shortly. "And I'm guessing Krew sent you three down here. Well, when you see him again, you can tell him I'm taking a vacation. I've got stuff to do."

"Sure, we'll do that," the leader said, his cordial tone belied by the way his hand hovered over his holstered pistol. "Just as soon as you hand over the Heart of Mar gem that Krew sent us for."

Jak cast him a feral smile. "I repeat. The hell with you."

The leader chuckled humorlessly, shaking his head. "Gonna make this hard, huh? Look Jakky-boy, Krew'll have our hides if we don't come back with that gem, and he'll have yours when we tell 'im who took it. So either you give it to us or I save us all the trouble, light up Mog's backpack and bury us all in smokin' ruin."

"Hey! Why me, Jinx?"

"It'd be a mercy kill, buddy," Jinx said with a shrug. "You know Krew could do a lot worse to us..."

Jak was on the verge of just shooting them all and having done with it when the comm in his backpack buzzed. "Jak, it's Sig. You there?"

Sighing, Jak kept his blaster trained on the three thugs and dug the comm out of his backpack with one hand. "What, Sig? I'm in the middle of something so this had better be an emergency—"

"Well, you've got your wish because it is!" Sig retorted. "Listen, I need your help. Tess is hurt real bad, I don't think she's got long, and I need you to—"

"WHAT?" Daxter screeched. He made a flying leap to Jak's shoulder and seized his wrist so he could shout directly into the comm. "What the hell do you mean Tess got hurt? How? By who? WHY?"

"Somethin' happened to Tess?" Jinx spoke up, all hostility forgotten in favor of concern.

"Hey, what're you doing?" Mog demanded. "It's not our problem some chick got hurt..."

"Shut up, I know Tess!" Jinx snapped. He yanked his scarf down, listening to the conversation with a dark look.

"Look, I don't know how it happened!" Sig said, sounding more frantic than Jak had ever heard him. "All I know is somebody stabbed her and left her bleeding right on Krew's doorstep. She's still alive, but she keeps mumbling about Krew and a bomb, and I'm startin' to think she found something out she wasn't supposed to. Listen, cherry...you've gotta tell me where I can find the Underground. Tell me how to get to the Shadow."

"Why can't you just take her to a medic?" Jak asked.

"JAK!" Daxter said in outrage. "Didn't you hear what he said? Tess is hurt! Tell him where the damn Shadow is!"

"The only medics I know in this city work for Krew," Sig said in frustration. "And anyone else would ask questions I can't answer. Look, I know what I'm asking of you, Jak. I know the risk I'm asking you to take, and I wouldn't be except I got no choice. Tess needs help, and I've gotta get her out of Krew's reach before he finds out she's alive. Only the Underground can protect her now."

Jak hesitated a moment longer. There was a reason only Torn, Kor and the Shadow were permitted to divulge the location of the Underground's main headquarters. The less people who knew where to find the Shadow, the easier it was to hide from Praxis. Even Jak hadn't been trusted with that knowledge until after a full two months of service, and even that was unheard of. Still, Sig was one of those people who knew the importance of secrets. He would never be asking unless there was a dire need. And if Tess really needed help that badly...

"Okay, I'll tell you," Jak replied. He glowered at Krew's men, who had been listening in unabashedly, and hefted his blaster in warning. "Cover your ears and hum."

Jinx was the only one who didn't laugh nervously, assuming he was joking. When it became apparent that he wasn't, all three reluctantly complied. When tuneless humming filled the chamber, Jak brought the comm close to his mouth in case one of them could read lips. "Head northwest toward the water slums. There's a dead end alley by the city wall, and you'll see a door with a green skull spray painted on it. They'll let you in when they see you have Tess."

"Water slums, dead end alley, green skull," Sig recited. "Got it. I owe you one."

"Just make sure Tess is okay!" Daxter shouted at him. "You better take care of her, you hear me? You hear me, Sig?"

"He's already gone, Dax."

Daxter let him put the comm away, breathing harshly and staring off at nothing. Then he flung himself to the ground with a wordless howl and started throwing rocks violently in all directions. "That bastard!" he yowled. "That son of a bitch, that disgusting lump of—I'll kill him, I'll KILL him!"

Wordlessly, Jak crouched over his rampaging friend. He had never seen Daxter in a rage like this. Melodramatic rage, yes. But not this uncontrolled, murderous fury that consumed a person's mind and body, driving them to one destructive goal. The kind of rage that had fueled him ever since he escaped the prison.

"I shoulda been there!" Daxter choked, holding his head in both hands. "I should've...she's not supposed to get hurt, Jak! She's supposed to be safe, and I'm supposed to keep her that way, and...and damn it, even if I couldn't do nothing else, I could've at least taken the knife for her!"

Jak laid a hand across Daxter's shoulders, ever amazed at the burdens that little frame could bear. Daxter raised his head and turned tortured eyes on him. "We've gotta get him, Jak," he snarled. "He's not gonna get away with this, we've gotta make him pay!"

"We will," Jak promised, his own wrath blazing to life. Tess had been an innocent, or as close to innocent as one could get in this city. Always helping, never hurting, and whether Daxter knew it or not, she had found a place in the ottsel's heart. What Krew had done was unforgivable.

Jinx made disgusted noise. "Damn. I always knew Krew was low, but he crossed a helluva line this time. Tess didn't deserve this."

"So what do we do?" Mog asked in confusion. "Should we still bring him the Heart?"

Jak looked up sharply, but Jinx was slowly shaking his head. "Personally, I'm startin' to get a little leery on what exactly he wants it for. That bomb Sig mentioned. Now that I think about it..."

"Do you know something about it?" Jak asked hopefully.

"Like Krew would tell me anything?" Jinx snorted. "I'm just a lowly explosives expert. No, but about a week or two ago, I noticed Krew carrying around one of those top-level security passes with black clearance, the highest tier. That'd get a guy into the Baron's War Factory up on the mountain."

"The War Factory," Jak muttered. "I don't like the sound of that. If Krew's doing a job for the Baron, it can't be anything good for the city. But what would Praxis need one of Krew's bombs for?"

"I dunno," Jinx said decisively, squaring his shoulders. "But if he's willing to kill Tess over it, then it just became my mission to find out. Mog, Grim! Let's blow this burg!"

"Like...literally?"

"No, you moron! Metaphorically. As in, we're outta here."

"What about the Heart?"

Jinx waved a hand dismissively. "What about it? Some bozo got here before us, and there weren't nothing we could do about it. We didn't see nothing."

The other two shared a quizzical look as their leader sauntered away without a backward glance. Jak's fierce glare convinced them it would be in their best interest to do the same. Once Krew's men were gone, he glanced down at Daxter and jerked his chin at his shoulder. Daxter hopped up to his usual place, eyes burning with resolve, and together they set off into the dark tunnels, leaving the statue of Mar behind.

Keira's Rift Rider would have to wait. It was time to pay the War Factory a visit.

It took hours for the Shadow to pull Tess back from the brink of death. That time was not spend productively. Damas hated doing nothing, and he especially hated just sitting there and knowing there was nothing he could do for the girl. He could only watch Sig pace and pace around the Underground headquarters, patting the crocadog's head absently and every so often exchanging a morose look with Kleiver. They were joined eventually by the elderly sage named Samos and his daughter Keira, and the both of them seemed just as stricken when they were told what had occurred.

At last, the door to the back room opened. Damas was on his feet in an instant, and Sig froze right where he was as the Shadow entered and sank into the nearest chair beside a broken table that no one had bothered to clear away. "She'll live," he said wearily. "She won't be up and about anytime soon, but she'll live. In the meantime, someone will have to take care of her as I haven't the time..."

"I will," Keira spoke up at once. She went into the back room to sit by Tess' bedside, pulling the door nearly shut behind her.

The Shadow nodded, apparently satisfied with that arrangement. "Good, good then. I managed to wake her long enough to pass on her message. The situation is even graver than we feared. The Baron has commissioned Krew to construct a bomb, with which he plans to break open the Precursor Stone."

Sig and Kleiver merely looked bewildered, but Damas paled and swayed where he stood. "He plans to what? Does he truly intend to kill us all if he cannot win this war?"

"To kill the metalheads, actually," the Shadow said bleakly, scrubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. "But he does not comprehend the power he may unleash. There is hope, however. I've contacted Jak, and he's already on his way to the War Factory to deal with Krew's bomb. All that remains is for us to retrieve the Stone somehow. If only Torn hadn't been captured..."

"How did the Baron come by the Stone in the first place?" Damas interrupted. "No one outside my family knows the location of Mar's Tomb."

The Shadow shifted uneasily. "Ah, as to that...the Underground actually did manage to locate it. We had hoped with both the Stone's power and your son's heritage backing us up, we could depose the Baron peacefully."

"I see," Damas said, barely resisting a sudden and savage urge to strangle the Underground leader. "And I suppose you could only accomplish this by sending my son through the Tomb to retrieve the Stone? That Tomb is a place of trial! He would not have survived a single step inside!"

"That was not my intention at all!" the Shadow protested. "We only needed him to open the way for us! But the Baron discovered what we were up to before we could even make a try for it. The boy would have been in no danger—"

"You had no right!" Damas snarled, cutting the air with his hand. "None at all to bring him there before his time! As far as I'm concerned, there's nothing you can say to justify—!"

"Knock it off, both of you!" Sig snapped. "Arguing about what's past ain't gonna get us anywhere!"

Still glaring at the sage, Damas subsided out of respect for the clear torment Sig was going through. Sig had been surprisingly vehement in his desire to save Tess, leaving Damas puzzled as to why that was. His first assumption had been that Tess was his lover, but the way Sig looked at her was too platonic for that. More like the way he used to look at Mar with the fierce love of family, an older brother looking out for his much younger sibling.

But that was something in and of itself. Sig had sworn when he left on his search that he would not befriend anyone in the city. He would make no attachments, form no close bonds so that if and when he found Mar, he could immediately return to the Wasteland with no regrets. But that was clearly not the case. Even now Sig was staring at the glowing coals in the little stove in the corner, lost in deep thought.

At last, he sighed. "Listen, Damas…"

"Very well."

Sig arched an eyebrow. "I ain't even said it yet."

"You don't need to," Damas said somberly. "You were about to ask if you could stay here, weren't you?"

"Not forever," Sig clarified, looking him dead in the eye. "But after what Krew pulled, I owe it to Tess and to Jak to see this thing through with them. I can't just leave 'em dangling out here."

"You're really gonna put your life on the line for this crapheap city?" Kleiver said, clearly not taking to the idea.

Sig shook his head slowly. "Not for the city. For the friends that live in it. Let's face it, they need all the help they can get."

Damas chuckled. It was hard to argue with that. But he sobered again quickly. "Sig, if you want us to stay as well…"

Kleiver stamped his Wastelander rifle on the floor. "Oi, I didn't agree to that!"

"No, I won't ask that of you when you've got Mar to think of," Sig said firmly. He took two small keycards out of his pocket and handed it to Damas. "Here, the tickets to get on the air train. Tess had them with her. It shouldn't be leaving for another hour or two. If you hurry, you can catch it and be back in the Wasteland by the time the green sun rises."

Damas pocketed the keycard and grasped his shoulder. "Just don't get killed in their war!" he ordered. Turning to the Shadow, he nodded once reluctantly. "I may not have said it before, and I still have my reservations, but I thank you for looking after my son."

"Not at all," the Shadow and Samos said at the same time. Damas gave them a perplexed look, but he dismissed it and swept out the door with Kleiver right behind him. The rain had finally let up, the stormy clouds rolling back to the northeast and revealing a brilliant orange sun listing toward the horizon.

Damas pulled his scarf across his face before he and Kleiver forsook the shelter of the alley and made their way through the slums. He hardly recognized this part of the city. In his time, the slums had been a bustling neighborhood, but now half of it had been lost to the metalheads and what was left was hardly worth hanging on to. Damas had a hard time tearing his eyes away from the derelict buildings, the blank-eyed adults slumped in doorways, the children in rags begging food and coin from passersby. His and Kleiver's Wastelander gear prevented them from being harassed, but even they didn't elicit the same fearful distrust as the men and women in red.

Damas turned his eyes upward to the great concrete tower looming over them. In his day, the Palace had been much smaller and more reminiscent of an ancient Precursor temple. The Baron must have demolished it to make room for that monstrosity, to remind everyone of just who was lord over them now. Damas scowled. It was all so wrong. A leader and his people should work together to ensure their future. Praxis didn't even allow the citizens to arm themselves in the event of a metalhead attack on the city because he feared they would revolt.

Not for the first time, Damas wondered if all of this could have been prevented if only he had chosen differently. Back in Mar's Tomb if he had chosen to touch the Precursor Stone and see his future...would he have seen a city besieged and on the verge of falling? Would he have seen gaunt-faced children and guards clad in red and Praxis on the throne?

Thinking of Jak, Damas grew even more saddened. Perhaps he would have seen the dark eco experiments with his own eyes rather than whatever ambiguous, far-flung rumors Sig managed to glean through his spying. When he had spoken with Jak in the Power Station, the young man's words and the hidden pain they carried had struck a powerful chord in Damas, evoking a surge of outrage at the horrors Praxis had dared to commit in his city. It had made him want to take up his gun and storm that Palace to tear Praxis from his throne.

Strange. It had been a long, long time since Damas felt anything but bitter regret toward the people of this city, but now he could no longer disregard their suffering as something they had brought on themselves. They had a face and a voice now. Jak's face and voice. Perhaps that was why the citizens were so eager to hold him aloft as their champion when they saw him race, openly defying Praxis by refusing to play by the rules in a rigged game.

Still, even the greatest of champions could not hope to win a war on his own...

"It ain't your city," Kleiver said brusquely.

"What are you talking about?" Damas said a little more harshly than he intended.

Kleiver cast him a sideways look. "It means you've got that fire in your eye that says yer a beat away from marching up to Praxis and strangling 'im. You've got a city to worry about. These people picked their fate long ago."

"They didn't choose this," Damas said through gritted teeth. "Praxis broke his word, and they suffered for it. They'll go on suffering for as long as he reigns. This is not how it should be."

Kleiver grunted, oddly subdued. "Y'know, when I was still in with the marauders, a leader had to be ruthless. It was the only way to keep from gettin' a knife in the back. But he also had to know how and when to reward loyalty cause that keeps those knives from ever gettin' drawn in the first place. One day, lordship. One day all these people will realize he's only one man, and I'm bettin' a thousand knives will be drawn that day."

"Gruesome thought, yet oddly satisfying," Damas remarked, smirking at Kleiver's vengeful chortle. He glanced at his companion curiously. "You know, you never did tell me why you made a try for Spargus citizenship. You seem to have worked your way pretty far up in the marauder ranks before you left them."

"Rank don't mean much if you can't enjoy it," Kleiver pointed out sagely. "In other words, Spargus is the only place in the desert that's got women and booze. Who the hell wouldn't want to get in?"

"Fair enough," Damas conceded. "By the way, you can thank Ashelin later. We import all our alcohol from Haven, along with the other supplies she smuggles out to us."

Kleiver cursed hotly. "Damn wench!"

Damas laughed, the dark cloud lifting from his thoughts. He had never put much stock in visions and fortune-telling. Even if the Stone had shown him this future, Damas doubted he would have believed it, and ultimately he would have ended up in the Wasteland regardless. And there were still many things to be glad for. He had come into his own in that desert, proving his strength in the most primal way, and though he was no Mar, Damas had still created something incredible. Hundreds of people had him to thank for a second chance, a new life.

If things had been different, Damas might never have met the soft-spoken Precursor monk whose smile and laughter made him forget he had ever been wronged. Who despite her vows, had chosen to leave her order to wed him and bear his child. And though the desert sands had swallowed her long ago, he still had Mar. The mere thought of not having his son made Damas want to throw his own life away.

Yes. As long as he had his son, Damas could turn his back on this city without regrets.

The sun had nearly set behind the city walls by the time they reached the Port at the south end of the city, the light reflecting off the water in a fiery trail that dazzled his eyes. Damas squinted at the bulky shape of the air train waiting exactly where Sig had said it would be. He started across the bridge, but Kleiver hung back, looking from the air train to the buildings on the walkway behind them. Damas halted as well. "What's wrong?"

"Nn...bad feeling," Kleiver said vaguely. He shot a distrustful look at the very few people in sight. "Are we sure we can trust that Tess girl?"

"Sig trusted her," Damas pointed out. "And she's a part of the Underground so I highly doubt she would turn us over to Praxis—"

The door of the air train swung open and half a dozen KGs charged down the ramp and barreled across the bridge toward them. A startled curse caught in Damas' throat, and he swung his rifle off his shoulder and shot one down, but the others didn't even break stride. Backing up, he nearly ran into Kleiver, and they stood back to back. There were more KGs pouring out of the buildings behind them and blocking the bridge from that side, trapping them. The only place left to go was the water, which was not an option since it would make them sitting ducks.

Damas bared his teeth in a snarl as he swung his rifle and cracked a red helmet. He couldn't go down here. He had promised Mar he would return, and he was so close now. He shot twice more and made a desperate charge for the air train. Kleiver bellowed in pain and shouted a warning that Damas didn't hear until he was tackled from behind, his rifle slipping from his grasp. It took five KGs to keep him from getting up again, and one of them discharged his taser right into Damas' chest. The surge made his entire body convulse and abruptly fall limp, bright lights exploding in his vision. Kleiver was still fighting, but the KGs were having none of it, three of them ganging up and beating him brutally. The big Wastelander finally went down with blood in his mouth and hate in his eyes. He barely had time to fling a small object into the waters of the Port before one final blow knocked him unconscious.

Distantly, Damas felt someone tug the scarf off his face, and one of the KGs grunted. "That's him, alright. But there were three Wastelanders that were in the fortress. Where's the third guy?"

"How am I supposed to know?" the air train pilot cried out. His arms were gripped firmly by two other KGs and he seemed on the verge of fainting. "L-Look, I don't know anything about this! I didn't know it was them I was transporting! I thought they were just normal Wastelanders, I swear!"

"Yeah, yeah, just keep digging your own grave," the KG said in disgust. He waved his hand at the others, who manhandled the wailing pilot to a prison transport hidden behind the Port tower. Damas tried to resist when he was hauled up and dragged in that direction, but just the effort it took to twitch a finger was exhausting. He couldn't even keep his eyes open. He thought about his son waving goodbye to him in the forest, and his chest grew tight as a dark veil fell across his vision.

No, he thought numbly. No, I can't leave him. I said I would return, I promised him! I promised...

Chapter Text

"The entire world is on the line, and my first mission with the Underground is a damn camping trip," Sig muttered as he stomped through the undergrowth of Haven forest.

"This is not a camping trip, upstart," Samos informed him drably. "Events are moving at a much faster rate than I expected. I must regain my strength as soon as can be managed, and I need my younger self to help me commune with the strange plants here."

The Shadow nodded as he picked his way along the faint animal track. "And between the two of us, perhaps we can seek some guidance. The green and growing things of this world are a collective, linked together in ways we can't even begin to understand, and the knowledge they have gathered over the millennia may help us divine what is to come."

"Whatever you say," Sig said under his breath. He would believe it when he saw it, but he genuinely doubted a bunch of trees had anything to offer in the way of useful information. But both sages had been adamant about coming to the forest almost as soon as Damas and Kleiver left headquarters, and Sig had been the logical choice to come along and protect them from metalheads. Sig normally wouldn't complain, but damn, it just wasn't fair that Jak got to kick ass at the War Factory while the Wastelander was stuck babysitting the two little green men. The cherries were probably up to their ears in trouble right his minute and having a grand old time putting the KGs in their place.

Sig heaved a disgruntled sigh and wrestled his mind back to the task at hand. After a cursory sweep of the trees to make sure no metalheads were nearby, he cast a look back at the two sages. "Younger self, huh? So one of you really is from a different time?"

"I am," Samos explained curtly. "Myself, my daughter, and Jak and Daxter as well. We uncovered an ancient Rift Gate constructed by the Precursors and used it to travel to this time period from several hundred years in the past."

"Jak's from the past?" Sig said in surprise. "Huh, I'd never have guessed. Seems pretty much at home in this era."

"Here we are," the Shadow said and halted, indicating a small clearing sheltered by rocky formations and some of the tallest, thickest trees Sig had ever seen in his life. "This is my favorite place to meditate."

"I see, no wonder it feels familiar," Samos remarked.

"I'd better start a fire before it gets too dark," Sig said with one eye on the approaching twilight.

"There will be enough light to see by soon enough," the Shadow said loftily. He lowered himself onto the mossy roots with a soft sigh, hands held up and eyes closed. True to his word, a soft glow began to surround him and concentrated at his hands. The green eco was like mist but not wet, like sunlight but not warm, and the strong scent of pine and damp earth reached Sig's nose. The Shadow's face became relaxed, utterly content.

Sig whistled. "Damn. You don't see many people who can do that these days."

"True, the art has been lost in this day and age," Samos said sadly. He still leaned heavily on his staff, catching his breath after the long walk, but already he was looking in far better health than he had been in the city. "Mar was one of the last great sages, but what made him special wasn't merely the fact that he could channel eco. Rather, it was his ability to channel all kinds of eco indiscriminately when it was believed only the Precursors were capable of such a thing. Ordinary channelers like myself can spend our entire lives learning to harness a single type of eco that best resonates with our spirits."

"Huh," Sig mused, pondering that little tidbit. "And here I thought it was somethin' that couldn't be learned. I thought you had to be born a channeler."

"Well, there are those for whom the talent comes more intuitively," Samos amended. "But eco is the natural energy of the world. That is why green eco, which contains the energy of life, can be channeled passively by all living things. But the potential to channel actively also exists within many of us. As a sage, I have learned to recognize such gifted individuals. And in fact, I can often tell what type of eco any given person has an affinity for by eye color."

"You're pullin' my leg," Sig said in disbelief.

Samos stamped his staff impatiently. "I assure you, I am not. For example, those with blue or gray eyes like Jak often find blue eco easier to work with. Green and amber are equally definitive, and brown is associated with red. Dual affinities are also possible. Blue-green, brown-green...and in rare cases, brown-amber or green-amber."

Startled, Sig touched the corner of his remaining eye. Bright, bold green with flecks of amber around the pupil. Samos nodded with a pleased smile. "Perhaps you've noticed that you recover from injury and illness more quickly than your comrades and that your aim with your weapons has always been more proficient? It comes of passively absorbing the ambient green and yellow eco in your environment. Unfortunately, being so attuned to green leaves you more vulnerable to the damage of dark eco even in small amounts. Perhaps you should reconsider your profession."

"Not sure I'm ready to lay down my gun and talk to trees just yet," Sig said with a small frown.

"Just something to consider," Samos said enigmatically. "Now if you'll excuse me..."

He took a seat beside the Shadow, and within moments he was also immersed in the vibrant energy. Sig left them to it and started pacing around their little campsite, acting as sentry. The forest seemed far too quiet for his liking, but not the type of quiet he associated with danger. If he had been a spiritual man, Sig would have called it muted reverence as if the forest had become the most sacred of temples. As time passed and the night deepened, Sig's initial focus started to ebb in favor of boredom as he observed the unmoving sages. The light from the eco was much stronger now and almost completely enveloped them, green sparks swirling like lazy fireflies. Sig wished they would hurry up. Just how chatty could plants be?

Near the three hour mark, Sig felt secure enough to take a seat in the moss with his gun leaning against a tree close at hand. He would just tire himself out walking around like that. With little else to do, Sig put his chin in his hands and pondered Samos' words. So if most people could channel eco, did that mean the talent was in him somewhere? Sig had never before entertained the possibility. Like everyone else, he had thought the era of eco channeling was long past. Only Damas and his monks—and old guys with too much time on their hands—had the energy or the leisure to study it.

Still, the idea was enthralling, the stuff of childhood dreams. Sig remembered his own mother telling him stories about Mar shooting eco from his fingertips, great yellow fireballs that obliterated scores of metalheads. It seemed incredible, impossible. To just hold out your hand and boom! Gone in the blink of an eye. That would have come in real handy on some of his Wasteland exploits...

...he had to try it.

Slowly, Sig raised his hand and reached for a wisp of green energy. A sensation like cool rain met his fingertips. That was how green eco had always felt to him, just a force that he allowed to wash over him. But if he actually tried to pull it in, to take it into himself...

Sig breathed in deeply, then out, exactly like he had seen Damas do when he practiced channeling light eco. On the fourth breath, the feeling of standing under a gentle waterfall increased. His ears twitched at a faint white noise that reminded him of the rustle of wind in the trees or the rumble of an oncoming storm. Like the movement of the earth just before a quake. Then all at once something broke in his mind, and the green eco flooded into him all at once. It was so sudden that Sig didn't have time for more than a quick gasp before his consciousness was swept up in the tempest, pulled in a million directions at once.

He was the blades of grass in a mountain clearing, recoiling from the footsteps of a man whose skin broiled with dark eco. Blue eyes darted around warily before Jak snatched a keycard from a fallen KG and sprinted to the door of the War Factory, a flash of orange on his shoulder the last part of him to fade into the dark maw...

He was a frail weed sprouting up in a forgotten corner of the bazaar. Inside the tattered tent nearby, a multi-colored monkaw brooded over an enormous stone that glowed with great energy. The blind soothsayer raised her head and smiled serenely at the weed before falling back into her doze...

He was a bit of seaweed in the Port, swaying this way and that with the sluggish current. Through the murky waters he spotted the steadily blinking light of a Wastelander beacon halfway buried in the muck, an endless call for help that so far had gone unanswered...

He was a floating seed that had gotten sucked into a vent shaft in the fortress. Three people occupied the vast chamber below. A red-haired man lay drugged and shackled to a table, his body badly misshapen by a fall that should have killed him. Commander Erol shuddered and flinched away from dark dreams, not seeming to notice the conversation between the Baron and an excited eco technician.

"...truly incredible, Your Excellency! It's the holy trinity of inborn talent, opportunity and his body's own dire need. His injuries are so severe that he's not immediately rejecting the dark eco mixed in with the green. His spine and internal organs are already regenerating far more rapidly than we anticipated. We should have tried this years ago rather than wasted our time with perfectly healthy subjects!"

"And this mindless babbling?" Praxis demanded lowly, waving a hand at the mumbling Erol. "He's nowhere near lucid, he can't take orders in that state! That was what made Jak such a promising subject, that he retained his sanity no matter what we threw at him!"

"W-Well, it's possible he'll never be quite the same after the trauma he went through. But I would very much like to see how he progresses in the next few days."

"Very well," Praxis said, but he didn't sound happy. "Perhaps in time, he can still be useful to me as Jak was not..."

Praxis and the eco technician left the room and so did not witness what occurred next. Erol's head jerked back and forth, then his entire body stiffened and arched against the restraints. Glazed eyes widened and fixed on the high ceiling, unblinking. A terrible, manic smile stretched across his pale face.

"The Dark Ones..."

A rush of wind in the vent plucked the seed up and sent it whooshing out into the open air. Sig found his attention redirected to the night sky, to the one star that every green and growing thing in the world sensed and feared and was powerless to stop. He hurtled straight up into the blackness at a dizzying speed, higher and higher until that star was all he could see, and he was close enough to realize it wasn't a star at all, it was...

HOLY SHI—!

"Sig!"

Sig jerked back to reality, finding himself sprawled on his back in the moss, and he bolted upright with a startled oath. "What in the hell was that?" he demanded.

"That was a very foolish decision!" Samos scolded from his place crouched at Sig's side. "You're worse than Jak when he was a boy, and believe me, that's saying something!"

"That's not what I'm talkin' about!" Sig retorted. He rubbed his forehead furiously, still reeling like he was on the world's highest adrenaline kick. His skin tingled with energy, and he had never been more aware of his own heartbeat, pounding furiously in the aftermath of what he had seen. His eyes darted up to the sliver of sky that was visible through the canopy, and the stars twinkled back innocently, once again nothing more than harmless pinpoints of light shining from trillions of miles away. But there had been that one single star, that one frightening image burned into his mind's eye...

"What the hell was it?" Sig whispered, a primal fear making his chest go tight and his breath come short. He barely acknowledged that he had felt this exact same fear only twice before now, at the moments he witnessed Jak transform into the monster that everyone feared and no one could stop.

"Whatever you saw, I doubt it was anything of relevance," Samos said, straightening decisively. "We've got bigger things to worry about now."

"Indeed," the Shadow murmured from off to the side. He was still sitting right where Sig had last seen him, holding his head and looking about as dazed as Sig felt. "I had no idea, no notion at all...Precursors, we need to get that boy back! He's important! So much more important than I'd..."

"What boy?" Sig asked in confusion. "Are you talking about Mar? What do you need him for?"

"There's no time to explain it now—"

"Oh, you're going to explain it!" Sig snarled, pounding his fist into the ground. "I went through hell to get him back to Damas, and I'm not lettin' you do a thing until you tell me what—!"

He cut himself off, staring blankly at the crushed grass below his fist as one of the eco-induced images he had seen was plucked from his memory and floated to the surface. Something about Damas and a blinking light and water...a Wastelander beacon lost in the Port? But Sig still had his own beacon with him, returned to him by Damas. There were only two people within Haven's walls that lost beacon could belong to. And there was only one reason it would be active.

"What is it?" Samos asked him, suddenly apprehensive. "Is something wrong?"

Sig swallowed hard against a creeping feeling of dread and reached for his peacemaker. "I think...we'd better get back to the city. I think something's happened to Damas."

Jak's shoulder rose and fell in a deep breath as the lift slowly carried them to the top level of the War Factory. Daxter hardly noticed the motion, eyes fixed straight up the dark shaft. Krew's bomb was up there, and as luck would have it, so was the crime lord himself. That much they had learned from the guard at the air train landing site before Jak clocked the poor guy and stole his gate pass.

Daxter's grip on the shoulder plate became almost painful, his hackles rising. He kept hearing Sig's words over and over in his mind, stabbing into him just like that knife had stabbed Tess. And God, he couldn't get his imagination to leave him be. He kept seeing it. Tess hurt, bleeding, dying...and even if Krew wasn't the culprit, it had been on his orders. He was the reason it happened. For the first time, Daxter understood what Jak must have felt when he was strapped to that table in the fortress, when his eyes first turned dark and he screamed that he was going to kill Praxis. Daxter didn't just want Krew dead, he wanted to rip his liver out and leave him bleeding, make him feel what he had put Tess through...

"Ouch."

Daxter emerged from his bloody thoughts and realized his claws were digging into Jak's collarbone. He retracted them quickly. "Sorry," he muttered.

Jak turned his head, one blue eye studying him. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, fine," Daxter said, avoiding all eye contact. Not wanting Jak to see the dark monster rising in his own heart. "Just wish the elevator would hurry up. The suspense is killing me, seriously..."

"Dax, you haven't said a word since the sewers."

"Yeah well, finding out your girlfriend almost got murdered can do that to a guy!" Daxter snapped, and it was the wrong thing to say because Jak turned to face him fully, practically oozing concern. Daxter jumped to the floor once the elevator stopped and darted toward the door, but Jak planted one freakishly large leg in his path. "What're we waitin' for? Let's go!"

Jak looked like he wanted to say something, but he held it in check. "Let me handle Krew," he said firmly. "I need you to check the bomb and make sure the Precursor Stone isn't inside it."

Daxter hardly acknowledged the statement. The door slid upward and vanished with a whoosh, and the two of them crept out onto a great open air platform with a spectacular view of the ocean and the golden glow of Haven City on the distant horizon. Jak swept his blaster back and forth, but no one was in sight. Bright floodlights illuminated the entire area, and the center of the platform was taken up by a scaffold containing an enormous metal sphere that could only be Krew's bomb.

Jak nodded toward it expectantly, and Daxter suppressed a groan of irritation. Did he have to do everything? Reluctantly, he went up to the scaffold and began the slow climb. It wasn't easy. There weren't many good handholds, and the metal was still slick from the rain earlier in the day. Daxter could hear Jak pacing below and wondered why he didn't just come up and do this himself it he was so impatient.

Daxter was halfway up when a volley of gunshots down below nearly made him lose his grip. He clung to a horizontal beam and bared his teeth when he saw the great Tub of Lard himself come bobbing into sight, armed with a tiny pistol. Jak had taken cover behind one of the scaffold pillars, which vexed the ottsel to no end. Jak was practically a one-man army, and there he was hiding from a fat guy with a peashooter.

"Shoot 'im, Jak!" Daxter bellowed, and he yelped when red eco scorched the metal just to the left of him. Damn, Krew actually had good aim. No wonder Jak was hiding.

"Watch your mouth, you foul rodent!" Krew warned him. "Before I follow up on my offer to make a scarf out of you."

"Just try it, Krew," Jak snarled from behind cover. "Try it, and you'll be the one who gets skinned!"

"Jak, Jak," Krew simpered. "You should choose yours words with more care! Let's talk for a bit, eh? You've been such a useful and dedicated mercenary. After all the time we've spent together, all that we've been through, I'd like to think we've become good friends..."

"Friends?" Jak spat. "You don't have friends, Krew. All you have are tools. I know who my friends are!"

"What, the Shadow and his pitiful band of felons?" Krew said with equal venom. "Or have you thrown your lot in with Sig and that decrepit Wasteland king? Oh yes, I know where he's placed his loyalty now. Foolishly turning his back on me, just as you're doing now. Betrayed by two of my very best men...ah, how it tears at my heart!"

"Sig was never your man," Jak said with a note of satisfaction. Daxter peeked down and spotted his friend inching around one of the steel pillars and carefully aiming at Krew's back. "And neither was I. If you could see farther than your own fat folds, maybe you wouldn't have been blindsided!"

Krew spun around, and Jak had to quickly dart behind cover again, but not before a quick exchange of shots. Daxter felt a growl rising in his chest, for once in his life longing to be part of the battle. But a flash of green caught his eye, and he shouted in alarm when he spotted three holographic images of Krew creeping along just below him. "Jak, behind ya!"

Jak threw himself into a forward roll and came up shooting, the holograms fizzing out with each blast of eco. But one came too close, and when Jak tried to punch it he ended up with a nasty shock that blasted him backward. More holographic images appeared, practically flooding the platform and forcing Jak to fend them off with his scatter gun.

Krew chuckled, having parked his chair high above the action to observe. But he was almost right beside the beam that Daxter was on, a display of such flat out stupidity that it enraged him even more.

"Truly, I don't want to kill you, boy," Krew called down to a distracted and struggling Jak. "But I've had quite a stressful day with two high-end clients breathing down my necks, and well...it's just so satisfying to take out my anger on you."

"You want to see anger?" Jak snarled. And it was a literal snarl, teeth sharpening and eyes flashing dark. But with the holograms becoming more numerous by the minute and surrounding him on all sides, he couldn't even take the split second he needed to fully transform.

"Still, I'm a man who believes in second chances," Krew said as if Jak hadn't spoken. "And in spite of how you've taken advantage of my trust, I would dearly love it if we could continue our business relationship. What do you say, eh Jak? Let's just forgive and forget, put all this behind us..."

Daxter stepped to the edge of the scaffold, all four legs braced apart as that dark rage grew hotter and hotter. "Did you give Tess a second chance?" he said in a low voice. "Did you even think about it before you stabbed her? Or was she just another excuse to take out your anger, you coldblooded bastard!"

"Daxter!" Jak called, but Daxter barely registered whether his name was spoken in warning or anger or fear. A mix of all three, maybe. All Daxter could see was Krew's grin full of rotten teeth as the crime lord turned to face him fully, and all he felt was that primal bloodlust slowly tearing at his sanity. He thought of the last time he had seen Tess, curled up beside him in the Power Station with her heartbeat right next to his ear, gentle fingers stroking through his fur...

"Ah yes, a sad affair, that," Krew lamented and lazily aimed his pistol at Daxter. "Though compared to Sig and Jak, I can't say she was much of a loss. She had long since outlived her usefulness. Oh I see, are you here to seek reparation? Not to worry, I'm sure the Underground will find itself another whore before the week runs out..."

Something snapped, all rational thought fled. For once, the fact that he might lose his life was the very last thing on his mind when Daxter charged to the end of the beam and flung himself off with a bestial howl. He practically landed on the crime lord's head, his claws shredding Krew's left ear and leaving deep gashes in one bloated cheek. Krew shouted in pain, and the hover chair spun around so quickly that Daxter nearly lost his grip. They veered away from the platform until there was nothing below them but empty air and a dizzying drop down the mountainside.

Krew seized him by the scruff and flung him away violently. Daxter only just saved himself by latching onto the wiring underneath the hover chair, hanging on grimly. When Krew's tiny leg kicked at him, Daxter lashed out with the claws on his back foot and took off a toenail. But he couldn't do much else from down here, and trying to climb up would just give Krew a chance to make use of that pistol.

There had to be a way, there had to be a way...

The wires in front of his nose presented a solution. Daxter started yanking them out one by one. Two of the anti-grav boosters gave out, causing the chair to drop a few feet and tip dangerously. For the first time, Daxter saw fear on Krew's face, and he responded with a vicious grin that just felt so good.

"If I go down, I'm takin' you with me, Jelly Boy!"

Daxter wrenched out the majority of the wiring. The engine in the chair whined and began to shut down, retaining only enough capacity to turn their fall into a slanting descent rather than a downward plummet. Jak's horrified cry was carried away by the wind in his ears as the jungle rushed up to meet them. Daxter shut watering eyes and let go, plunging through the leafy canopy like a furry comet. The smaller twig-like branches merely snapped beneath his weight, and the larger ones slowed him down enough that when he finally hit the ground it was at a speed that hurt like hell and thankfully left his bones intact. Somewhere nearby he heard the hover chair smash into a tree and shatter apart with the glorious sound of twisting metal and zapping wires.

Daxter didn't know how long he lay there, battered and winded and on the verge of losing consciousness. Somewhere between two minutes and two hours. It was so dark with only the moon and starlight that Daxter was tempted to just curl up and go to sleep until the nightmare ended. But soon the breeze brought a wisp of acrid smoke that made his whiskers twitch and reminded him that this was very much real and happening.

Painfully, Daxter struggled to his feet and made his limping way toward the source. The hover chair had apparently burst into flame upon impact, forcing Krew to abandon it. He hadn't made it very far with one arm broken and severe burns covering his back. The crime lord just lay there in the undergrowth, panting and bleeding and so damn pitiful that Daxter couldn't believe he had once feared this man. All his power was comprised of other people doing his dirty work. Krew couldn't even have been bothered to attack Tess himself, instead sending one of his heavies after her.

But then behind the rank stench of sweat and scorched metal, Daxter's sensitive nose caught something else that made him stiffen. There was dry blood crusted under Krew's fingernails. It belonged to Tess. Daxter knew its scent from the time she cut her finger on a broken bottle and he had kissed it better.

Daxxie, you're so sweet! I think that deserves a kiss right back...

Krew gave him a nasty smile. "So you'll be the one to kill me, hmm?"

"You're just now figurin' that out?" Daxter said, breathing heavily. Slowly, he walked toward the pistol lying abandoned near the broken hover chair, sensing Krew's banal gaze on him every step of the way. The weapon was nothing new. Daxter had used Jak's morph gun before to blow KGs off their zoomers as they were fleeing the alarms, all in the heat of the moment when he had nothing on his mind except the need to protect himself and Jak. He had killed before. So what if all those other times were in self-defense?

Daxter picked up the pistol, his small hands wrapping around the handle with difficulty. But he could reach the trigger on this a lot easier than on the morph gun. Yeah, this would be easy. The world would be better off without Krew. Daxter raised the pistol with unsteady hands, aiming right between those watery eyes.

He had to do it for Tess.

"Daxter."

Daxter started when he heard Jak's voice, solemn and condemning in a way that made his gut squirm. He refused to look back when heavy footsteps approached. "Don't stop me, Jak," he ground out.

Jak crouched right behind him and seized the gun's muzzle, forcing it down. "Dax, you don't have to do this."

"Yes, I do!" Daxter burst out. "He hurt Tess! He would've killed her and thought nothin' of it! I can't let him live after that!"

"Then let me be the one to kill him!"

"Why?" Daxter said savagely, snapping his eyes up to Jak's. "Cause only the hero's allowed to take out all the bad guys and get all the glory? Or do you just get that much of a kick out of killing people, eco freak?"

Jak's lips went white, and hurt didn't begin to describe the anguish that flashed across his face. That was, of course, what Daxter had been going for, but the sight still made him feel rotten to the core. He made a fruitless attempt to get the gun back, but Jak jerked it closer, bringing them face to face.

"Maybe you're right," Jak hissed, every word taut with fury. "Maybe I am just an eco freak, just a monster, but at least my hands are already stained. I can't fall much lower than I have already. But I will never let you sink to that level, Dax. Don't you get that if you kill him out of vengeance, then you'll be no different than he is? Taking a life just because you can? Because you decided his life was worthless to you, just like Tess was worthless to him?"

"I am NOTHING like him!" Daxter roared. "And who are you to talk when you've been ranting about gettin' revenge on Praxis all this time?"

"I'm someone who's been to that side," Jak retorted. "The dark side of human nature. And I can tell you right now, it's not worth it. I know that killing Praxis won't undo what's been done. It won't even make me feel better, but it was all I had to live for. You have more. You have Tess."

Jak eased the pistol out of his grip and flung it aside with finality. "You can still be her hero," he murmured. "You don't need his blood on your hands for that."

Daxter shook his head hopelessly, trembling all over and fighting to hang onto his righteous anger, his reasons for slaughtering a killer. But damn, for a guy who had spent most of his life as a mute, Jak knew exactly the right words to say. Daxter dropped his gaze and stared at his hands stained with Krew's blood, and he was immediately sick at the thought of what Tess would say if she could see him now, looking more like a murderer than a man. That wasn't what he wanted to become. The day that happened would be the day he was no different from the people who hurt Jak, those callous bastards who caused pain just to cause it.

This was the problem with having a hero as a best friend. It made Daxter try too hard to be like him.

Krew chuckled hideously, which turned into full-throated laughter and then a rasping cough. And still, he kept laughing. "Oh, isn't it so touching! The great renegade stopping his friend from turning to evil! Ah, it makes my heart melt...what fools you are! If you knew what I've done, you'd be fighting over the right to kill me with your own hands!"

"What do you mean?" Jak said with a sharp glare at Krew. "You haven't done anything. That bomb is history. It'll never be set off."

"No...not the bomb, you imbecile!" Krew chortled, rapidly descending into the maniacal territory. "Don't you understand? I take no sides in this war...which is just a way of saying I take both sides. I'll take any chance I can to cause untold destruction. The Baron may not get his bomb, but there's still my bargain with the metalhead leader!"

"Your bargain with who?" Daxter yelped, and Jak rushed forward and pressed his morph gun to Krew's forehead.

"What are you talking about? What bargain did you make with the metalheads? Answer me!"

"You will all die," Krew said, every word labored and hoarse as if he clung to life. "All of you, every single one of you...but some will die sooner than others. I've made sure of that!"

"What...?" Jak began to say, but was cut off by a wailing alarm up at the War Factory, which was followed by people shouting in panic. Krew let out a blissful sigh, his body slumping as his face became slack...and a detonator slipped from his hands onto the ground. By the time Daxter registered what it was and realized it was time to panic, Jak had snatched him up and begun a wild dash through the leaves and tangling vines. Daxter scrambled up onto Jak's shoulder, and like so many times, held on for dear life and prayed Jak would get them out of this. That bomb was more than powerful enough to lay this little mountain to waste. And if the bomb had the Precursor Stone in it...well, all the running in the world wouldn't save them.

The uphill sprint back to the War Factory left Jak gasping for breath, but he never slowed even for an instant. Daxter almost asked why the hell they were running toward the giant bomb until he remembered the War Factory was where the air train platform was, the only transport that could possibly get them out of harm's way in time. Unfortunately, it seemed lots of other people had the same idea because by the time they got there, the platform was swarming with KGs and research personnel and even a couple maintenance workers. Nobody noticed when they joined the mayhem, jockeying for a spot in one of the three available air trains. After much shoving and cursing, Jak squeezed inside the air train with a dozen others, trying to make room for just a few more while Daxter leapt to the little window looking into the equally crowded cockpit.

"Carpool's full! Get us the heck outta here!"

Someone must have heard him because the air train door closed while the unlucky ones still on the ground looked on in despair. The engines fired up, and they took to the skies at a dizzying speed. Daxter wiggled through a forest of ankles until he reached Jak, watching the mountain with the War Factory shrink into the distance until it was just a black lump on the horizon. Then the bomb went off, and it was like seeing a star explode. The mountain vanished in a sphere of white light and a thunderous BOOM that must have echoed around the world. The turbulence hit them a split second later, and Jak wasn't the only one to fall to his knees as the floor heaved and they were rattled around violently like pebbles in a can. Daxter clung to Jak's forearm, waiting for the end with his heart in his throat, and he felt Jak curl around him protectively, each taking comfort from the simple closeness.

I'm with you, buddy. I've got your back. If we go down, we go together.

After an eternity, the turbulence lessened and the ride smoothed out. Heads rose one by one, and when it was ascertained that they had indeed survived, everyone started cheering and hollering gratitude at the pilot. Jak slowly regained his feet, still cradling Daxter with one arm while the other went to the wall for balance. All that was left of the War Factory was a huge fiery cloud that stood out starkly against the black ocean they were now flying over. It could probably be seen all the way in Haven.

Daxter giggled, his habitual reaction to hysteria. "C-Close one..."

Jak only nodded. Neither of them said a word during the hours-long flight back to Haven, and when the air train finally landed in the Port, they joined the dazed throng of survivors stumbling down the ramp. Daxter noticed KGs approaching the group with a purpose and nudged Jak, who immediately changed direction and crossed the middle bridge spanning the two Port towers. The area around the west tower was nearly empty, and Jak leaned hard against the stone and sank to the ground, knees brought close to his chest. Daxter didn't blame him for wanting to catch his breath. He slid out of Jak's arms to take a seat as well, staring unseeing at the stretch of water before them and the neon lights of the Hip Hog across the way.

Daxter snuck a peek at Jak's stony profile and took a deep breath. "Look Jak. W-What I said back there...I didn't mean it. That was crossing a major line, calling you...that."

"Not really," Jak muttered without inflection. "Everyone else thinks I'm a monster, so why shouldn't you?"

"Because I know better!" Daxter insisted. "Sheesh Jak, you've been around me this long and you still think I actually mean everything I say? How many times a day do I end up shoving my foot in my mouth? Enough that the taste of my own furry toes is startin' to grow on me!"

Jak said nothing.

"Hey, hey, don't go all Mr. Silent Treatment on me! You want me to prove I didn't mean it? Here I go, shoving my foot in my mouth!"

Without further ado, Daxter dropped on his back and grabbed his foot, but even though he squirmed and contorted his body every which way, his toes remained stubbornly out of reach. He gave up with a frustrated grunt and sat up. "This isn't working! Alright Jak, gimme your foot."

"I am not letting you suck on my foot."

"Come on, just one little lick...?"

"No, Dax."

"Why not?" Daxter demanded. He leaned into Jak's line of sight with a sly grin. "Oh, I get it. Afraid you might like it?"

Jak rolled his eyes and glared resolutely in the other direction, but his lips were twitching. Daxter guffawed. "I knew it, you would like it! Kinky, kinky. Wonder what Keira'd say if she knew...of course ya never know, she might actually be okay with it. All that time she spends in the garage, she's probably got some kinks of her own. One of these days, I'm gonna book you two a motel room so you can get all that sexual tension out in the open. And I know all the bug-free places in this city!"

By now, Jak was shaking his head hopelessly and looked torn between laughing and smacking him. "There's no talking to you, I swear," he said in exasperation.

"What're you talking about, talking is what I do best!" Daxter said, puffing out his chest. "Now back to the foot-sucking..."

Jak yanked his feet out of reach before Daxter could touch them. "Okay, okay. I believe you. We're good, Dax."

"Glad to hear it!" Daxter said in relief. He hopped back onto the proffered shoulder as Jak stood up. "Sheesh, the things I do to get a laugh out of you, big guy. Did ya really think I'd put your feet anywhere near my mouth after all that time we spent slogging through the sewers? I'd drop dead within an hour! Those size-20 stompers are probably more toxic than—"

"Hey, hey! Jakky-boy!"

Daxter shut his mouth when Jinx came striding into view with his two buddies tailing him, all three geared up like they were going into a bank robbery. Jinx whistled at the sight of them, hands on his hips. "Boy, you two sure don't do nothin' by halves. I think the whole city saw the War Factory go up in flames."

"Who says we had anything to do with it?" Jak said pointedly.

Jinx snickered. "Right, gotcha. Don't want the KGs all up in your business, right? Well, glad I ran into ya. Take a look at what we found in Krew's office."

He pulled the Ruby Key out of his pocket, and Daxter blinked. He'd forgotten all about that relic. It seemed a lifetime had passed since he and Jak had gone through the sewers that first time looking for it, not even bothering to ask what Krew wanted it for.

"I went ahead and talked to your boy, Vin," Jinx went on, waving aside their surprised looks. "What? Tess introduced us once. He's a wacko, but he knows this Precursor stuff. Anyway, he nearly wet himself when he saw this. Apparently it's Mar's key to the city or something like that, opens some door down in the Underport. From what I gathered snooping around the Hip Hog, a client hired Krew to get the key for them."

"And what client was that?" Jak asked sharply.

Jinx shrugged. "That, I dunno. And it's kinda moot now, right? The key is still here, which means Krew didn't finish the job before he went out to the War Factory. And since I'm guessing he's not coming back, that makes the Underground my top employer now. Me and the boys are gonna head down there and see what this door thing is all about. You two in?"

Daxter shared a look with Jak. On the one hand, there was a chance this mysterious client could be the metalhead leader and this business with the key was the bargain that Krew had been referring to. In that case, it was in their best interest to find out what was down there and why the metalhead leader wanted that door open. But after a day of racing and fighting his way through the sewers and the War Factory, Daxter could feel the weary slump in Jak's shoulder. He had a feeling neither of them were up for much more action today. And besides...how important could that key be if Krew had left it in his office and forgotten about it?

Jak sighed. "Yeah...we're going to have to pass," he said, his reluctance carefully disguised by his neutral tone.

"You sure?" Jinx said, sounding disappointed. "Damn, I was hoping you'd watch our backs. None of us can shoot worth a damn so we're dead if we run into trouble."

"We ain't your babysitters," Daxter said drolly. "Although I can see why you'd want my help since Orange Lightning can't help but be amazing. But I've got a girl waitin' for me, and she's much hotter than you."

"Okay, okay," Jinx said in defeat. "Just don't expect us to share the spoils if it turns out to be Mar's secret treasure room or something. Guys, let's move!"

Jinx led the way to a door in the tower that would take them down to the Underport. Once the door had shut again, Jak set off across the bridge. Daxter could tell he was dead on his feet, moving with a shuffling zombie walk and trusting instinct to keep him from running into anyone. Daxter found himself starting to nod off as well, only rousing himself when Jak stopped abruptly and jostled him out of his doze.

"Nng...Jak, wha...?"

"Quiet, Dax!"

The comment was just sharp enough to bring Daxter to full wakefulness, noticing for the first time that Jak had stopped right in front of one of the Baron's propaganda holograms. And now that Daxter was listening, it became all too obvious what had captured Jak's undivided attention. The news was so shocking, so disturbing that it brought his brain to a standstill while he was still trying to absorb it.

A public execution, scheduled for tomorrow morning in the courtyard before the Palace. Of the two prisoners to be executed, one was Tattooed Wonder...and the other was Damas.

The one good thing that could be said about the Underport was the distinct lack of metalheads. The passages were wide and constructed of warm Precursor metal, most likely predating the city itself, and there were plenty of rooms filled with old artifacts and runes carved into the walls. It was an archeologist's dream...but that didn't stop Jinx from blasting open any door that refused to open for him. Grim was decidedly nervous about that, claiming every monster within fifty miles was going to hear them and come running. Mog kept asking why they were down here in the first place, and Jinx couldn't be bothered explaining it again after the third time.

"Hey, is that it?" Grim said when they rounded yet another corner. The narrow passage opened onto a circular chamber with Precursor idols carved into the walls and a pair of great stone doors with the symbol of Mar split in half between them. Barring the doors was a gleaming lock decorated with rubies and fancy ornamental gilding that was the perfect match to the Ruby Key.

Jinx grinned. "Jackpot, baby," he muttered and raised his comm to his lips. "Looks like you were onto something, Vinny. We found the door right where you said it might be."

Vin's voice buzzed through the comm. "Amazing! That's just amazing, it really exists! What does it look like?"

"What's it matter?" Jinx said impatiently.

"What's it MATTER?" Vin said in disbelief. "Only that it's one of the last few relics left by Mar himself! We're about to unlock—literally unlock—one of the great mysteries of the city's founder! Hurry up, open it! Tell me what's inside!"

"Like a kid in a candy store," Jinx muttered. He unhooked the Ruby Key from his belt, brow furrowed. This place, this whole situation was giving him a bad vibe. He hadn't been entirely truthful with Jak. He had found the key in a back office of the Hip Hog...but only after being tipped off by a message left on his comm from Krew himself. The crime lord had sounded like he was in a hurry, blabbering about the Baron summoning him to the War Factory and how he couldn't be in two places at once and needed Jinx to finish this business with the key for some other client. Jinx hadn't really been listening, still seething over what had been done to Tess and furious that he had just missed the chance to confront Krew about it face to face. He blamed Mog for getting them lost in the sewers on the way back from that damn statue.

But still...Jinx was a mercenary to the core. And despite what Krew had done, his interest had been piqued by the mention that this job would easily rake in ten times the profit of even the biggest heists he had pulled in the past. That had been enough to make him consider it, and once the War Factory went up in a blaze of glory, his path had been decided. Must have been what they called fate.

I'll make it up to you, Tess, Jinx thought as he shoved the key into the corresponding keyhole. Once I'm rich, I'll buy you a new rat to replace that flea-bitten scarf Jak wears around his neck...

"Stand by, boys."

"What d'ye think's inside?" Grim said, anticipation coloring his voice.

Mog rubbed his hands together. "I hope the boss is right about it being a treasure room!"

"What makes you think Mar had that kind of money?" Grim said with a roll of his eyes. "The guy was supposedly some great philosopher or sage or whatever. A complete prude, lived the life of a monk with no worldly possessions or nothing."

"I thought he was a warrior," Mog said in confusion. "Didn't he fight in the first metalhead wars?"

"Fine, he was a warrior-monk-type-thing who lived the life of a prude," Grim retorted. "Hey boss, what's taking so long?"

"This key is damn stubborn, that's what," Jinx snapped. He threw all his weight into turning the key and finally heard a click. A seam opened in the center of the lock, and the two halves slid aside on hidden mechanisms. Jinx stepped back as the doors swung inward, and at first all he saw was darkness.

A darkness filled with yellow gems. And not the good kind of gems.

"Ahh, crap!"

Jinx flung himself sideways just as the first metalhead grunt came barreling through and fell on Mog, tearing him open from throat to pelvis. Grim went down seconds later under the claws of two more metalheads, screaming and shooting for all he was worth. Jinx scrambled to take cover behind one of the massive doors while an ocean of armored monsters came flooding into the chamber and continued on like they knew exactly where they were going.

"Vin, what the hell!" Jinx hollered into his comm, pistol drawn in case any of the metalheads came his way. "There were metalheads behind that door! They're pouring in by the hundreds! It's like they were waitin' for us to let 'em in!"

"WHAT?" Vin screeched right back. "T-That's impossible! The metalheads shouldn't be aware of the passages below the city! If they...oh no! Oh no, oh NO! If they're in the Underport, it's just a matter of time before they come up into the city! I've got to tell the Underground, the Baron, I've got to warn everybod—!"

A crashing sound, a rush of static, and then Vin's voice was gone.

"Vin, hey!" Jinx shouted frantically. "Answer me, you useless brainiac! You've got to send somebody to rescue me! Come on, I need help!"

The only answer he received was a strange voice laughing in satisfaction. "No one can save you now. Farewell."

The comm went dead with Jinx still staring at it numbly. The initial rush of metalheads had slowed, but more kept coming through by twos and threes, and they had finally spotted him. Jinx shot at them, missing more often than he hit. Seeing the ravaged bodies of his friends, his fear took on a hard edge, and he got to his feet with a snarl. That ain't gonna be me, he swore silently. He was going to survive, even if he had to kill every metalhead between himself and Haven to do it.

As the metalheads came for him again, Jinx whipped out a grenade in each hand and used his teeth to pull the pins. "Bon appétit, bitches!"

Chapter Text

Tess was exhausted when she woke up, and the dull throbbing in her side was more than enough to convince her that Krew and the knife hadn't all been a bad dream. She cracked her eyes open, her surroundings slowly coming into focus, and she immediately recognized one of the rundown bedrooms in the Underground headquarters. That knowledge alone allowed her to relax a little. She was safe here. Faint silver light shone through the cracks in the boarded up windows, and the air still held that predawn chill. To her right, the crocadog was sprawled on the floorboards near the door, which was propped open just slightly with a murmur of voices filtering in from the main room.

"...just going to have to wing it from there," Jak said quietly. "I hope you let them know we're not out to bring down Praxis today. We don't have near enough manpower for that. All we need is the distraction."

Sig snorted. "Yeah, you try telling 'em not to go after the big game. They came all this way looking for a fight, and unless they find one, they'll probably start one."

"I hate to think of innocents getting caught in the crossfire," the Shadow said sadly. "But in this case, I'm afraid it might be unavoidable. Do be careful, all of you..."

Not hearing the one voice she was straining for, Tess sighed and lay her head back down. She slid a hand down her belly, intending to see how bad the damage to her stomach was, and she smiled when her fingers met soft fur instead. Daxter was curled up halfway on top of her, fast asleep. Her smile faded. He looked exhausted, and his matted fur was smeared with dirt. But thankfully, he didn't look like he was hurt. Tess smoothed down the fur along his spine, and Daxter stirred under the light touch.

"Nng...Tess?" Daxter slurred. Bloodshot eyes fluttered open when he noticed she was awake. "Ah, Tess! Are you okay? Are you hurtin'? Should I go get the big lump of moss out there?"

"I'm okay," Tess assured him, but weakly. "What happened to you, Daxxie? You look like you got in a fight."

Daxter looked down at himself and forced a laugh. "Oh...oh, this? Nothin' to worry about, babe. This ottsel is A-okay. You're the one we should be worried about! Precursors, when I heard what that fat bastard did to you..."

The reminder made Tess draw a sharp breath. "That's right! Did the Shadow tell you what Krew was planning? Have we stopped him?"

"Yeah, don't you worry 'bout that," Daxter reassured her. "The bomb is history, and so is Krew. Me and Jak made sure of that. When you're feelin' better, I'll tell ya the whole story, I promise."

Tess relaxed, breathing a little easier. "Good, that's good," she murmured. But she frowned when another thought niggled at the back of her mind. "Wait...what about Sig and Damas and...Kleiver, was that his name? Did they make it out of the city? Krew saw the air train tickets and I think he guessed who they were for and..."

"Sheesh baby, take a breather!" Daxter teased, but he still sounded anxious. "Come on, you're worried about those guys when you're the one lying in here on a sickbed? You should be asking for hot chocolate and pillows and foot rubs and making me wait on you hand and foot! Which I'm totally game for, by the way. Don't tell Jak, but I secretly like it when you boss me around..."

"Daxter," Tess said with as much sternness as she could muster, but in truth she just sounded tired.

Daxter sighed. "Sig's here, he's fine. But Damas and the other guy...they got scooped up by the KGs before they could get on the air train. Torn too, because he went and did something stupid. But it's all good! We've got a plan of action in the works to save their sorry asses. So don't you worry about a thing now, alright? Just leave it to me and I promise it'll turn out right. Saving the world ismy job, remember?"

"I know," Tess murmured with a small smile. She brushed his cheek with the back of her hand. "That's why I tried so hard to survive and get away from Krew. Because I knew I could count on you to stop him. You always know what to do, even when I don't have a clue."

Daxter wrapped both his arms around her hand and hugged her tight, nuzzling her palm with a cold nose. For once his easy grin was nowhere in sight, replaced with a haunted look. Tears came to his eyes as he looked at her bandaged stomach, and he scrubbed them away hurriedly. "D-Damn, I promised myself I wouldn't do this...Tess, I'm so sorry. I can't believe I let this happen to you..."

Tess made the effort to sit up a little straighter, ignoring the pang in her wound. "But you couldn't have done anything. Daxxie, please don't blame yourself. I don't expect you to be there every hour of every day to take care of me. I should have taken care of myself."

"But I'm the hero, I'm supposed to keep you from gettin' hurt," Daxter protested. "What good is a hero if he can't even protect his number one woman?"

"Daxter, look at me," Tess said softly, guiding his chin up. She smiled. "I'm okay. I'm still alive. It all turned out alright, so please don't beat yourself up. I don't want to be the reason for you doubting yourself. I want to be your strength, not your weakness."

Daxter gave a choked laugh. "Baby, you are. When Jak and I were up there and we were facin' down Krew, I've never felt stronger in my life. Cause I knew I was fightin' for you."

And if that wasn't enough to melt a girl's heart, Tess didn't know what was. She kissed her fingertips and touched them to his lips, remembering fondly the day he had first sauntered into Krew's bar and flirted with her shamelessly, his grin turning sneaky when he realized she was working undercover for the Underground. Tess liked to think he had even been a little impressed with her. Daxter had never questioned her ability to act as a competent spy, just like Tess had never doubted his potential to be a hero and never mind that he was only two feet tall. Sure Jak was the hero of the masses, but the dark warrior carried that unattainable air about him, that sense that no one could ever be like him. But if little Daxter could go out there and face down metalheads and evil tyrants, then anyone could be a hero.

Something occurred to her, and Tess giggled. "You know, I think this is the longest you've ever gone looking only at my eyes," she said slyly.

Daxter beamed like he was proud of himself. "Yeah, well...never realized how gorgeous they are."

A soft knock came at the door. Jak was standing just outside, politely not looking in. "Dax, it's time."

"Okay," Daxter replied. He turned back to Tess once Jak was gone, his smile slipping away. "Okay. I've gotta get going. I've got idiots to rescue, a city to pull out of the gutter, all that jazz. Once we head out, Keira's gonna take you over to her place at the Stadium so she can keep an eye on you while she's working."

"Okay," Tess said a little sadly. She had wanted to talk a little longer, but there would be time after whatever he and Jak needed to do. And she really was tired. Tess relaxed back into the bed and shut her eyes while Daxter tucked the blanket around her, careful not to touch the bandages. "I'll see you when you get back."

"Yeah," Daxter murmured. He touched her hand again. "Love ya, babe."

Her heart swelled, and she opened one eye shrewdly. "I know, sweetie. You said it to me once already, back at the fortress."

Daxter shook his head, flustered. "W-Well yeah, I did. But when I said it, I was only...I didn't mean it like I do now..."

"I know that too."

Daxter gave up with a rueful look. "Course ya know. Trust a woman to be able to read minds."

"Not minds. Hearts. It comes with the package."

"Along with some other things I could name," Daxter snickered, eyes drifting at long last.

"Oh, you!" Tess laughed and nudged him away playfully. "Don't you have a city to save?"

"That I do, that I do!" Daxter exclaimed. He hopped off the bed and struck a pose by the door. "Orange Lightning, off to save the day again! Just wait! By the time I come back, this whole city'll love me!"

"I hope so," Tess whispered as he bounded off the door. "I already do."

Ashelin strode through bowels of the prison with four KGs right on her heels, all of them marching with the precise discipline the Baron had instilled in them long ago. There had been too much talk lately about her supposed dual loyalties, too many rumors about what happened in the throne room, and any sign of hesitance on her part would only fuel the fire beyond anything she could control. So Ashelin kept her shoulders straight and her steps sure, betraying absolutely nothing of her inner turmoil when they halted outside the cell were Damas was. The fallen king raised his head and stood to come to the door of his own accord, hands bound before him and face lined with exhaustion. It didn't look like he had slept any better than her. Behind him, Kleiver sat slumped on his cot and bared his teeth at them like a caged dog.

She gestured at the guards to open the doors. Damas allowed himself to be flanked and herded outside without a struggle, which was partly a relief for Ashelin. But he still gave her a searching look, which cut her deeply. "You will now be escorted to the Palace for your execution," she said in a flat voice, avoiding his gaze.

His expression hardened, understanding now that she wasn't here to save him this time. Kleiver scowled at Damas sullenly. "What'd I tell you, lordship? Am I invited, Miss Tyrant?"

"Your sentence has yet to be decided," Ashelin said coolly, letting the cell door slam shut on Kleiver's unflattering invectives.

"Very well," Damas said without an ounce of concern in his voice. As if he was the one in charge. "And it seems the Baron has chosen to honor me by sending someone of such high standing as my escort."

Ashelin turned on her heel and led the group back the way they had come. "I'd cut the attitude if I were you. Baron Praxis has given me orders to shoot you if you resist."

"...I see."

She hoped he did. Ashelin truly had no choice in this. The Baron was holding her personally responsible for Damas, and if anything happened to halt the execution—even if it wasn't her fault—he had made it clear that the consequences would be dire. She could do nothing. Nothing except obey her father and try to forget all the little kindnesses Damas used to show her when he was still the ruler of this city and she was a child with a distant father and no one else to turn to.

"And what of the resistance leader who was captured yesterday?" Damas asked suddenly. "What was his name...Torn?"

"Hey convict," one of the guards muttered. "Keep your mouth shut—"

"He also faces execution," Ashelin said curtly, throat tight. "The Baron will personally carry out your sentences."

"Hm, taking out all his enemies in one blow and with his own hand," Damas mused. "For once, he is showing remarkable foresight."

Ashelin's next words came out more defensive than authoritative. "My father always knows what's best for the city."

"If not the people in it," Damas murmured, and Ashelin got the feeling he wasn't only talking about the citizens, but her in particular. She didn't answer. It was easier to remain silent.

When they finally came to the main doors and stepped out onto the street, Ashelin was surprised to see that the area was crowded with citizens. They were gathered on the roofs and in doorways and loitering in the street at a safe distance from the prison transport and obviously waiting for their appearance. As soon as Damas came into view, the whispering started, though the cluster of KGs keeping watch on the crowd around kept it from rising above that. Damas paused at the sight, but one of the KGs shoved him into the transport before he could properly take it in. They didn't have to wait more than a few minutes before a second group of KGs emerged from the prison, escorting Torn. The ex-KG flashed her a smile as he was propelled into the transport, and Ashelin felt heat rise to her cheeks in spite of herself.

Long-standing reflex made her lash out with the first smartass remark that came to mind. "That smirk makes you look like Daxter."

The smirk was gone in two seconds flat. Ashelin climbed into the transport's front cabin after Torn had been stowed in the back, slamming the door with just a little more force than necessary and crossing her arms and legs. The pilot was wise enough not to ask questions as he started up the engines and set a course for the Palace. The transport was surrounded on all sides by KG zoomers and even a few Hellcats, no chances being taken. Ashelin tried to pay attention, tried to focus on the mission and nothing else, but now that she wasn't actively doing something, those infuriating thoughts kept spinning little circles in her mind.

How had he done this to her? It was just a kiss, one far more chaste than others she had received in the past and probably given out of spite more than anything else. Regardless, she kept thinking about it—and him—even though she didn't look at Torn in that way. Not anymore.

But did he?

Ashelin shook the unnerving thought off. No, of course he didn't. How could he after all this time and all they had been through? Even back when they were both in the Guard and he had made his first tentative overtures during training, they had never blossomed into anything. The light flirting had faded as the stresses of the job caught up with them, and by the time Torn quit and joined the Underground, their heated arguments about her father had strained their friendship almost to the breaking point. They had repaired that, only just, but both of them had known they would never be anything beyond comrades. Ashelin had thought she was reading him loud and clear on that.

...and if she was wrong, it meant she was about to kill the man who loved her.

Enough of that, Ashelin thought when the lump in her throat became almost too painful to bear. The kiss had meant nothing. Not to her, or to him. Maybe Torn had hoped she would find it in her heart to help him for old time's sake. Or else he had realized he had nothing left and decided to act like an utter bastard toward her at the very end. Either way, it didn't matter. It didn't matter.

Ashelin breathed deeply and systematically locked away all the pain and grief, cramming the last slivers of her morals down to a place where they wouldn't interfere. It was surprisingly easy. Ashelin had gotten plenty of practice since the day Damas was banished when she was twelve. It was the only way to keep her sanity, otherwise she would have run off to the Underground years ago, but Ashelin knew she could do a lot more good as her father's successor. Once his reign ended and the city was hers, then she could make a difference.

She wouldn't be like Torn, who demanded that he have everything and save everyone now and ended up dead for his trouble.

The turnout for the execution was impressive. The courtyard between the Palace and the demolished statue of Baron Praxis was packed, and the KG were out in full force to make sure the crowd stayed under control. It was rare nowadays for Praxis to hold a public address, let alone an execution. He distrusted the common rabble so much that even now he was surrounded by his personal guards at the top of the Palace steps, sword in hand. A space had been cleared for the prison transport to land, and Ashelin stepped out to approach her father, leaving Damas and Torn in the hands of the guards. Neither men put up a fight as they were manhandled up the steps, but the murmur of voices from the people had grown noticeably louder now that their faces were clearly visible.

Ashelin saluted her father, and he nodded at her to take her place behind his left shoulder. Praxis paced closer to the prisoners, though his main focus was Damas, facing the man he had banished for the first time in ten years. Damas held his ground, his eyes only narrowing slightly at the sight of the sword. Praxis noticed where he was looking, and his lips curved in satisfaction. "If you want to plead for your life, do so on your knees. Let the whole city see how far you've fallen."

"Not half so far as you," Damas returned dispassionately. "I may die today, but—"

"You will die," Praxis said harshly. "This time, I'll make sure of it, so choose your final words with care!"

Damas gave him a smile that was all fang. "My son will have his vengeance."

Praxis signaled the guards. Damas and Torn were both jerked roughly to the side and forced to their knees. The noise from the crowd increased, then quelled when Praxis moved to a podium at the edge of the steps and swept his arms out for their attention. Ashelin scanned the crowd for any signs of agitation or violence, but mostly they seemed quiescent. She noted one or two Wastelanders among the crowd and kept an eye on them in case they got any ideas.

Then she looked again. Not just one or two Wastelanders. Ashelin swept her eyes back and forth, counting the armored bodies. Five, six. Ten, eleven. Fifteen. Thirty. Even more than that. They were scattered in groups of no more than four, but she had never seen so many Wastelanders in the city, let alone all gathered in one place. Damas didn't seem to notice them. He had his attention on the Baron, and he certainly didn't look like he expected a desperate rescue. And how would his people in Spargus have even known he needed aid?

Maybe it was a fluke. Maybe.

"My city!" Praxis said into the microphone. "Today, I have called you here to witness the execution of two men whose very existence threatens the survival of our great city! Their crimes stand as follows. Breaking into the fortress and releasing a number of dangerous felons onto our peaceful streets, the brutal murder of Commander Erol and the destruction of the War Factory, which in turn undermines our continued war on the metalheads..."

So he intended to pin the War Factory on Torn and Damas as well, Ashelin thought in disgust, even though they had both been arrested long before the factory went up like a torch. But Praxis had stopped listening to reason some time ago, convinced that Damas had returned to Haven for the sole purpose of helping Jak steal back the throne in a sort of reverse coup.

Not that his paranoia was completely unfounded. Ashelin had her own suspicions of just who had been responsible for the War Factory, but for the safety of all involved, she kept her mouth shut.

"...can only conclude it was their intent all along to weaken my regime and allow the metalheads to overrun our great city!" Praxis said forcefully, bringing his fist down on the podium. "It is only through my dedication to your safety and wellbeing that these offenders have been brought to justice! The first man, Torn, is an ex-KG and has been confirmed as the second-in-command of the so-called Underground, a criminal organization that has caused great harm to our infrastructure. And the second...a man who would have led this city to ruin long ago had I not stepped up as sovereign—"

"Hell with you, Praxis! You led this city to ruin!"

"Who said that?" Praxis roared as a stunned ripple passed through the crowd. Ashelin couldn't pinpoint the voice, and neither could her father because he waved at the KGs. "Find whoever said that! Bring them to me!"

"Ten years, and you still haven't gotten rid of the metalheads!" a woman spoke up snidely. "What happened to all that boasting about assembling the most powerful fighting force? The only ones you've used the KG on is us!"

Ashelin blanched, heart pounding. She had recognized that voice. It belonged to one of the Underground agents. And now that she was looking, she saw other familiar faces. Underground agents donned in civilian clothes and constantly moving among the crowd to avoid the KGs. She shot a glare at Torn, but he returned with wide eyes and a confused half-shrug. Don't look at me, I have no clue. Ashelin put a hand to her holster. Something was about to happen, but she didn't have a clue what.

"I will destroy the metalheads!" Praxis retorted, so livid that Ashelin could see a vein throbbing in his temple. "Find her too! The next person to speak out will share the fate of the prisoners—!"

"Damas never killed us for speaking our minds!"

A ragged cheer rose at that, and from then on it seemed like everyone had something to say.

"Yeah! And he never let our children starve in the slums!"

"Damas had it right! We never should've trusted you!"

"Step down, Praxis! We want our king back! Long live the king!"

The KGs within the crowd gave up trying to locate the actual dissidents and simply began hauling random people away, but even that wasn't enough to deter them. There were too many voices clambering to be heard, the anonymity of the crowd giving them the freedom to speak their minds at last. Ashelin had always known the people resented her father, but never had she thought that resentment ran so deep. And after all this time, she had never dreamed theirs spirits could still be so strong. It at once frightened and humbled her.

Slowly, Ashelin looked toward Damas, who was gazing at the people with something like wonder and pride. He shut his eyes when a chant began, so powerful and overwhelming that it even brought tears to her eyes.

"Long live the king! Long live the king! Long live—!"

"ENOUGH!" Praxis howled, but that did nothing to dampen the fervor. Ashelin could read the signs better than anyone and knew he was very, very close to losing his temper. He whirled around and stalked toward Damas and Torn, and Ashelin almost panicked. If he cut them down now without any warning, there was no telling what could happen. Seeing Damas die might frighten the citizens enough to make them lose heart, but it was more likely to enrage them. And if a fight broke out, it would turn into a massacre. Innocents would die. That could not happen.

Before Ashelin could decide what to do, gunshots broke out right behind her. Some of the Wastelanders had come to the front of the crowd and now stormed up the stairs to attack her father's personal guards. Praxis whirled around and threw himself at the Wastelanders with an enraged howl, hacking wildly with his sword. Some of the crowd panicked and attempted to disperse, but Ashelin could see pockets of fighting breaking out all over the courtyard. Wastelanders and Underground agents, along with a number of civilians, were overwhelming and beating the KGs nearest them. Distracting them, she realized. Dividing the KGs attention so that no more could come to her father's aid.

Ashelin drew her gun, unsure at first of who she should help first. Because of her hesitation, only she noticed the zoomer come screeching around the corner and halt above the Palace steps. Jak and Sig didn't bother waiting for it to switch hover zones before they leapt down. Armed with peacemakers, they took out the KGs holding Torn and Damas and flanked them while Daxter undid cuffs around their wrists.

Above the gunfire and clash of armor, Praxis roared in fury. "Ashelin, stop them! Don't let them get away!"

Ashelin took half a step toward the group, and hesitated. As Torn took a rifle from a fallen KG, he turned locked eyes with her, jaw tight.

Shoot me, then.

Ashelin's hand clenched around her pistol, years of training screaming at her to take action. But she couldn't. Damn it all, she wanted them to get away. She wanted Damas to see his son again, and she wanted Jak to keep being the city's hero. And Torn...she just wanted him to live period. It was ridiculous, really. After all that time convincing herself she couldn't save him, and even knowing she would face death or worse for her actions, it was nothing in light of the fact that he would be alive.

"Run," Ashelin said, lowering her gun. "All of you, run! Don't look back!"

"Don't gotta tell us twice!" Daxter quipped. "Let's get the heck outta here!"

Torn made a grab for her hand. "Come with us! Ashe, please..."

"You WORTHLESS—!"

Ashelin spun around, and Praxis backhanded her viciously. The force knocked her flat, head spinning, and she heard Torn hit the ground an instant later. Spitting out blood, Ashelin cried out when Praxis raised his sword high. Torn scrambled to get out of the way, but too slowly...then a clash of metal on metal as Jak stepped between them and blocked the downward swing with his morph gun.

Praxis bore down on him with a savage gleam in his eyes. "I've been waiting for this."

Jak bared his teeth. "So have I!" he snarled.

A panicked shriek rose above the chaos, stopping all of them in their tracks. The citizens who had been fleeing in the direction of the Port were coming back in a mass panic. When Ashelin saw why, numb horror overtook her. Precursors, this couldn't be happening. It shouldn't be possible with the shield wall in place, but there was no denying what she was seeing.

Metalheads, hundreds of them, attacking with such ferocity that many of their victims never even saw what hit them. More were coming from the side streets and from behind the Palace, moving with a purpose, boxing their victims in. Caught by surprise, everyone with a weapon in their hands struggled to mount a defense, all antagonism forgotten in the face of this new enemy.

"Not in MY city!" Praxis bellowed and shoved Jak out of his way. He charged down the steps with his sword held aloft, what was left of his personal guard floundering in his wake. The Wastelanders that had been attempting the assassination wasted no time following, but it was the metalheads they went for first, honing in and thoroughly slaughtering the yellow-gemmed monsters like it was their calling. No one cared about the execution anymore, not when people were falling to the metalhead's claws by the droves.

Torn knelt by her side. "Ashelin, are you alright?"

"Why the hell are you asking me that?" Ashelin demanded sharply, not at all amused at his nonplussed look. "I'm not the one getting mauled by metalheads!"

"That's a damn good point," Sig growled without taking his eyes off the metalheads, looking very much like a hunting hound just waiting to be let off the leash.

Ashelin got to her feet and took up her pistol again. "We have to protect those people! Damas, will your warriors fight with us?"

"Just try to stop them," Damas replied with a grim smile. Turning to Sig and Jak, he tilted his head. "Well men, shall we?"

"Do we have to?" Daxter whined.

"Let's kill some metalheads!" Jak said with a reckless grin, and he led the way into the chaos with Damas and Sig right behind him.

Ashelin approached the podium and seized the abandoned microphone. "To the Palace! Noncombatants, retreat to the Palace now! Krimzon Guards, don't let a single metalhead through! Form up, work together!"

"Commander Ashelin!" One of the KG captains jogged up the steps toward her, waving a comm unit over his head. "Commander, what are your orders concerning the Wastelanders?"

"Nothing," Ashelin said, ignoring the captain's confused stammer. "Get your priorities straight, soldier! As long as they're fighting metalheads, I don't care whose side they're on! And while you're at it, tell your troops to take your orders from Torn."

"What?" Torn blurted out. He stared at her like she'd lost her mind. "Are you crazy? They won't listen to me—!"

"Well, they'll just have to suck it up since my father is occupied and I'm about to be as well," Ashelin retorted. He caught her eye, and she gave him an apologetic look when he realized what she meant. "Sorry. Must be the insanity in my blood. No matter what, don't let them take the Palace gates!"

"Ashelin!"

She pretended not to hear him as she sprinted down the stairs, fighting against the tide of screaming people rushing for the sanctuary of the Palace. The Krimzon Guards were beginning to recover from the initial shock, and aided by the stalwart Wastelanders, they now turned their full focus on halting the metalhead advance. Ashelin started shooting as soon as she was in range, barely taking any time between sighting her target and taking it down. Claws slashed her leg, but she didn't even feel it. Every time she turned around, there was another metalhead to kill, another person to help. When her pistol ran out of ammo, Ashelin picked up a rifle, arms burning from the unaccustomed weight. She shot down a metalhead that had been sneaking up behind a Wastelander, picked up a crying child and shoved him into a passing woman's arms, shouting herself hoarse as she tried to herd everyone toward the Palace.

After what felt like an hour but was probably only minutes, Ashelin ran out of targets and jumped on the hood of a zoomer to see how the battle progressed. The fighting was thickest near the Baron's statue, but the way up to the Palace had been cleared out and most of the civilians were now safely inside the Palace. Torn had scrambled some KGs to defend the doors, but though the ground was littered with skull gems, the metalheads just never stopped coming. It grated on Ashelin, but it was beginning to look like their only choice was to retreat into the Palace and lock themselves in. At the very least, they would need the chance to regroup before they made a real effort at driving out the invading force.

The city wasn't lost yet, she reminded herself. All they had to do was take it back.

An enormous shadow fell across the courtyard. Ashelin raised her head and almost gave up hope when the biggest and foulest metalhead she had ever seen dropped from the sky and landed hard, cracking the stone beneath its segmented legs. A long, whip-like tail swept out and flattened two Wastelanders, and one foolhardy KG who rushed to attack was crushed by a carelessly placed foot.

"Kor!" Praxis shouted, confronting the metalhead straight on. "What's the meaning of this? You swore to leave the city be as long as I held up my end of the bargain!"

Not far from Ashelin's zoomer, Jak paused and glanced back in shock. "That's Kor?"

"Jak, heads!" Daxter cried when a metalhead took advantage of his distraction and bowled him over. Jak cracked his head on the concrete while Daxter tumbled off his shoulder with a panicked yelp. Ashelin leapt off the zoomer and sprinted over to help, smashing her rifle into the metalhead's skull to shatter the gem. Out of nowhere, Damas appeared and stood in a defensive stance above the unconscious Jak. He locked eyes with her and jerked his head toward Praxis.

"Go to him, Ashelin!"

She didn't need to be told twice. Ashelin sprinted toward her father and the metalhead called Kor, mowing down anything that got in her way.

"I recall telling you, Baron Praxis," Kor said, relishing each word, "that a deal is of no value if you can't deliver. I have finally grown tired of waiting. Now you have only one option left. Give me the Precursor Stone! Do so, and I'll pull my forces and let your city live awhile longer."

"Go to hell, monster!" Ashelin spat and shot at the creature's back, but the eco dissipated against its armored exoskeleton.

"Ashelin, fall back, damn you!" Praxis yelled as Kor reared back with a hiss. Ashelin dodged the swiping tail, but she wasn't fast enough to avoid the claws that closed around her middle. Kor lifted her high and slammed her against the base of the statue, squeezing until her ribs cracked and a cry of pain was wrenched from her lips. Her rifle dropped from her hands and clattered to the ground.

"If you won't do it for the city, will you do it for your own flesh and blood?" Kor inquired, leering down at her. "My kind doesn't normally take live prey, but when we do, we can keep them alive for weeks while our children feast on the entrails. Is that the fate you want for her, Baron?"

Ashelin shut watering eyes and focused on breathing. What Kor was asking was impossible anyway. Praxis had nothing to trade with. They hadn't been able to locate the Stone since Torn tried to take it.

"If you kill her, you'll never find it!" Praxis said, his remaining eye going from Kor to Ashelin. "I entrusted her with its safety. She's the only one who knows where it is."

"Ahh, all the better then," Kor said in satisfaction. He lowered his face close to hers, and his decaying breath made her gag. "Then she's all I need. And I'm sure she'll talk eventually."

Ashelin forced herself to meet those hideous opaque eyes. "You'll get nothing from me. Except maybe a few suggestions on where you can shove that ugly muzzle of yours!"

Kor gave a full-throated laugh. "Oh, such spirit! She is your daughter!"

"Yes, she is," Praxis said in a lethal tone, gripping the hilt of his sword with both hands. "And I never let anyone take what's mine! Not the city, not the Stone, and not her!"

Ashelin couldn't move, couldn't intervene. She couldn't do anything except watch as Praxis made a suicide charge at Kor. In one motion, the metalhead plucked the Baron off his feet, raised him thirty feet in the air and slammed him back down hard enough to shatter bone and crack concrete. Praxis lay exactly where Kor left him, slumped in a pool of his own blood, and Ashelin screamed.

"You son of a bitch!"

Kor spread his wings, preparing to fly off with her still in his clutches, but then he shrieked at a sudden barrage of eco blasts. Torn had rallied the KGs and had them surround Kor, firing on him from all sides. Kor whipped his great head this way and that, enraged and confused by so many attacks from so many directions. Then Sig came barreling out of nowhere and skidded beneath the legs so he could shoot a peacemaker blast right into his unprotected belly.

Kor howled, his grip loosening, and Ashelin hit the ground in a painful heap. At once she crawled to her father's side while the battle against the giant metalhead and all its brethren raged on. Praxis was still alive, but only just. Each breath was a painful wheeze, and the plating on his head had been shattered from the collision with the ground. Ashelin supported his head on her knees and looked to the nearest Krimzon Guards. "Help me! We need to get him inside!"

"That won't...be necessary," Praxis rasped, waving off the guards feebly. "A soldier knows...when his time has come..."

"You're not dead yet!" Ashelin said furiously. "A soldier should never give up until he's dead! You're the one who told me that!"

Praxis seized her wrist in a bruising grip, coughing a mouthful of blood, but he still fixed her with a determined look. "I have told you many things, Ashelin. And I can only p-pray you were listening. This is my end, as I always knew it w-would be, but...but you will live. You must live! Take this city for your own, and never let anyone rob you of it!"

He pressed something into her hand, a small amulet carved from rose-colored stone like the one Damas had once worn. Ashelin clutched it to her chest, hearing Kor cry out again as he took to the skies, finally driven off by the fierce assault. He hovered out of range of the Wastelander and KG rifles. "So be it! You fools have chosen your fate! But one way or another, I will have the city and the Stone!"

"Not if we have anything to say about it!" Damas shouted in defiance, and was answered by cheers all around.

Kor threw his head back with a wild cackle. "Ah Damas, I think you will regret those words soon enough! Tell me...have your allies yet informed you what has befallen your son?"

Damas stilled. "What do you mean? My son is beyond your reach so don't even think of threatening him!"

"It's far too late for that!" Kor cried, still laughing. "Oh, and it was so easy. His protectors stood no chance! Such a pity about his voice though. So much fear in his eyes, yet unable to utter a single scream..."

Damas paled, raw anguish morphing into a wrath that rivaled the Baron's worst flares of temper. He started forward as if intending to take on Kor himself, only held back by the arms of his allies. Kor began to fly away to the west, throwing a parting shot over his shoulder. "Bring the Precursor Stone to the metalhead nest! Do so quickly, and perhaps there will be something left of him to reclaim!"

"Coward!" Damas bellowed, fighting against the restraining arms holding him back. "Give him back, GIVE ME BACK MY SON!"

"Damas, we gotta move!" Sig yelled. The metalheads were recovering their second wind, bolstered by a fresh wave of reinforcements and no longer holding back out of deference to their leader. At Torn's orders, the remaining humans in the courtyard made a mad dash for the Palace, but Ashelin stayed right where she was, watching the life bleed from her father's body numbly. His eyes were slowly glazing over, his indomitable strength failing, and a shaking hand pried her hand away from his cheek and pushed her away.

"Go. Ashelin, go."

Ashelin shook her head, unable to speak, terrified for the first time in her life. The KGs around her urged her to come with them. She barely heard them, not heeding either their words or the advancing metalheads until someone grasped her shoulders and forcibly pulled her away. Ashelin tried to throw him off, but Torn refused to let her go.

"Ashelin, come on! If you stay out here, you'll die!"

"He'll die if we leave him!" Ashelin retorted. She hit him, kicked him, threatened to shoot him, anything to get him to release her. More hands heaved her up the Palace steps against her will, and Ashelin cried out when three metalheads fell on Praxis, completely shrouding him from view. "No! Let me go, damn you! Father! Father!"

"He's gone, Ashelin!" Torn shouted in her ear and flung her over the threshold. The Palace foyer was crowded with KGs and soldiers and whatever civilians hadn't yet managed to take the elevator to the higher levels. Someone had the sense to punch in the code that would lock down the entire building, and as the great door slowly lowered, all Ashelin could see was a sea of black armored bodies and her father lying broken in the street, abandoned by everyone he had once counted as an ally. Including her.

"They're coming!" someone shouted, and the people nearest the door fled backwards. The space beneath the door was barely three feet high, more than enough to see the shadows of the metalheads just outside. But then a series of rapid blaster shots caused many of those shadows to cease moving. Ashelin's heart leapt. Father...?

At the last possible moment, Jak rolled inside and skidded to a stop, still shooting right up until the door finally slammed down. Outside, the metalheads roared their anger over losing their prey and scratching uselessly at the solid barrier. But for now they couldn't get inside, and the room heaved a collective breath. Sig sank down into a crouch, breathing hard from exertion, while Damas contented himself with leaning against the nearest wall with a hand over his eyes. Torn slung his rifle over his shoulder, still watching the door warily. Jak let his blaster fall from his hands and propped himself on his elbows with a shaky sigh.

Daxter made a rude noise. "Nice one, almost locking us out with the metalheads!" he said snidely. "Seriously, what's a hero gotta do for a little fan service around here?"

Ashelin shut her eyes and buried her face in her hands.

Chapter Text

Once the last of the crates in the Palace storerooms had been pried open, inspected and then closed and stacked back up, the KG captain turned to Torn with a sigh and a shrug. "Enough packaged food for a few hundred people for about two weeks, if we ration carefully. But if the metalheads cut the plumbing and it doesn't rain, we're screwed for fresh water."

Torn grimaced, rubbing his chin and wishing he could take a couple minutes to shave off the rough stubble. "It'll have to do. We're lucky the Baron had the foresight to stock this place at all. I doubt he ever thought the metalheads would penetrate this far into the city. How are we on weapons and ammo?"

"We found a decent cache in a lower cellar," a lieutenant spoke up. "Mostly older models, but they're serviceable, and there's ammo aplenty. I also found the Baron's personal armory, it's chock full of all kinds of goodies. Those are getting distributed now."

"And there's still the turrets," the captain pointed out. "I sent some men up to the roof to watch over the edge and make sure nothing starts scaling the sides of the Palace."

"Good, that was well done," Torn said, relieved that someone had thought of it.

The captain snorted derisively and rounded on him. "Let's get one thing straight. I don't take orders from traitors. If it weren't for the fact that Ashelin thinks you might be good for something, I'd put you in front of a firing squad."

Torn crossed his arms. "Is that all? I hope so because I've got better things to do than listen to you whine. If you don't like my orders, you're welcome to go for a stroll outside and ask the Baron's corpse what orders he has for you."

He didn't wait around to see if the purple-faced captain managed to sputter out a retort, turning on his heel and leaving the storerooms behind. Torn had never seen the Baron's Palace so crowded. The corridors and opulent rooms were packed with refugees of all ages and classes, mostly sitting and conversing in small groups or wandering around in search of loved ones. There was some crying, some ranting, but most were in shock in the aftermath of the battle, staring off at nothing and trying to come to grips with what had happened. Even Torn was having trouble absorbing how quickly the city had fallen. He had never been more grateful for the help of his Underground agents. Accustomed as they were to living as fugitives, they had been the first to get food and blankets distributed and medical attention to those who needed it most.

The Krimzon Guards, Torn admitted with an internal wince, were another matter. They were a formidable force and they had naturally been trained for invasion, but not on this scale and not when the threat came from within the walls. Scattered units engaged in battle all over the city were repeatedly hailing the Palace for backup or orders or both, and they all seemed equally shocked and dismayed to learn that the great Baron had fallen. Like a snake with its head cut off, the body writhing in the dirt and waiting to be devoured by predators. They were too accustomed to having a strong leader, one they respected and obeyed without question.

Where the hell was Ashelin?

"E-Excuse me..."

Torn turned at the tentative touch on his sleeve. The woman recoiled slightly at the sight of his tattoos, but she still met his eyes squarely, one arm holding her young son close. "Is it true?" she demanded. "Is the Baron dead?"

"Yeah, it's true," Torn said bluntly. There was no point in lying. The woman's lips grew tight, and she seemed torn between satisfaction and genuine alarm. The boy looked from one adult to another in confusion.

"Mama, why are you frowning? I thought you said the Baron was nothing but a—"

"Hush, Clem!" the woman said sharply. She fixed Torn with a piercing look. "So who's in charge then? Who's going to protect us?"

"Damas will," another refugee said, his hands on his hips. "Ain't that right, KG? That guy the Baron was gonna execute, that was Lord Damas, wasn't it?"

"Hang on, I thought Commander Ashelin was supposed to be...?"

"What about the metalheads? Haven't you taken care of them yet? When can we go home?"

"Let us talk to Damas! Where is he?"

"Look, I've got work to do," Torn said hastily, dodging questions and accusations alike until he could flee up a staircase. He lost them near the administrative area of the Palace, still on the hunt for Ashelin, but Torn halted when he overheard voices coming from one of the council rooms. On a second look, it appeared nearly all of the Wastelanders were grouped inside, all grouped around the great round table in the center. Torn paused at the threshold, seeing Damas with his hands braced on the table as he studied the map laid over the polished wood.

"...found Poll's beacon here, lordship," a Wastelander said, tapping a spot on the map. "Something had mauled her pretty bad, tore her arm clean off, but at least she's alive. More than can be said for the others. She gave us the gist of what was going down, and once we got Kleiver's beacon, we knew we had to come. Lucky we got in contact with Sig when we did."

"I see," Damas said in a tired voice. He covered his eyes with his hand. "So my son never even made it to Spargus..."

"If that son of a bitch really has Mar, he'll have taken him straight to the nest," Sig told him. "That's northwest in the rougher parts of the Wasteland. Going by land would take days, maybe a week, so we'd better get ourselves some kind of air transport."

"What about the air trains?"

"No go, lordship. The air train depot was one of the first places hit, and the metalheads have overrun the portals in the shield walls. If we want out of this city, we'll have to fight our way out."

"Does Ashelin know you're planning to abandon us?" Torn said darkly.

At once, he found himself the subject of glaring scrutiny. Most of the Wastelanders saw his tattoos and reached for their weapons, teeth bared in open hatred. Torn returned with equal distaste, holding his ground as Damas straightened. "I had planned to tell her just before we set out," he said shortly. "She'll understand my reasoning."

"You sure about that?" Torn retorted. "Because I sure as hell don't. The city that your family has protected for centuries is about to fall to the metalheads, and here you are planning to rush out on your own personal vendetta! If this is really how you acted when you were ruler, no wonder Praxis banished you!"

The room erupted.

"Shut your damn mouth, KG!"

"Damas is a better king than you'll ever know!"

Sig stepped forward, trying to subtly maneuver between Torn and Damas. "It ain't like we're leaving the city completely unprotected. You've still got Ashelin and the Guard, don't you? And think about who you're talking to. Most of us don't owe Haven or the Baron an ounce of allegiance, Damas least of all. You can't ask him to put this city over his kid's life!"

"That's exactly what I'm asking him to do!" Torn snapped, rage making him reckless. "If it weren't for us, that kid would have been living on the streets! Do you know what happens to orphans left alone in the slums? Those that don't starve get picked up by factory workers looking for cheap labor. And for the unlucky ones, it's the gangs and drug dealers looking for new blood..."

Damas took two running steps and slammed him against the wall, hands around his neck to choke off his words. "Not another word!" he ground out. "I'm warning you, KG—!"

"Enough!"

Jak shoved his way into the room and forcibly hauled Torn out of Damas' grip. "Torn, let them go to the nest," he ordered.

"What are you talking about, Jak?" Torn rasped and rubbed his neck. "We need—"

"What we need is to do something about the metalheads!" Jak interrupted, shooting him a hard glare. "Don't you think killing their leader might go a long way toward accomplishing that?"

Torn bit back an angry snarl, wanting to argue, but for once Jak actually made a good point. If Damas and his people could pull it off, the metalhead army might be thrown into enough disarray for the KG to deal with. The suicidal risk could possibly be justified, but he still shook his head. "And how do you propose to get them out of the city, let alone all the way to the nest? We can't spare anyone from the Krimzon Guard to accompany them."

"You leave that to me," Jak replied confidently. He scanned the faces around them and squared his shoulders. "Just give me until nightfall. Six hours, and I'll get safe transport for all of you to the metalhead nest. On one condition."

"And that would be?" Damas asked suspiciously.

"I come with you," Jak said at once. "Daxter and I both."

Despite the level of tension in the room, Sig chuckled. "Is that all? Damn cherry, I'd be disappointed if you didn't want to come!"

Jak flashed a grin, but he sobered again as he waited for Damas to make the final call. Damas studied him for a long moment, arms crossed. "I should probably demand to know just what you have planned, but I get the feeling I won't believe it even if you tell me," he said shrewdly.

"Yeah, I guess it is kind of a longshot," Jak said with a rueful look. "Especially since I have to go out into the city to do it. But I'm almost positive it'll work. And if it doesn't, you'll only have lost a day. You can still go ahead with whatever you were planning. Fair enough?"

"Fair enough," Damas said finally. Then he reached for his rifle. "But however much Sig may trust you, I don't intend to sit around and count on you alone to help us. I'll be coming with you. Sig, you're in charge. If we don't return within a reasonable amount of time, assume we won't be returning at all and take command."

Sig gave him troubled look. "Sure you don't want me to head out with the cherries instead? I'm a lot more expendable than you."

"That's not the way I see it," Damas said, catching the gazes of everyone in the room. "We decided as a society that no man should be above another for any reason. Your families are just as important as mine. My orders still stand. If I do not return, do all that you can for my son, but if a rescue proves impossible then return to Spargus. All of you. Is that understood?"

Some of the Wastelanders looked like they wanted to protest, but they kept their reservations to themselves and nodded. Many saluted. Sig fixed the Wasteland king with a serious look. "Both of you watch yourselves out there. And don't get killed!"

"We won't," Jak promised, leading the way out of the room. Damas went after him, and Torn belatedly followed, not wanting to be left alone with all those irate Wastelanders. He caught up with Damas and Jak in time to hear the latter mutter a parting remark. "At least I won't..."

"Watch your mouth, youngling," Damas grunted. "I'm not the one who'll be carrying a hefty piece of orange bait on my shoulder..."

"You two are seriously planning to head out there alone?" Torn demanded, and he was irritated at how much real concern managed to sneak through. "Just you against all those metalheads?"

Jak merely shrugged, entirely too relaxed with the notion. "As long as we keep moving and don't draw too much attention, we should be fine. The metalheads will be too busy going after the easy prey. By the way, there's a reason I was looking for you. I think you'd better go talk to Ashelin.

"Maybe I would if I could find her," Torn muttered.

"She's in the throne room," Jak told him. The three of them stopped at a corner, and Jak pulled a face, his discomfort evident. "I, uh...I think she's upset about Praxis. I tried talking to her, but since I'm one of the people who was out for his head, she made it pretty clear I'm the last person she wants to see."

Torn smirked. "Shot you down, did she?"

Jak lifted his arm to show the singed part of his tunic. "Literally."

Torn's spirits crumbled. If Ashelin was in that kind of mood, things had to be bad. Damas paused, his expression growing sad and a little remorseful. "I should have known she would take it hard. I was so worried about my son, I didn't even think to go make sure she was alright..."

"I'll see what I can do, she's less likely to shoot me," Torn told him. Damas cast him a slightly measuring look, but he said nothing as their group split up, he and Jak heading one way while Torn made for the heart of the Palace. The closer he got to his destination, the less people he saw. Dead or alive, the Baron's presence still radiated from the cold walls and created an invisible force field around his inner sanctum.

The great doors of the throne room had been left open, which Torn took as a good sign as he entered. The broken glass in the roof and floor panels had been removed and the gaping holes clumsily patched with tarps, which made the room just slightly darker than normal. Torn didn't see Ashelin until he advanced up the central aisle and found her resting against one of the pillars, arms around her knees and head bowed, vulnerable in a way that didn't suit her at all. She had one hand clasped around her wrist, tracing the dark finger-shaped marks on pale skin.

"I've never seen anyone look at a bruise so fondly," Torn remarked, making a stab at dry humor.

Ashelin looked up long enough to give him a glare that was pure venom. The side of her mouth where Praxis had struck her was beginning to swell. "The bruises are all I have left now," she hissed.

Torn could think of nothing to say to that. So he took a seat against the pillar as well, not close enough to intrude, only to make it clear he wasn't leaving. "Why are you up here?"

"Do I need an excuse? It is my throne room now."

"Call me old-fashioned, but I don't think leaders should hide on their thrones when their people need them."

Ashelin snorted. "Right, because you're an expert on leadership after you've spent half your life hiding underground and letting others do the fighting for you."

Okay, that stung. And it occurred to Torn that Ashelin was probably the only one in the world who knew how to hit him where it hurt. Likewise, he could do the same. "Do you think your father would approve of you sitting on your ass like this when there was a war to fight?"

"Don't you say a word about my father!" Ashelin snapped. "Don't start pretending to care, not when you'll be one of the people celebrating his death when all is said and done. You didn't know him like I did, none of you!"

Torn glanced away, embarrassed and made ashamed by her grief. "No, I didn't," he admitted. "I'm beginning to wish I had."

Ashelin pushed away from the pillar and stood up, pacing restlessly and looking everywhere but at the throne and him. Finding little else to look at, she gave up and rounded on him. "Tell me why, Torn."

Torn's eyes narrowed. "Why...?"

"Why are you always trying so damn hard to save me?" Ashelin burst out with surprising vehemence. "I never asked you to, I never needed it! I was fine where I was, doing all I could for the city as my father's right hand. And you just wouldn't…you acted like I was a prisoner, like I didn't choose it. But I did! I thought I made that perfectly clear when I refused to leave the Krimzon Guard!"

"Yeah, you did," Torn said quietly. He remembered that day better than any other. His decision to run, confiding his reasons to Ashelin and almost begging her to join the fledgling Underground movement before it was too late. Before Praxis turned on her just like he had turned on Torn when he let Dead Town and all the people within fall to the metalheads.

"Then why?" Ashelin said in a strangled voice. "Why wouldn't you just give up? Why did you keep trying?"

"Because that's what heroes do?" Torn said with a disarming grin. His Jak impersonation did not amuse her, and his expression became somber. "Look Ashe, if I really wanted to save you, I'd have thrown you over my shoulder and carried you off from the beginning. I was waiting for you to save yourself."

"Again, assuming I needed to be saved!"

"Didn't you?" Torn shot back, also rising. "And while we're on the subject, why do you always assume I'm just trying to be a hero? Am I not allowed to be genuinely concerned for my friend's wellbeing?"

Ashelin laughed bitterly. "Friend? You think I still consider you a friend after that moronic stunt you pulled yesterday? Right in this room, in fact. How did you think I would react? Did you think I'd swoon at your feet and beg my father to pardon your crimes? Well?"

Torn stilled. Just like that, he was standing on thin glass again. One wrong step and he would join Erol in his second life as a splat on the ground. Torn had had a lot of time to ponder that kiss in his prison cell, and even he was no closer to understanding why he had done it. Despite what Ashelin assumed, there hadn't been a whole lot of thinking going on. She was asking him to explain what, for him, had been simple reflex. Just instinct.

Kind of like the gut feeling that made him leave the Krimzon Guard when common sense said he was signing his own death warrant. The same feeling made him keep opening his mouth and pissing her off just on the off chance she might hear him for once and finally quit being her father's trained bloodhound. She was such an idiot, and at the same time, so idiotically brave that she drove him crazy and broke his heart all in one.

He scrubbed his eyes wearily. God, being in love sucked.

"...what did you say?"

Torn froze, letting his hand drop an inch so he could meet her gaze. "I did not say that out loud," he said in horror.

Slowly, Ashelin nodded, jade eyes impossibly wide. The two of them could have been statues for all they moved, and Torn realized with a twinge of hysteria that Ashelin was blushing again. Abruptly, he spun on his heel and made for the doors. "Excuse me while I go stick my head in an oven..."

"So," Ashelin said in a hushed voice, "you weren't just being an ass to get back at me?"

Torn halted with a grimace, not daring to look back. "I'd say yes to save face, but it's a little late for that now."

"That's really how you feel? You...you love me?"

"If you're going to shoot me, can we get it over with?"

But instead of a gunshot, Torn heard a choked noise behind him. He peeked back in time to see Ashelin spin away from him with a hand over her mouth, and he felt a little twinge of hysteria when he spotted the tiny glistening drops on her cheek. "Are...are you crying? Why are you...?"

"Because I'm a cold-blooded bitch, that's why!" Ashelin shouted, her voice breaking until it was almost a scream. "Because even knowing how you felt, I would have let you die back there! And you know what, Torn? I would have been okay with it. If only one of us could live, it might as well be m-me, right? The one who can actually make a difference. A necessary sacrifice, like my f-father is always talking about…God, you were right. I'm no different than he is! And you...you can still stand there, even now, and tell me you love me? What kind of j-joke is that? Who could ever love a person like that?"

"Apparently, I could," Torn said, partly to himself. Ashelin only shook her head, and he came closer to rest his hands on her trembling shoulders. "Ashelin, you're not like him. I've never seen him in you. And all that crap you're saying about yourself...you're not even counting all those years you spent lying to the Baron's face to protect me and the Underground. You think I don't understand how hard that was for you? Why do you think I kept trying to make you leave him? You're different from him because even when sacrifice is necessary, you understand there are some lines that should never be crossed. And need I remind you that you did choose me in the end?"

A shiver raced through her. For a split second, Torn thought she would break down completely, and he just didn't know if he could handle that. He didn't do well with crying women. That was why he and Ashelin had always gotten along so well. But when Ashelin finally faced him, she seemed to have gotten the tears under control. She just looked at him for a long moment. And then she flung her arms around his neck, squeezing so hard that he almost couldn't breathe.

"Idiot," Ashelin whispered brokenly, letting out a long sigh that tickled his collarbone. "You said it yourself. I've been choosing you every day for the past four years."

Now that was the best damn news he'd heard all day. Torn embraced his comrade and love, reveling in the fact that he finally could, and pulled his head back to look into her face and see his own joy and relief reflected back. Yes, this was something they had been denied for far too long. His gaze dropped from her eyes to her lips, but Ashelin put her fingers on his mouth before he could go in for the kill.

"Save it for later, soldier," Ashelin told him. Reluctantly, she extracted herself from his arms, her face hardening. "Right now, we've got a war to win."

Torn nodded. Right, the metalheads. That should probably come first. He followed Ashelin out of the throne room. She didn't hurry, but still strode with that surety and lazy aggressiveness that he knew so well. By the time they reached the largest council room where the KG had set up temporary headquarters, she was all soldier and all leader. A few KGs actually stood up when she strode inside and made straight for the central table where they had their comm equipment set up to send and receive dispatches. Ashelin took one of the comms and snapped at the person manning it. "Set it to broadcast on all frequencies."

"Yes, ma'am!"

Once he gave the signal, Ashelin straightened up. "This is Commander Ashelin speaking," she announced to the room and the city at large. "From this moment on, I am the ruler of Haven City and the head of the Krimzon Guard. And since we've got a hell of a mess on our hands, I hope you're all prepared for some clean-up!"

Torn swore every man and woman in the room nearly fainted from relief. He allowed himself a mental grin, especially when he noticed the haughty captain from before staring at him in dumbfounded disbelief. He, the ex-KG, had been the one to find them a new alpha. The irony was not lost on him.

"Listen up!" Ashelin said to the room at large, and she received instant undivided attention. "The first thing I need is to know where we stand. How many of our forces are still in action? I need a list of casualties and their current position and status, I need to know what we have to work with. And make sure I receive constant updates on the metalhead movements throughout the city. If they so much as sneeze, I want to know about it!"

"Yes, ma'am!"

The KGs went back to their duties with renewed energy. Ashelin dug a map of Haven out of a cabinet and tacked it up on the wall, still talking. "As soon as we can manage, we should start evacuating civilians from their homes and get them to more defensible locations. Those in the Bazaar and the Port should make for the Palace, if they can, so I need units posted to keep the main avenues clear. And I want to set up sweeps of the north city to help the people there."

"Once the metalheads see the people gathering, they'll start concentrated attacks," Torn remarked.

"Which is why we're going to arm every civilian that knows how to use a gun," Ashelin said, practically radiating glee at his stunned look. "Those metalheads are expecting an easy banquet. We'll see how they react when the banquet bites back. Has anyone managed to contact the guards at the fortress? We're going to need the weapons and eco stored there if we're to stand a chance. And inform the personnel that any prisoner who chooses to fight for the city will have their case reviewed and their sentence reduced, if not pardoned outright."

Torn whistled impressively. "If your father heard an order like that, he'd have had a stroke."

A bit of warmth crept into Ashelin's smile. "I know."

"Commander!" one of the KGs said, holding up a comm. "I've got someone from the fortress on the line. I'm...not sure who it is, but he claims he's in charge, and he's asking for you."

Ashelin took the comm. "This is Commander Ashelin. Who am I speaking with?"

"Nice to hear from you, Miss Tyrant," a very smug voice said. "How you blokes doing up there in yer high and mighty palace?"

Torn's jaw dropped when he recognized both voice and accent. That was one of Damas' Wastelanders. What was his name? Kleiver? Ashelin also seemed taken aback, but she recovered quickly. "And just what are you doing out of your cell?"

"Oh, ain't THAT a nice way to say hello?" Kleiver said snidely. "And here I went to all that trouble getting these ingrate prisoners and yer pansy-ass guards in fighting form. And that only AFTER half the inmates ran off during the first attack. You could show a little gratitude!"

"He's got the guards and prisoners working together?" Torn said in utter disbelief. "Without killing each other? Just...how the hell?"

Ashelin muttered something that sounded a lot like marauder blood. "Then I take it I can count on your help from here on?"

"Put it this way, wench," Kleiver grumbled. "Yer lucky I hate metalheads."

In the course of a few hours, what had once been a bustling bazaar had become as empty and eerily silent as Dead Town. Those inhabitants who weren't lying dead in the dirt appeared to have fled when the invasion began, and the metalheads had taken full advantage of it. The stalls were ransacked, the zoomers and buildings gutted, merchandise strewn all over the place. Jak moved with a care for where he placed his steps, not wanting to alert any lurking metalheads to their presence. Behind him, Damas kept his rifle ready and his eyes on the path they had come from. Daxter occupied himself by keeping a running commentary in Jak's ear, a sign of his own nerves.

"Aw man, they clobbered Freddie's stand! I swear that guy made the best meat pies you've ever eaten, Jak. I kept meaning to get some for ya. Oh boy, some idiot let the chicken lady's birds out of the coup. Those suckers are mean. Every single stinkin' one of 'em deserved what they had comin', I'm tellin' ya! Better steer clear of the seed and nut stalls, that's probably where they all went..."

"Tell me, does he ever close his mouth?" Damas said in exasperation.

"Not even in his sleep," Jak replied jadedly.

Daxter twisted around to pout at Damas. "Hey Mr. Sandking, you got a problem with my narrating? If ya don't like it, then don't listen. It's not a hard concept. Besides Jak doesn't mind me talking, do ya, Jak?"

"Only when I'm trying to listen for an ambush," Jak said with a pointed look.

"Yeah, yeah," Daxter said and rolled his eyes. "But come on, I spent half my life filling up the silence back when you were a mute so don't expect me to break the habit in a day."

"You used to be mute?" Damas said, his surprise evident.

Jak shrugged it off. "For most of my life, up until a few months ago. It wasn't a problem with my voice or anything. It just...didn't come naturally."

Damas made a small noise of acknowledgement, shooting the ground a troubled look. "That must have been difficult for you," he murmured.

"Sometimes," Jak muttered, hoping his curtness would make Damas drop the subject. He put his back to a building and peered around the corner. Here, a raised section of the road allowed zoomers to pass overhead, forming a sort of roof over this section of the bazaar. Jak didn't trust the shadows and enclosed space, but this was the quickest way through that he knew of. They pressed on, their steps echoing in the gloom. Even Daxter quieted down when they passed the corpse of a woman whose entrails had been ripped out and strewn across their path.

Jak averted his eyes and gave it a wide berth. They couldn't afford the time it would take to remove the body from the street or pay their respects, but Damas still took a brief moment to shut her eyes. Jak pretended not to notice when he sensed a disapproving glower directed squarely at his back. It made him distinctly uncomfortable and also annoyed him. Damas had no right to judge him. He had no authority over Jak, he was not even a close friend.

Still, part of Jak couldn't help but be just the tiniest bit ashamed. It must be a father thing, that uncanny knack for making grown men feel like children in need of a good scolding. Jak was certain he wouldn't feel this way if it was Torn or Sig looking down on him. In fact, if he had to compare it to something, it was more like how he felt when he wanted Samos' approval. Except that usually came with a healthy dose of anxiety that he wouldn't measure up to the sage's high expectations. Something that happened far more often than he'd like to admit.

This was different somehow. Very different.

"I've been meaning to ask you," Damas said after a moment. "I never did learn exactly how Sig found out Mar was with the Underground."

"It was a complete fluke, actually," Jak said with some chagrin. He thought he heard a noise above and twisted to aim his blaster straight up. Seeing nothing, he went on. "That was the day we were planning to get the Precursor Stone from the Tomb. I was supposed to take the kid there, but I guess you could say I'm popular with the KGs. I needed a place to lay low and took him to hide out at Krew's bar. Sig happened to be there too."

"So if Sig hadn't found you, Mar would have been forced to face the Tomb's trials," Damas ground out. "The Precursors were watching out for him that day."

Jak spared a glance at the Wasteland king. "So what's in the Tomb then? From what the Shadow told me, I thought it'd just be a matter of opening a door and getting the Stone."

Damas shook his head solemnly. "The Tomb was designed to test Mar's descendants to see if they were fit to carry on his legacy, through a series of rigorous physical and mental tests. I myself went through it before my coronation, and I was glad to see the last of it."

"And Old Loghead wanted the kid to go through that?" Daxter said incredulously. "There's no way he would've made it!"

"Maybe he didn't know about the tests," Jak said, but even he was doubtful. The Shadow would have done as much research as possible on the place, and the thought made his temper spike. "Either way, I wouldn't have let it happen. I'd have gone through the Tomb myself first."

"Clearly it's your specialty," Daxter said in a resigned tone, flashing a grin. "Making the impossible possible, facing down death in all its sharp-clawed, many-toothed glory, from little village boy to legendary hero in a day and still home in time for dinner. Yep, that's our Jak."

Jak smirked. "Yeah well, what can I say?"

Damas watched them for a moment with an odd expression before he proceeded on, his next words almost casual. "Daring and valiant as well as altruistic. It's no wonder everyone in this city has been calling you the heir of Mar..."

"They're calling me what?" Jak blurted out, stopping in his tracks. The very idea was so preposterous that he almost accused Damas of messing with him. "That's not...there's no way they're...are they?"

Damas halted as well, the corners of his mouth turned down in a small scowl. "Ever since you won the Class Two Race, I've heard Haven's people talking about it. It helped that the win came in tandem with the rumors of my return to the city. Somehow, the idea has taken hold. Just now in the Palace, I overheard someone mention that you coming to my aid during the execution proves it."

Speechless, Jak could only gape at Damas, feeling unfairly thrust into the spotlight. Daxter tugged on his ear. "Well, how 'bout that? Sounds like the city's coming around to ya, Jak! That's a good thing!"

"There's nothing good about it!" Jak snapped, not caring that his sudden outburst made Daxter jump and tumble off his shoulder. "They don't even...how can they call me a monster one day and the heir to the city the next? It makes no sense! Why can't they make up their damn minds?"

"Jak, take it easy!" Daxter implored. He laid a placating hand on his calf. "We've been sayin' it since the beginning, haven't we? People are idiots. Always have been, always gonna be. For the love of the Precursors, let it go."

Jak threw up his hands. "But if they're already thinking like this, what next? Do they think I'll be the one to rule the city now that Praxis is dead?"

"It hasn't been said outright, but that would seem to be the logical conclusion," Damas said evenly. He gave Jak a measuring look. "That isn't something you want?"

"No!" Jak said hotly. "No way! I'm just a hired gun, I don't know anything about...about any of that! Ashelin can have the city, I just want…"

And here he paused because Jak realized he didn't know how to finish that sentence. It wasn't like he hadn't thought about what he would do once Praxis was gone. Of course he had. The problem was, Jak always came up empty. Thanks to Keira, returning to Sandover was now a very real possibility, but the thought of going back—of trying to settle down and live a quiet life as best he could—just didn't appeal to him as it once would have. And that was always assuming the villagers didn't drive him out for being a monster. And assuming the village was even there anymore. For all Jak knew, those metalheads had slaughtered everyone after they went through the Rift Ring.

"From what Sig tells me," Damas said slowly as they trudged onward, "you spent much of your time in the criminal underworld looking for a way to get to the Baron."

"Yeah," Jak muttered.

"...he's dead now."

"Oh gee, we must've missed the memo," Daxter said with impudence. "Not like it was obvious or anything. Lots of people survive getting crushed into the ground by giant freaky monsters..."

"Dax," Jak said in warning. He scrubbed at his eyes wearily. "It's not like I made revenge the center of my life, alright? I just...I had everything taken from me by him. The future wasn't important anymore because I knew I wouldn't have one until he was gone."

"And now that you have one, you don't know what to do with it," Damas finished for him. "That's something I can understand, to some extent. But I wouldn't fret too much. You seem skilled enough as a fighter."

"Yeah, and how long will that last me?" Jak said acerbically. "Once the war is over, there goes my income."

"Not necessarily. Tell me, why do you continue to fight even after your vengeance has been fulfilled?"

"What do you mean?" Jak said, honestly confused. "Why wouldn't I fight? I have to if I want..."

And then he had his answer.

"...I want to keep the people I care about safe. I want to do all I can to keep them that way. So, yeah. Find me a job where I can do that, and I'd probably be content."

Damas nodded once, and Jak had the oddest feeling he had passed some mysterious test. Weird. Damas moved to scout ahead, and as Jak watched him, a flicker of memory came back. Standing in Krew's bar, his new morph gun strapped to his back while Krew looked him up and down with squinted eyes. That was excellent shooting, Jak! Ever thought of being a Wastelander, hmm?

Damas paused and held up his hand in a signal to stop. Jak's grip on his gun tightened when he heard something just ahead that grunted and growled like a beast. Jak waited while Damas crept forward and peered around the corner. And he was startled when Damas almost immediately jerked back, one hand going to his mouth like he was fighting the urge to be sick. He took a deep breath and turned burning eyes on Jak. "Another of the Baron's creations?"

"What?" Jak asked, and before Damas could stop him, he moved around the corner to see for himself. What he saw rivaled every other horror he had witnessed in his short, violent life. The small alcove beneath the zoomer ramp was dark and sheltered, but it was still possible to make out the bodies in the dimness. Or what was left of them. Humans and metalheads alike, ripped apart and thrown aside like they were nothing, blood splattering the pillars and soaking the earth.

Daxter came up next to his ankle, going pale beneath his fur. "Jak...please tell me Big Darkie went and had a party without me?"

Jak shook his head numbly. He hadn't done this. But he was the only one who could have. Metalheads didn't kill their own kind, and the thought of another person doing this was almost as farfetched. At least it was until he saw the man-shaped figure hunched low over the body of a metalhead, skin so pale it was almost gray, occasionally illuminated by a ripple of dark eco. The figure shuddered, and the sickening chewing and swallowing noises left little doubt as to what was happening. Jak's gorge rose. It was a crude and revolting way to absorb eco, but if one was desperate and didn't know how to properly channel, it would suffice.

It seemed the Dark Warrior program hadn't been a complete failure after all.

"Jak, don't even think about it!" Daxter hissed by his boot. "Come on, let's get outta here before we're next on the menu!"

Jak took a deep breath and stepped forward purposely. No, he couldn't walk away. One tainted experiment walking the city was bad enough. Wherever the Baron had been hiding this thing, Jak would send it back in pieces. He raised his blaster, and at the same time the creature whirled around, growling lowly. In a shaft of muted light, its face was finally revealed...and its eyes. Eyes that were almost fully black, save for the iris which burned a fiery amber that scorched him to the core.

It was Gol. The realization made his gut lurch and blood drain from his face as his entire world fell apart. His hands trembled, palms sweating, his entire body paralyzed by a soul-deep fear Jak hadn't felt since he was fifteen. Gol Acheron should have been dead. The dark sage had been defeated and locked in an eco silo with his deranged sister years ago, centuries ago. How could he be here, alive?

"What are you looking at?" the monster whispered, his words harsh and guttural. Black blood was smeared all over his jaw and neck, coating hands that sported budding claws. Jak wanted to attack, wanted to flee, but his mind was in a deadlock, unable to see or hear anything except those eyes and that voice. Unable to think beyond the fact that he had failed. Gol was still alive, his worst nightmare clawed back out of his grave, and now he would kill Jak, and then Damas and Daxter and everyone else would follow because he had failed.

"What are you looking at?" the monster repeated as he rose to his feet and advanced. His voice raised in pitch to a hysterical shriek. "What the hell are you looking at, freak!"

The nightmare shattered. "Erol!" Jak said, horrified for an entirely new reason. "Precursors...what has he done to you?"

"That's Erol?" Daxter said incredulously. "But—but—I thought Tattooed Wonder finished him off!"

"Jak, move!" Damas shouted behind him. "Move so I can shoot it!"

Erol rushed forward, lightning quick, his speed all out of proportion to his powerful new body. Jak reacted a split second too late, and his blaster shot went wide as Erol slammed into him. Jak shouted in pain when fangs buried into his shoulder at the base of his neck. Thrown off balance, he landed hard on his back and lost his grip on the morph gun. Before Jak could reach for it again, Erol crouched above him, clawed hands closing around his neck and smashing his head into the base of one of the pillars.

"It's your fault!" Erol howled in his face. "It was you, all your doing! He could have saved me, and instead he did this. He meant for me to replace you!"

"He what?" Jak gasped, appalled. He tried futilely to pry the hands away from his neck, head spinning from the collision with the pillar. Erol was so close that he couldn't look away from those demonic eyes. For the first time, it hit him that this must be what his own victims felt, the despair of knowing they were at the mercy of pure evil.

Erol gave him a ghastly grin. "Like looking in a mirror, isn't it?" he purred.

Damas appeared over Erol's shoulder and swung his weapon at the ex-KG's head, knocking him away from Jak. He raised his rifle and took aim, but Erol was too fast. The monster leapt up and scaled the pillars until he vanished onto the roof of a building. Damas cursed, swinging his rifle back and forth as he tried to find him, but Erol didn't return.

Jak raised a trembling hand to the bite mark near his collarbone. The wounds were infected with dark eco. When it was absorbed through his skin, he had no trouble controlling it, but injected directly into his blood, it resisted his will and sought to overpower him. His body stiffened and shuddered, eyes rolling back in his head. Jak bared his teeth when he sensed the change coming on, the wild and savage surge that made his heart beat faster and his blood sing with the desire to fight and kill, to conquer the world with teeth and claws.

"...an he hear us? Is he going to be...?"

"...ive him a minute, alright? Let him put Darkie back in the cage..."

The voices. Jak focused on the voices, remembered why he was fighting so hard, and eventually the bloodlust receded. He breathed out slowly, letting his head hang low. Humanity had won out over the demon, but only just.

A hand grasped his shoulder. "Are you alright?" Damas asked in concern.

Jak nodded and used the pillar's support to haul himself to his feet. But the instant he opened his eyes, Damas drew a sharp breath and snatched his hand back, retreating several steps. The naked fear on his face and the way his hand clenched around his rifle hit Jak like a punch in the gut. It reminded him of his own reaction at the moment he saw Erol, of his decision to put him down then and there without a single thought for the life of the man inside it. He had seen only a rabid beast, something that had to die.

What others saw when they looked at him.

Eco freak.

Jak twisted away and vomited hard, clinging to the pillar so he wouldn't collapse. When his roiling stomach was empty, he wiped his mouth with an unsteady hand, panting hard like he had been running for miles without pause. He barely registered when Daxter jumped up and scaled him like a jungle gym until he was settled in his usual place on his shoulder. The ottsel tugged on his hair, and Daxter met his gaze with a beaming smile. "There's them baby blues!" he pronounced.

Jak frowned. "My eyes are not baby blue."

"Psh fine, they're plain ol' blue," Daxter snorted. "That manly enough for ya, tough guy?"

Hesitant footsteps drew closer. Jak could see Damas out of the corner of his eyes, but couldn't yet bring himself to look at him yet.

"That's what happens to you," Damas said without inflection. "When you channel dark eco, you become...like him."

"Whoa, whoa, Jak is nothing like that psychopath!" Daxter protested. "First off, he's never tried to chow down on a metalhead! That's just...ick. And two, he doesn't go after people unless those people are going after him first. Now maybe once in awhile some random idiots get caught in the crossfire, but come on, that ain't his fault."

"Daxter," Jak said, silencing his friend. He pushed away from the pillar to face Damas, nervous for a reason he couldn't explain. "When I lose control, I'm no different than what you just saw. I've...hurt people. I wish I could say it was always in self-defense, but sometimes they were just in my way."

"And your friends in the Underground, they know of this? They've seen it?"

It clicked then what Damas was really asking, and Jak looked him straight in the eye. "If...if it's your son you're worried about...yes, he's seen me transform. Twice, at least. But both times it was to protect him, and I've never tried to cause him harm."

"Are you kidding me?" Daxter said with a snicker. "That's what the Sandking's worried about? Listen, Jak here practically becomes a mother hen around that kid! Didn't I tell ya that's the whole reason he freaked out on Sig in the first place? Right up there with wearing red and worshipping Praxis, that's the number one way to piss Darkie off."

Damas relaxed just the slightest bit, though he was still guarded. He sighed and rested one hand on his hip, regarding Jak. "I won't lie to you. What I saw here...it disturbs me. To know that the Baron condoned something like this, it makes me want to throw his body in the deepest, darkest pit imaginable, and toss Erol in after him."

Jak gave a feeble half-shrug of agreement. "And me?"

"You are not Erol," Damas said resolutely. Jak stared. It was as if he had said you are not a monster. Damas reached down and scooped up his dropped blaster, offering it to him without another word. Jak took the morph gun, reigning in the last of his doubts so he could focus on the task at hand. They still had a nest to infiltrate, a metalhead leader to kill and an innocent child to save. Jak beckoned and led the way at a jog, less concerned about metalheads now. Erol had probably scared them all off.

"Hey," Daxter murmured in his ear, low enough that Damas wouldn't hear. He jerked his thumb at the Wastelander. "He's alright."

Jak allowed a ghost of a smile. "Yeah. He is."

It wasn't long before they emerged into the great open-air market on the city's west side. From there it was easier to find the way to one specific stand that sold fish fresh from coastal Lurker villages. Jak bypassed this completely and went straight to the building behind it, pounding his fist on the barred door. "Brutter, are you there? It's Jak, open up!"

There was no answer at first, and Jak started to feel a little anxious. Damas inspected the stand curiously before looking up. "There's someone here who can help us reach the nest?"

"Yeah, someone who owes me a favor," Jak replied. He frowned and started to turn away. "Looks like he might have fled already..."

The door burst open behind him, and Jak was abruptly enveloped in a pair of huge, hairy arms that squeezed the breath out of him. "It's Brother Jak! You come, you and Orangey Pal both! Me knew you come!"

"Ease up, big guy, he can't breathe!" Daxter exclaimed.

Brutter thumped Jak back on his feet and pounded his back until he stopped coughing. "Oh, sorry! Me forget you not so strong. Brother Jak, you here to fight metalheaders?"

"Something like that," Jak wheezed, rubbing his ribs. He waved a hand in Damas' direction weakly. "Brutter, this is Damas. He and his comrades are planning an assault directly on the metalhead nest, to take out the leader."

"Oh, you very brave," Brutter praised him at once. "Nest built in nasty place. Not even Lurkers brave enough go there. Too much of the dark nasty. Infect soil, poison air, very bad."

Damas nodded, seeming to have gotten over his initial bemusement. "Yes well, let us hope we are not there for long. Jak seems to think you can aid us in some way."

"Anything for Brother Jak and Orangey Warrior," Brutter said fervently. He ruffled Daxter's fur until it stuck up all over the place, much to the ottsel's annoyance. "They save Lurker brothers, they destroy metalheaders that invade Lurker cave. Me help in any way can!"

"That's exactly what I wanted to hear," Jak said gratefully. "Tell me something, Brutter. Do your people still build the finest zeppelins in the world?"

Chapter Text

When the alarm sounded that metalheads were invading the city, no one believed it at first. There was a great deal of angry muttering when the races were abruptly cancelled and the entire Stadium placed on lockdown. Racers, spectators and personnel alike simply had to wait it out. Hours later, they were grateful. When the metalheads came, they came in force, and the few KGs who had been stationed at or near the Stadium had their hands full repelling them.

But repel them, they did. Once the metalheads retreated, supposedly to find more worthwhile prey, Samos and the Shadow made themselves useful treating the injured in the medical wing, and Keira did her best to help them. For hours she ran from patient to patient with bandages, clean water, green eco, whatever was needed. It was exhausting work, but at least it numbed her. It kept her own terror at bay and kept her from thinking about Jak and Daxter and all those people with the Underground who had been at the Palace where the metalheads had focused their main attack.

On her way back to the medical wing for the twelfth time with more supplies, Keira was stopped by the Shadow. She was so intent on her destination that it actually took her a moment to realize he had pulled the box of supplies out of her hands, peering at her gaunt face in concern. "Dear girl, you've been running yourself ragged since this morning. Please rest awhile. We can handle things for a short time."

Keira shook her head automatically, only now noticing how tired and lightheaded she was. "I'll be fine. They need my help—"

Samos came to the doorway behind the younger sage. "Keira, rest!" he ordered. "You'll be in far better shape to lend a hand when you aren't sleeping on your feet."

"Y-Yes, Daddy," Keira said and allowed herself to be nudged away from the medical wing. She knew her father was right, but part of her still rankled at being ordered around like a little girl. She smiled to herself warmly. Two years of being without parental guidance had left her accustomed to looking after herself, making her own choices. It was both an aggravation and a relief to be sternly reprimanded like a child again.

Back at her garage, Keira bypassed the outer workshop into her living quarters where Tess was still resting. The Underground agent was doing much better, but she was still weak enough that she couldn't move around much without hurting herself. Keira knocked before she went into her bedroom and found Tess awake and sitting up in bed, perusing a Kras magazine with the ugly crocadog snuggled beside her hip. Tess glanced up and gave Keira a sympathetic smile. "Well, don't you look like hell."

"I feel like hell," Keira groaned, looking down at herself in distaste. Her clothes were bloodstained and filthy. She dug some clean ones out of her bureau and went straight into the shower room, leaving the door cracked so she could talk to Tess. "I'm just going to clean up and maybe take a nap before I go back to help my father and the Shadow. How have you been? Do you need anything?"

"I'm alright," Tess assured her. "The pain's a lot less now, and I'm going crazy being stuck in here. Has there been any word on our boys?"

"Not yet," Keira called. She turned the nozzle in the shower stall and hardly waited for the water to heat up before she stripped and ducked under the spray. "At least nothing concrete. There are all kinds of rumors flying around, which I'm pretty sure are garbage."

"Like what?"

Keira shook her head in disgust. "Oh, like the Baron and Ashelin are dead, and the Underground recruited the metalheads to assassinate them, and that the people's hero was seen flying off to the Wasteland on the back of a metalhead. Can you believe that?"

Even through the tiled wall, she could hear Tess laughing. "Some people really are fond of the worst case scenarios, huh?"

"It's ridiculous!" Keira snapped and started scrubbing hair with more force than necessary. "You'd think they'd rather do something useful and not just sit around and panic. You know one of those aristocrat ladies came up to me earlier. She recognized me from the Class Two Race broadcast, and she wanted to know when 'that blond-haired hotshot' was going to show up and save us. Like that's all he's good for!"

"Oh, she's probably just got a crush on him," Tess teased. "But I have to admit, I'm starting to wonder what's holding them up. Those two aren't the kind to let an army stand in their way."

Keira stared at the grungy wall without really seeing it. "How can you be so sure they'll come? Even if they're alright, they've got to be in the thick of the fighting. They'll have bigger things to worry about than us."

"Oh, I'm not so sure about that," Tess said shrewdly. "I think you underestimate just how much they need us. I know Daxxie, and of all the people in his city, it's his friends he'll try to protect first. That's us, Keira. Well, you know Jak better than I do so only you can speak for him..."

I used to know him, Keira thought unhappily. But right on the heels of that thought came a touch of impatience over her own feelings. In the past few days, she had caught so many glimpses of the old Jak that she could finally admit this new Jak was not the stranger she had so feared. Hardened by experience, rough around the edges, but every so often there would be something in his expression that evoked an echo in her memory. The sight of him, solemn and determined, as he coordinated with Sig and the Shadow to halt the execution. His face flushed with victory after the Class Two Race. His exulted smile when he beheld the reincarnated Rift Rider in her garage...

The crocadog barked, and Keira heard Tess trying to sooth him. "What's wrong, boy? Do you hear something?"

Keira shut off the water and stuck her head out of the stall, half-expecting to hear gunfire and fighting to indicate the metalheads were attacking again. Then she heard a noise in the outer garage, and she toweled off quickly and dressed, trying to remember where she had hidden that pistol she hardly knew how to use. It might be a metalhead that had snuck in. But her doubts were erased within seconds when a familiar ottsel's voice called out.

"Honey, I'm hooome!"

"Daxter!" Tess cried as an orange streak burst through the door and made a flying leap for the bed. Unfortunately, Daxter landed right beside the crocadog, and its protective snarl made him tumble right back to the floor with a startled yelp.

"Hey, why is that ugly mutt in bed with you?" Daxter demanded with a pointed finger. He threw up his hands theatrically and howled in despair. "Oh Precursors, tell me it ain't so!"

The crocadog barked loudly and leapt off the bed, nearly squashing Daxter in his eagerness to reach Jak in the doorway. As soon as he saw Keira, Jak crossed the room to her in three quick strides and took her by the arm anxiously. "Are you alright? We saw all the damage outside, and we thought the metalheads..."

"We're fine," Keira said quickly, touched by his concern. "The KGs kept the metalheads from overrunning us. But what are you two doing here? And how did you even get here? I thought the Palace was under siege."

"Oh please, like we'd let a little thing like a siege stand in our way?" Daxter drawled. He took the crocadog's place on the mattress and gladly submitted to a backrub. "Let me tell you, I am whipped!Must've taken out half the metalhead army just to get all the way here! You don't mind if I let Jak take over from here, do ya? The poor guy needs something to do."

"Of course not, sweetie," Tess crooned. "You've already worked hard enough."

"Good," Daxter said and waved an imperious hand at Jak. "Hey, sidekick! Carry my girl to safety!"

Jak rolled his eyes and carefully hefted Tess in his arms, Daxter and all. "We can't stay here long. We just came to take you guys to the Palace. You'll be safe there while we head out to the Wasteland to deal with this mess. Where are the Shadow and your father?"

"They're helping out in the medical wing," Keira told him. "I'll go get them."

"Better hurry," Jak said, nodding at her. He started for the door with the crocadog trotting happily at his heels. "There's no telling when the metalheads might attack next. Meet us outside, okay?"

Since it appeared questions would have to wait, Keira just nodded and left for the medical wing at a dead run. Due to the deadly nature of the racing events, it was almost an entire hospital all on its own. One that had already been close to full capacity early this morning. Now it was packed to the seams with people that had been mauled by metalheads, and the noise level and press of humanity was almost unbearable. It took some careful navigating for Keira to even find Samos in all the chaos. He was in the middle of stitching a gash on a KG captain's forearm, and he frowned when he saw her.

"Listen, young lady, didn't I tell you...?"

"Daddy, Jak is here!" Keira said breathlessly. "He says he wants to take us to the Palace where we'll be safe. I think we should go now while we have a chance."

"Jak?" Samos repeated in surprise. He finished with his patient and wiped off his hands on a rag. "I should have known he would come through! I'll bet he already has a plan, doesn't he?"

"That's what he made it sound like. He—"

"Wait Miss, did you say Jak?" the KG put in. "Is that the Jak? That punk kid everyone's been calling a hero?"

"Well...yes, I guess," Keira said uncertainly. "But he—"

The KG wasn't listening anymore. Abruptly, he stood and whistled shrilly to get the room's attention. "Okay, everyone! The cavalry has arrived! We're all getting out of here and evacuating to the Palace!"

"Wait a minute!" Keira said in panic as cheers broke out and the activity level kicked up a notch. "I don't think he meant all of us—!"

"Oh dear, you'd better go warn him," Samos said drably. "I'll meet you outside once I find that useless time twin of mine."

Keira bit her lip, but it was too late to repair the damage now so she hastily left the medical wing. The main Stadium doors were barred shut, as were the smaller doors used by maintenance workers, and she took a steadying breath before she swiped her keycard and let herself out. Keira ventured to the top of the steps above the plaza, still expecting to be jumped any second, but there was no sign of any metalheads. They appeared to have completely given up on the Stadium.

A shadow fell across her. Keira craned her head up, and her jaw fell open. The airspace above the plaza was packed with zeppelins, all hovering in formation. There had to be at least thirty of them of all shapes and sizes, decorated with tribal symbols she didn't recognize, and the largest of them had landed right at the bottom of the stairs. Jak had already safely stowed Tess on the zeppelin and somehow coaxed the crocadog into hunkering down beside her. Jak spotted her and hurried over to meet Keira at the bottom of the stairs.

Keira opened her mouth to ask how on earth he had pulled this off, but then she looked over his shoulder and balked, making a grab for his arm. "Jak..."

Jak chuckled as he led her forward by the hand. "It's okay, Keira. Remember, the Lurkers that attacked our village were corrupted by dark eco exposure. These guys are harmless."

Keira swallowed hard and made herself move closer to the Lurker, barely suppressing the impulse to hide behind Jak and demand that he kill it now. It helped that the Lurker was wearing clothes and that Daxter and Tess appeared to be perfectly at ease conversing with it. Keira put on a shaky smile. "You sure make some strange friends," she remarked.

A Wastelander poked his head out from behind the Lurker. "I do hope you aren't counting me among those numbers," he said dryly.

Jak only grinned. "Keira, you remember Damas, right? From the Power Station."

"Oh...oh, that's right!" Keira said when she recognized him. "It's good to see you again."

Damas took her hand in a firm grip. "Good to see me alive, I take it."

"And there's someone else I want you to meet," Jak said, and to Keira's dismay, he steered her toward the Lurker. "This is Brutter. He's the one who organized the zeppelins, although he went a little overboard with it. Brutter, this is my friend, Keira."

"Hello, Friend Keira!" Brutter said with alarming enthusiasm. But he took her hand in his clawed ones with surprising gentleness and laid a sloppy kiss on her fingers. "Brother Jak, this your woman, yes? She very pretty. Were you Lurker, Brutter should challenge you to combat for right to mate."

Brutter turned away without another word to check something on the zeppelin, oblivious to the awkward cloud that had just fallen on the two humans in question. Jak in particular seemed mortified, one hand fluttering to the back of his head sheepishly. "Oh, dear God. Um...it must be a Lurker thing."

"I'll...take it as a compliment?" Keira said faintly, her face burning.

"Hey!" Daxter said loudly, arms crossed. "How come that big furry lump didn't say that about Tess? She's smokin' too!"

"Sweetie, it's because he knows he'd never win against you," Tess assured him, which seemed to mollify the ottsel some.

"Who are all those people?" Damas demanded and pointed straight at the crowd of refugees filing out of the Stadium and down the stairs, escorted by what few KGs remained standing and carrying the injured and the young. They were hesitant like they expected to be attacked, staring in awe up at the zeppelins, and those who spotted Jak immediately started whispering and pointing him out to their fellow refugees.

"Isn't he...?"

"Yeah, that's him! From the wanted posters!"

"...won the Class Two Race, didn't he?"

"Hey, that's the jerk who stole my zoomer!"

"I'm sorry, Jak, they overheard me talking to Daddy," Keira said in apology. "They're all people who got stranded here when the attack started. I know it's a lot to ask, but...do you think we could do something to help them? Take them with us?"

Jak's brow furrowed. He looked from the endless stream of refugees to the zeppelins and back, clearly thinking it over. Damas stepped forward and gripped his arm. "We don't have time for this," he said in a low voice. "I risked enough by allowing this detour to help your friends, but I did not think your friends would number in the hundreds. Every moment we delay lessens my son's chances!"

"Are you saying we should just abandon them all?" Jak hissed.

"They can barricade themselves in the Stadium, if they must," Damas retorted. "What happens to them should not be our primary concern!"

"But there are a lot of families with young children here!" Keira protested. "And a lot of the KGs got hurt when the metalheads attacked the first time. If they come again, these people won't have any protection at all!"

"Damas is right," Jak said abruptly.

"But Jak—!"

Jak cut her a serious look. "We can't take them all, Keira. But that doesn't mean we shouldn't take all we can. We'll talk to the KGs, get them to make sure only the seriously injured and those who can't fight get evacuated. Only as many as can fit on the zeppelins. Everyone else will have to wait until Ashelin can send more help."

"Jak," Damas said in warning.

"I heard you the first time," Jak snapped, rounding on him. "This is not your city, those are not your people. But that doesn't mean the rest of us see it that way. This place is worth fighting for!"

Damas looked like he wanted to argue, but one last glance at all the people coming down the steps gave him pause. He heaved a sigh like he was praying for patience. "Very well. But quickly! Brutter, you had better start flagging down the others."

"Will do, desert man," Brutter said, and he signaled the hovering zeppelins with two little red flags that looked ridiculously tiny in his huge hands. It only took minutes for three more zeppelins to drift out of formation and come to a gentle landing in the plaza and, Lurkers or no Lurkers, the refugees swarmed them like the last lifeboats on a sinking ship.

"Jak!" Samos called over the crowd, gesturing animatedly until he reached them. "We must reserve one of these zeppelins for the Rift Rider! We can't risk leaving it here. Kor might have instructed the metalheads to attack the Stadium for the sole purpose of destroying it!"

"And how exactly would that metal monkey know about it?" Daxter said skeptically. "Jak and I didn't even know until—"

"Daddy, I don't think we should be worrying about that now!" Keira interrupted. "The Rift Rider will be safe enough if we leave it here until the fighting is over. Besides, we don't even have the last part we need to power it."

"Actually," Jak said, and when Keira looked over, it was to see him taking a massive red gem from his pocket. Keira caught her breath when he placed it in her hands, hardly daring to believe it was real. The Heart of Mar, the final key that would complete the Rift Rider.

"Sorry," Jak said, misinterpreting her silence. "I meant to give it to you earlier..."

His stammered apology petered out when Keira flung her arms around him and hugged him tight, so overwhelmed that she was blinking back tears of gratitude and happiness. "Thank you," she mumbled into his shirt.

Jak returned her smile with a small one of his own, but his was more reserved and didn't quite reach his eyes. Keira felt some of her elation dim. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Jak said too quickly, glancing aside. "I'll…tell you later. I'd better go help the KGs out. You get the Rift Rider loaded.

Keira nodded, watching him until he was swallowed up by the crowd. Damas went to help as well, leaving her with Brutter and the two sages. It took all three of them to haul the Rift Rider from her garage down to the zeppelin, the Lurker using brute strength while her father and the Shadow used a form of teleportation born of their natural skill in eco channeling. Once they had it lashed down in the center of the sturdy wooden platform, there was nothing left to do but wait for the rest of the zeppelins to be loaded. The entire evacuation took nearly two hours since only three or four zeppelins could land at a time and there were many heated arguments over who should have priority. Keira wasn't sure how, but somehow Jak and Damas got it all sorted out with the KGs, and Jak had to repeatedly promise them that Ashelin would send help as soon as she could.

Only once the last of the zeppelins had taken off with their heavy loads could they all board the zeppelin with the Rift Rider and cast off their moorings. It was a tight fit with the Rider, the Lurker, six humans, an ottsel and a crocadog, but somehow they all arranged themselves semi-comfortably. Keira knelt beside Tess and Daxter, clinging to the side of the Rift Rider as the ground rapidly fell away until the Stadium looked like a toy block. She wasn't one to be nervous about heights, but with only a rickety platform and a couple balloons between them and falling, Keira thought she had a right to be nervous.

"Keira, look," Samos said reverently, touching her shoulder as he looked straight ahead.

Keira tore her eyes from the distant ground to follow his gaze. And then she forgot the sickening drop because, for the first time in two years, she could see the world beyond Haven's walls. And it was not the ravaged landscape she had always imagined. To the east she could see green forests and an ancient Precursor temple, and to the north, a breathtaking vista of snowcapped mountains so similar to the one from her era that it made her heart ache. The ocean to the south glittered brilliantly in the sunlight, and even the endless Wasteland to the west were utterly beautiful to behold, all golden sand and clear blue skies.

An inexplicable warmth bloomed in her chest. Home.

"This is awesome!" Daxter bellowed from the front of the zeppelin. The crocadog howled, tongue lolling out. Daxter laughed and flung out his arms with his face in the wind. "I believe I can flyyy!"

"Oi! Wait up!"

Distracted, Keira looked down again. A speck of bright color against the city's dull backdrop caught her eye. It looked like some kind of bird straining to reach them, only the heavy satchel it carried in its talons kept dragging it down between wingbeats. And the slums below were crowded with hungry metalheads just waiting for the poor thing to give up and fall.

"Hey, look down there!" Keira shouted, pointing.

"That's Pecker!" Jak exclaimed, and before she could ask who or what that was, he seized a spare length of rope and hooked one end to the zeppelin. "Keep it steady, Brutter!"

"Jak, what are you doing?" Keira shrieked when he plummeted over the edge. The rope pulled taut, leaving Jak swinging wildly just below them and supported only by his grip on the rope. He reached out a hand for the monkaw, which now began to beat his wings more strongly with help just in sight. Jak snatched the satchel out of its grip and let Pecker cling to his arm while Damas and Brutter together hauled the rope back up. When Jak was close enough, he tossed the satchel onto the platform, and Keira had to grab the strap to keep it from sliding back off the edge when the wind made the zeppelin sway.

The monkaw collapsed right beside her with a squawk. "Hoo, boy! You're lucky Onin had her vision when she did!"

"And you're lucky Jak likes playing the hero," Daxter retorted. "If you're stupid enough to go flying around the city when it's full of metalheads, then you deserve to be eaten!"

"Watch your mouth, rat boy!" Pecker snapped, still trying to catch his breath. "Remember, I have the wings here. You push me too hard, and you might be the one saying hello to the metalheads!"

"Knock it off, both of you," Jak said with weary patience after he had climbed back on the zeppelin's platform. "Why were you trying to find us anyway?"

"Because you were taking your sweet time about coming to us," Pecker scolded. "We've been waiting for you to visit to Onin's tent since yesterday, and you never showed! The crazy lady made me stay awake all night in case you came calling!"

"Right," Jak said slowly. "And how exactly were we supposed to know that we had to come see her?"

Pecker opened his mouth and left it that way, hand frozen in an attitude of mid-lecture. Daxter snickered. "Yeah, not all of us are psychic, featherbrain. Maybe you ought to look into being a messenger pigeon instead."

"Shut up!"

Samos looked over Keira's shoulder at the satchel. "Is that...Pecker, is that what I think it is?"

Slowly, Keira let her attention fall to the satchel beneath her hands, and she let the flap on the top fall open. All around her came gasps and startled oaths when the huge emerald was revealed, and even though Keira didn't have much of a channeling talent, even she could sense the vast amount of eco just beneath her palms.

"The Precursor Stone!" Daxter exclaimed.

"Oh, shiny," Brutter rumbled. "So very shiny."

"Thank goodness!" the Shadow said in relief. "We thought it was lost to the Baron!"

Damas crouched down, hand hovering over the Stone like he wanted to touch it but didn't dare. "The Stone," he murmured reverently. "It's been years, decades since I've laid eyes it."

Pecker fluttered down beside them. "Onin wanted me—well, wanted Jak—to bring this to you, along with a message."

Damas looked at him askance. "And Onin is...?"

"She is a very wise soothsayer, and Pecker is her interpreter," the Shadow provided helpfully. "It was with her aid that we located Mar's Tomb, and...it was also a vision of hers that led me to find your son in the slums. We have many reasons to be grateful for her guidance."

"Lately, Onin has been unable to see what lies ahead for us," Pecker said with a certain grimness. "And your future in particular, Lord Damas, is very clouded. The possibilities are so numerous and conflicting that she fears you will not find your way without guidance."

"Guidance from who?" Damas said, eyes narrowing. Then his eyes widened and shot to the Stone.

"Onin says that long ago, you made a choice," Pecker said grandiosely, his eyes fixed on the Wastelander. "A choice each heir of Mar must face, to either seek the destiny laid down for him by the Precursors or to shut his eyes and take the uncharted path. At that time, you walked away, and whether that decision was right or wrong, not even she can tell. But now you have been granted a chance to make your choice anew."

"Are you saying that if I touch it now," Damas said slowly, "even though I chose not to before...?"

Pecker nodded. "Your eyes will be opened. To what will be, to what might have been, to what is. Certain truths will be made known to you, truths that may perhaps cause great pain and great joy. Onin has faith that you will find your way regardless of what you decide, but between you and me, I'd go for it."

"Would you?" Damas said, brow furrowed, watching the Stone even as everyone else watched him. "Tell me, Pecker. If I see my future and don't like it, will I be able to alter it?"

"Ooh, I wouldn't," Pecker said with a shudder. "Changing the course of time is a tricky business. There is no telling what seemingly harmless choice will lead to untold destruction. That is why the Precursors—"

"That is why this Stone was left in the Tomb," Damas concluded. "To nudge my ancestors along whatever path the Precursors deemed best. But I don't care for the implication that I am too foolish and naïve to make my own choices."

Damas wrapped the Stone up again and slung the satchel over his shoulder, chin raised in defiance. Pecker huffed and took to the air. "Fine, fine. I warned her Mar's stubborn nature ran strong in you. I'm going back to Onin now, and I wouldn't put it past her to send a few curses your way, so watch yourselves!"

"Knowing the future won't do a thing to help us," Damas said decisively once Pecker was gone. "However, having the Stone itself could prove most useful when we infiltrate the nest."

"Mar's gun!" Jak exclaimed, eyes glittering.

Damas smiled thinly. "I think it's only fitting that his descendant be the one to activate it."

"I must disagree with you, I'm afraid," Samos spoke up, stamping his staff. "The metalhead leader raided the city for the sole purpose of finding the Stone and absorbing its power. Bringing it anywhere near the nest is pure folly!"

Damas looked around and met all of their eyes, even Keira, and it was almost like he was pouring his own resolve into them. Her fear hadn't completely gone, but looking at him now, she was calm. The Wasteland king drew himself up. "Foolish would be not utilizing every weapon at our disposal. This is an all or nothing campaign. Either we take down our enemies, here and now, or we die and the metalheads take the city and the Stone for themselves. The time for caution is long since past. So let us give this everything we have and take the fight to them, as Mar always intended!"

"Here, here!" the Shadow said and endured a disapproving glower from Samos.

"Brother Jak, we almost there!" Brutter announced, sweeping his arm outward. Keira looked ahead, and sure enough the Palace was just before them. The KGs on the roof who had been acting as sentries gaped in disbelief as their zeppelin came in for a smooth landing, and upon sighting Jak and Damas, they couldn't seem to decide whether to start shooting or keep staring.

As soon as they touched down, Damas leapt down. "I'll go get Sig and the others. We'll set out as soon as the zeppelins are unloaded."

Damas hurried through a door into the Palace, nearly colliding with Torn, who was sprinting in the opposite direction. The ex-KG skidded to a halt in the middle of the roof and stared at the zeppelins like he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing. "Jak, what in God's name—"

"No time to explain," Jak cut him off, but Keira got the impression he was enjoying this. "I hope you've got a place for all these people because they've got nowhere else to go. And tell Ashelin that she needs to send more of her forces to the Stadium to help the ones that were left behind."

Torn shook his head helplessly, and Keira could tell he was trying to mentally count all the refugees. "But...where the hell are we supposed to put them all...?"

"What's the matter, Tattooed Wonder?" Daxter goaded. "Too much for ya? Need me to hold your hand?"

That seemed to snap him out of it. Scowling, Torn spun on his heel and started barking orders to the baffled KGs behind him. "Okay, let's clear the way for the rest of them to land! Get the people settled wherever there's room, make sure they have food, medical attention, whatever they need!"

The KGs hastened to obey him as more zeppelins came to land, unloading their passengers before taking to the skies to make room for the next in line. Daxter put his fingers to his mouth and whistled shrilly, catching Torn's attention. "Hey! Help the lady out, would ya?"

"I hope you don't mind, Torn," Tess said sheepishly, indicating the bandages across her abdomen. "The Shadow told me I shouldn't walk on my own for a while."

Torn's eyes narrowed dangerously as he helped her to her feet. "What happened?"

Tess shrugged. "Krew stabbed me."

"He stabbed you?" Torn said in outrage.

"Don't worry, Daxter and Jak took care of him."

"You're damn right, we did!" Daxter said righteously, bouncing around their heels along with the crocadog as Torn helped Tess hobble into the Palace. "And once we get back, I'll tell ya the whole story!"

"Daddy, we'd better unload the Rift Rider here," Keira said and started to untie the ropes holding it.

"No, Keira!" Samos said at once. "We must take the Rift Rider to the metalhead nest with us. With all of us. I have learned that is where the Gate itself is located. This may very well be our only chance to reach it."

That stopped Keira in her tracks. "You mean...you mean it's been there the whole time? How do you know?"

Jak came up to her shoulder. "And why does it have to be now?" he demanded. "We've got enough on our plate as is. We can't be focused on fighting through an army, killing the metalhead leader, saving Damas' son and protecting the Rift Rider!"

"Well, you're just going to have to," Samos told him in a way that brooked no argument.

"He's right," the Shadow added with more placating tones. "Please believe us when we say there is no other choice."

The sages moved off without waiting for a response, clearly believing the decision had been made. Keira brushed her fingers over the heart in her pocket, struck by a feeling of unreality. They had the Rift Rider, they had the Gate. In a matter of hours, they could be back in their time period. Back in Sandover, where they belonged. The past two years of her life seemed far longer than the previous fourteen spent in Sandover, and soon it would all be a hazy memory, a bad dream.

But when Jak caught her eye, it was still with that uncertain look. Keira took his wrist and tugged him around the zeppelin so they weren't quite in sight anymore. "Jak, tell me what's wrong," she said softly, searching his face for an answer. "Please?"

"You're not going to like it," Jak muttered.

"Whether I like it or not, ignoring it won't make it any less of an issue," Keira said doggedly. She tweaked the tuft of hair on his chin. "Kind of like this silly beard you grew."

Jak frowned. "What's wrong with my beard? I think it's manly."

Keira only shook her head, growing serious again. "Jak, talk to me."

Jak exhaled softly and looked her straight in the eye. "Keira, it's just...what if there isn't a Sandover left to go back to? What then?"

Keira's insides turned to ice. Some of her dismay must have shown because Jak became stricken and held out a hand clumsily. "I-I mean, I'm just saying...the last time we saw it, the place was getting attacked by metalheads. And it's not like any of the villagers are fighters. They could barely hold off a few Lurkers at a time, let alone..."

He trailed off with a faint grimace. Keira hugged herself tightly. "To tell you the truth, I try not to think about it," she admitted. "I guess I always just assumed it'd be there, you know? It's our home. It can't just be...gone."

"I get what you're saying," Jak murmured. "I used to think that way too. But it's been a long time since I let myself hope for anything except to live another day. I've gotten used to expecting the worst. If Sandover is destroyed or if we can't get back for some other reason...I guess that's about as bad as it can get."

Keira's throat closed up. It was painful to hear Jak talk like this when once upon a time he would never have looked at her with anything but complete confidence. He would have turned to her with a smirk and a wink as if to say, Keira please, like there's any doubt? But they weren't children anymore, and the world wasn't such a sure place. It was a reality they both hated and had no choice but to accept. Keira turned and looked on the city far below, for the first time truly contemplating the idea of staying here forever. Of living out her life without seeing another sandy beach or unpolluted sunset, never seeing the other villagers or her workshop or her father's hut again.

But Keira also thought of the life she had built for herself here. The garage that had seen the birth of some of her greatest creations, the races that she had started to cheer for instead of cringe away from. Her life here was satisfying and fulfilling in a way she had never expected it to be. And even if not all the memories were good, she had met many good people willing to help her pull through. And she still had her father. She still had Jak and Daxter, the two boys she had grown up with and loved enough to call her family. Their absence had been the root of her unhappiness, and now that she had found them, Keira could truly say she was content. They were everything to her. They were the home she had been longing for.

Keira turned to Jak, for once putting on a smile that felt real. "Well...at least I'll always have zoomers."

That coaxed a small chuckle from Jak. "Yeah. And if you ever need a test driver, you know who to call."

Keira nodded. Looking behind him, she realized that Damas had returned with more Wastelanders, all of them armed to the teeth as they began to board the zeppelins. It was time to go. She blinked and ducked her head quickly to hide a rush of tears. "Jak, please just be careful," she whispered. "Please just come back in one piece. If I lost you now…"

Jak didn't answer, but she felt his hand on her shoulder, squeezing tight. He started to lean in, but aborted the action almost at once with an uneasy glance at all the people around them. The flash of anticipation fizzled into disappointment, and Keira started to turn away. Still so cautious, even when there was no danger in sight...

"Oh, screw it," Jak growled, and Keira gasped when he seized her and yanked her close, claiming her lips with his own. The surprise didn't last. The heat of his body was overwhelming, his taste and scent addictive in a way Keira had never expected. She twined her arms around him and skimmed her palms over a muscled back, allowing him tease her mouth open and deepen the kiss, letting him know just how badly she had been wanting this. Wanting him. Jak growled deep in his throat and backed her up a step like he had half a mind to press her up against the Rift Rider.

Somewhere outside their perfect bubble came a slow wolf whistle. "Well hello, cherries..."

They pried apart with difficulty, still caught up in a frenzied embrace. Sig had come around the Rift Rider and now eyed them both with a grin that split his face in half. Keira buried her burning face in Jak's shoulder, feeling very much as if they had been caught by Jak's uncle in Sandover.

Sig chuckled deeply and gave Jak a shrewd look. "A little early for you to get your reward, ain't it?" he teased. "We haven't even saved the city yet!"

"Yeah well, I like to jump the gun on these things," Jak said brazenly, his arms tightening around Keira's waist.

"Well, I hate to break up the party," Sig added, sobering again, "but it's time to head out."

Jak nodded once. He looked down at her, maybe to offer some reassurance, but there wasn't much he could say. Keira wasn't feeling too confident herself, considering how much danger still lay ahead. For all she knew, they could be killed before they ever reached the Rift Gate. But then Jak flashed her a grin, his eyes lighting up the way they used to when they were younger. It was a smile that vowed without words that he wouldn't fail no matter what. And just like that, her racing heart began to calm.

After all, he had never needed a voice to make a promise. Or to keep it.

Chapter Text

Sunset over the desert sure was something to behold. Daxter had plenty of time to appreciate the view as the five zeppelins carrying the Wastelanders and the Rift Rider drifted west along the coast and then north until they reached a part of the desert where not even the cacti could grow. Golden sand dunes gave way to rocky plateaus and the occasional shimmering lake of dark eco, and in the deepening twilight, Daxter had no trouble picking out the yellow gems on the metalheads scavenging below. He shivered as the temperature plummeted, missing even Haven's warm smog that always matted his fur.

"Think we're almost there?" Daxter muttered, taking a peak at Jak's profile out of the corner of his eye. Jak shrugged his other shoulder and readjusted his grip on the rope above his head. He had stood to stretch his legs not long ago and didn't seem in any hurry to sit down again, standing at the front of the zeppelin and scanning the dark landscape below like a hawk.

Sighing, Daxter hopped down and surveyed the others. Keira had curled up in the seat of the Rift Rider and fallen into a light doze, but no one else had that luxury. Brutter was focused on maintaining their course, and he could hear the two sages muttering at each other somewhere behind the Rider. Damas sat nearby with his back braced against the Rider, arms crossed and a dark storm of emotions churning through his eyes. Beside him, Sig was on his feet in a pose so similar to Jak it was eerie, the only difference being whenever they passed over a lake of dark eco he would rub his temple like he had a headache.

With nothing else to look at, Daxter found his attention drifting behind them, back the way they had come. Haven wasn't even visible anymore except for a faint glow on the horizon. With every spin of the zeppelin's rotor, he was leaving Tess farther behind, and it bothered him more than he cared to admit. Hell, he should be bouncing off the walls right now. They had the Rift Rider, they would soon have the Gate as well, and after Jak saved the world again, it was off to Sandover for them.

And the one girl he actually wanted to celebrate with would soon be a couple hundred centuries away from him.

Yeah, that kind of put a damper on things.

Honestly, Daxter tried to be happy. He spent nearly an hour planning what exactly he would do once he got home again. Letting the farmer's yakows out of the pen was at the top of the list, right up there with taking Old Fishbait's boat for a spin, painting the sculptor's muse the most garish pink on the color wheel, riding the Flut Flut up and down the beach...

But those things had only been fun before he knew what real fun was. Chilling at the Hip Hog with his best bud and their friends, telling his stories to a crowd of doubters and one fervent believer, spending their down days at the racetrack or the shooting range. Sandover might be paradise compared to Haven, but Daxter was starting to think paradise was overrated. All Daxter could think as they came closer and closer to home was she won't be there, she won't be there, and I didn't even say goodbye...

"Dax, you're not talking again."

"I'm imitating you," Daxter quipped. Jak rolled his eyes, but when he looked down at Daxter, his expression was far too knowing. The ottsel hung his head. "Listen, there's no easy way to say this. But I...want to stay here. In this time."

He expected at least a smidgeon of outrage or devastation, but Jak wasn't quite that dramatic. He took a seat beside Daxter with his legs crossed, exhaling softly. "I feel like I should have seen that coming. Is this because of Tess?"

"No!" Daxter blurted out, squirming guiltily. "Well okay, it's mostly because of her. But there's more to it, alright? This place...it ain't that bad. Sure there've been a few rough patches, but you've gotta admit, it's been a hell of a ride. Way more adventure than we ever got back on that little scrap of beach. And you know, I never really fit there anyway. What kinda life did I have to look forward too? Cleaning up Grandpa Green's place until I'm as pasty and wrinkly as him?"

Jak said nothing, solemn and intent as Daxter paced around and rambled on in an attempt to make sense of his own reasoning. "But this place...I gotta tell ya, Jak, this place has got my name all over it! I could be somethin' here. I could be anything I wanted. And even if...even if Tess don't stick around, there's like a billion other women who'd be crawling over each other for my sweet lovin'! And...and look, you know I'm the last one who wants to split up the team. But you've been through hell here, the worst out of all of us, and if you still wanna go back, I wouldn't stop you. I'd chuck ya into the Rift myself!"

That brought out a tiny smile. Jak rested his chin in his palm, gazing off into the starry sky. "To tell you the truth, I've been having doubts about going back too. What you said about not fitting in could apply to us both now."

"Yeah?" Daxter said hopefully. But his euphoria came crashing down again when Jak nodded at the Rift Rider and the woman inside.

"She wants to go back," Jak said simply. "And I know I'll regret it if I let her go and I stayed behind."

"Well, maybe she'd stay too," Daxter suggested without much conviction.

Jak shook his head reluctantly. "If there was no other choice, I think she would make a good life here. But with the way home right in front of us? No. What we have isn't strong enough for her to pick me over Sandover. And I'd rather she not be forced to choose."

Daxter crossed his arms. "That ain't the way a relationship should be run, buddy, with her callin' all the shots," he said sternly.

"Oh, like you put up a fight when Tess said she wanted a pink house in the country?" Jak smirked, nudging him with one freakishly large elbow until Daxter flopped on his back. "Or that time she wanted to braid your fur?"

"That's different!" Daxter insisted and kicked the elbow away. "She was kidding about the house! At least, I hope she was...and don't judge the grooming until you've experienced it! Do you know what it's like to spend hours and hours getting fawned over by a pretty girl? It's heaven! Just let Keira take a crack at that bird's nest you've been growing, and I guarantee you'll be a puddle in two minutes flat!"

"I think I'll pass," Jak said firmly.

"Prude," Daxter snorted. But the sentiment was only halfhearted. He couldn't muster much in the way of humor knowing he might never see Jak again after this, the only guy in the world who would let a yapping ottsel ride around on his shoulder and call it his best friend. The trouble twins, the demolition duo, the hero and his sidekick...though there was still some disagreement on exactly who was which.

"I'm gonna miss ya, buddy," Daxter mumbled lamely, not meeting his eyes. Before Jak could say anything, he hopped on his knee with a wicked grin. "But at least we get to make one more baddie go kablooey before we retire from heroics!"

"Got that right," Jak said with a broad smirk.

"Jak...?"

They both glanced up at the interruption. Samos had come around to their side of the Rift Rider, wearing a distinctly uncomfortable look. The sage peered over his shoulder and grimaced at the Shadow's stern glare and pointed finger. Facing the two of them, Samos spoke haltingly. "Jak, I'd like to speak with you. Daxter, if you could—"

"I could, but I won't," Daxter retorted.

"What do you want, Samos?" Jak said tiredly, and Daxter approved of the lack of politeness and only barest trace of respect. Samos didn't deserve either, as far as he was concerned. Never had, and now never would.

Samos almost seemed on the verge of launching into lecture mode, but he stopped himself. "You don't even remember the first time we met, do you, Jak?" he murmured. "You had been lost for some time, alone and frightened. It was all I could do to calm you down, and since then I've looked after you, watched you grow into a man. And I know I haven't always done right by you. I've made more mistakes than I can count, but I tried my best to give you a childhood you could look back on with happiness."

Jak shared a dark look with Daxter. "Yeah. Because knowing what kind of future I faced, I'd need all the happy memories I could get. Right?"

The sage's expression became stricken. Daxter scoffed. "Oh, don't even pretend to be the victim here, gramps! Jak told me all about it. We know everything!"

"You know?" Samos rasped, paling.

"Yeah, we know the Shadow is gonna use the Rift Rider to go back in time and find himself a hero to win the war here," Daxter ground out, his words gradually increasing in volume. "We know you took Jak in so you could make sure he got all trained up, and when we found the Rift Gate, you didn't say a word about where it would take us! Cause you knew we'd end up here, you knew Jak would spend two years as a lab rat! And ya know what, Bean Breath? There ain't no excuse for that!"

"You knew Daxter would become an ottsel," Jak said, his voice much lower but just as unforgiving. "The Shadow first met him that way, and after he goes through the Rift and meets me and Daxter in Sandover, I bet he won't say a word about that either. He let it happen. You let it happen."

Daxter froze with his mouth open, struck dumb for the first time in years. Now it was all falling together. No wonder Samos hadn't been surprised when they returned from Misty Island. And Daxter had thought Samos simply liked him better as an animal.

Samos heaved a great sigh, rubbing his eyes. "I wish I could say your accusations are justified. But they aren't, not completely. You don't know what it's like, to know the future and not understand your place in creating it. I was afraid, mortally afraid of what I knew and also what I didn't know. How much of this future depended on my actions in the past? How much should I tell you to ensure you were prepared? Could I say anything to prepare you for it? One slip, one wrong choice, and Kor would have won."

"So you did nothing," Jak said without inflection.

Samos leaned forward earnestly. "I decided to put my faith in you, Jak. You have always been special. You surpassed all my expectations, defied every boundary set on you, and it is because of your strength and your ingenuity that we are able to take this fight to its end. Believe me, it was nothing I did that made you a hero. Since when have you ever listened to a word I said anyway?"

"Yeah, great idea," Daxter butted in. "Just dump it all on our shoulders and hope for the best, that's your master plan? Sounds like a copout to me."

"My one true regret was not warning you to run from the Krimzon Guards before we came through the Rift," Samos said, ignoring Daxter as usual. "I never expected to be separated so quickly. I thought I could protect you until I had a chance to explain everything. But when we were split up...truly, I thought I had failed and lost you forever. I hope you can forgive me."

Jak shut his eyes, his mouth a tight and furious line. "I was only a child," he whispered, and that was all he needed to say.

The Old Log actually got a little teary-eyed at that. Samos bowed his head. "When I first took you in, it was more out of obligation than anything else. Regardless, I do care for you, Jak."

"Then why did you adopt Keira instead of me?" Jak said so rigidly that it was clear he was done accepting excuses. This was something that had been eating at him for as long as Daxter remembered, ever since he found his best mute friend moping down on the beach while Samos was busy introducing a delighted Keira to the rest of the village. He even had the same expression as back then—helpless confusion and heartbreak behind a heavy cloud of envy and resentment. This was important to Jak, for some strange reason that Daxter couldn't fathom for the life of him. God knew if Samos had ever tried to adopt him, Daxter would have gouged his eyes out.

Daxter stubbornly twisted his head the other way, refusing to listen to whatever lame apology Samos came up with this time. And he noticed for the first time that Damas was listening in on their little heart to heart, peeking back at them with such a sad look on his face that Daxter didn't even call him out for eavesdropping like he should have. It had been a long time since anyone looked at Jak like that, even Samos.

Samos didn't answer at first, glancing in Keira's direction tenderly. "You have always been strong, independent. You benefitted from my guidance, yes, but you never needed me like Keira did. And to be perfectly honest, I never could hold a candle to your real father."

Jak started. "You told me you never met my parents," he said slowly. "Yet another lie?"

Samos studied Jak for a long moment, the uncertainty gradually ebbing. "Only partly. I never did meet your mother, but your father...there's no reason to hide his name from you any longer. I won't make the same mistake twice."

Beneath his paws, Daxter felt the sudden iron tension in Jak's muscles, the rush of hope and dread almost a tangible thing. Even Daxter found himself perking up his ears. This was it. One of the universe's great unanswered questions, right up there with the meaning of life, was about to be answered, here and now.

"My father," Jak said, leaning forward hungrily. "He...who is he? Where is he? Is he still...?"

"He is alive," Samos assured him. "And he never stopped looking for you. I'm afraid this might be difficult to accept, but your real name is—"

"Incoming!" Sig bellowed. "Metalheads, incoming fast! They're gunning straight for us!"

"Holy crap, that's a lot of metalheads!" Daxter yelped when he saw what looked like an armada of skull gems soaring toward them in the night. Great winged arachnids swooped close to the zeppelins, screeching like banshees, but they didn't attack. Instead they dropped half a dozen opaque yellowish sacs on their heads, which hatched into angry stingers seconds later. Daxter made a quick leap to Jak's shoulder as everyone sprang into action at once. Jak crushed one stinger with the butt of his weapon then kicked another over the edge. He spun around and dove for the Rift Rider to shake Keira's shoulder.

"Keira, wake up! Wake up!"

"Wh...huh?" Keira mumbled, startled. A stinger skittered into the seat beside her, and she shrieked and scrambled out of the Rider. Daxter heard a noise above them, and his stomach clenched when he realized the first wave had only been a distraction. More stingers had been deposited directly on the blimp and were now hard at work trying to poke holes in the tough material. The smarter ones were going straight for the ropes.

"Hey, heads up!" Daxter hollered. "They're trying to bring us down!"

"Those little bastards!" Sig cursed. He aimed upward and started picking the metalheads off one by one, but he wasn't fast enough. One of the ropes snapped, and one side of the platform dropped several feet, leaving them fighting on a tilted surface. Most everyone managed to find a way to brace themselves, but Jak was thrown off his feet. Daxter clung to his hair as Jak rolled right off the edge and hung there, one hand holding fast to the platform and the other locked around Keira's wrist. She had her free arm hooked around a rope, and though her spindly arms didn't look strong enough to crack a walnut, she hung on grimly, refusing to let Jak fall.

Brutter bellowed in alarm. "Not good! Balloon lose air! We go down! We crash!"

Daxter looked down and almost threw up. They were directly over a lake of dark eco with the shore still miles away. "I think crashing here would be a very bad idea!"

"We need to stay aloft until we reach the other shore!" Damas called, kicking another stinger off the zeppelin.

"We not make it!" Brutter cried. "Too heavy!"

"Cut the Rift Rider loose!" Keira shouted with surprising insistence.

"Keira, no!" Samos yelled. "We need it!"

"We don't have a choice!" Keira retorted. "Someone, just do it!"

No one moved at first. No one could move. They were all preoccupied either hanging on for dear life or keeping the stingers from slicing any more ropes. Daxter gulped and clambered up Jak and Keira's joined arms until he was back on the zeppelin platform. "Sheesh, it never fails. I want something done, I gotta do it myself!"

"Hurry, Orangey Warrior!" Brutter said and thrust a small knife in his direction. Daxter seized it and, for lack of any better place, gripped the blade in his teeth. Feeling very much the sky pirate, he scaled the planks of the platform like a ladder until he reached the first rope tethering the Rider and set to work. He hacked through the first three ropes as fast as he could, and the Rider listed a little closer to the edge, only held in place by one last rope that was already strained to the breaking point.

"Jak, Keira, you'd better move!" Daxter called once he reached the final rope.

By now, Jak had managed to scramble most of the way onto the zeppelin. Sig tossed one of the cut ropes to him, and he used it to pull himself and Keira out of the Rider's path. Daxter started sawing, one eye always on the dark eco rushing toward them. Just another few seconds and they would all either be dead or ottsels. He sawed faster. The rope broke before he'd even cut through it all the way, and the two ends snapped apart like whips, one slapping Samos right in the face.

"Daxter!"

"Not my fault!" Daxter insisted over the screech of metal on wood as the Rift Rider slid down the path of least resistance. As soon as it went over the edge, the speed of their descent lessened considerably, and they were all treated to a spectacular view of the Rider smacking into a bunch of rocks jutting out of the center of the lake, almost splitting in half from the force of the impact. The bits of machinery that were left plunged into the dark eco with a distant whoosh, a plume of violet smoke the only trace of where it vanished.

Keira sobbed and buried her face in Jak's shoulder. He clumsily patted her back. "We'll find it," he promised, but weakly. "We'll find it somehow, and you can fix it like you did before."

"All that work!" Keira bawled, sniffing mightily. Jak cast a helpless look at Daxter as he tried in vain to comfort her. Daxter just beamed and gave him a thumbs-up. From his perspective, it wasn't much of a loss. At least now they didn't have to deal with the sticky question of who was going and who was staying.

"The other zeppelins," Damas said, straining to survey the air around them. "Are they faring well?"

"I believe so," the Shadow told him. "Ours was the worst hit."

"We almost to other side, but we not in for good landing," Brutter announced, holding fast to the tiller to keep them on a straight flight path. "Brace selves!"

By the time they reached the other shore, the zeppelin had lost so much air that it was starting to look more like a flaccid blob than a blimp. Daxter yelped when the zeppelin collided with a desiccated tree and spun in a dizzy arc, flinging him into empty air. He heard wood splintering and Keira screaming, then he collided with something only slightly softer than the ground and knew nothing more.

"Son of a bitch," Sig groaned and clutched his dislocated shoulder, unable for the moment to care about anything else. The impact had also caused him to bite his tongue, filling his mouth with the iron tang of blood. He swallowed hard and spit to get rid of the taste. He supposed he should be more grateful he was alive, but the agony in his shoulder made it hard to appreciate that much.

Someone staggered closer and crouched next to him. "Still with us?" Damas inquired.

"Unfortunately," Sig said through gritted teeth, earning a grim chuckle from Damas. He managed to get upright without much trouble, bracing his free hand in the dirt. "Little help?"

Damas gripped his shoulder and forced it back into the socket with a sickening craaack. The pain spiked to a whole new level, and Sig swayed, kneading his eye and breathing deeply to keep from passing out. Ordinarily, an injury like this wouldn't even slow him down…but ever since entering metalhead territory, Sig had been feeling just the slightest bit ill. That had never happened to him before he tried to channel green eco, and inwardly, he cursed his damnable curiosity and swore off all channeling forever.

"Everyone okay?"

"For the most part," Damas told him. He had a cut on his forehead, and he swiped away a trickle of blood before it could run into his eye. "One of the sages hit his head, and the girl twisted her ankle. Jak is looking for Daxter as we speak. Other than that, we seem to be in decent shape. And there is some good news as well."

Damas nodded at something behind him. Sig twisted around, and his mouth fell open at the sight of a colossal turret perched in the hills not half a mile away. It would take some hiking to reach, but it was right there. The weapon built by Mar to blast into the heart of the metalhead nest where their eggs and their queens resided. The sight galvanized him, and he let Damas haul him to his feet. Their zeppelin had seen better days. The platform had only just remained intact, but the rotor was in a dozen pieces, and the blimp draped across the rocky shore was so torn up that there was no way it was flightworthy.

Not far from them, Brutter was waving his little flags at the remaining zeppelins that were hovering above their crash site. Then as if a decision had been reached, the zeppelins slowly turned and drifted around the jagged peaks toward Mar's gun. Brutter nodded in satisfaction. "They go to meet us at site of big gun," he explained. "No room for land here."

"We'd better get moving then," Damas replied. He retrieved both his and Sig's weapons, and they joined the others further away from the lakeshore. Keira sat on a rotted stump with the Shadow crouched before her, channeling green eco into her ankle while she shuddered and bit her lip. Samos stood at his shoulder with what looked like Jak's scarf tied around his head in a hasty bandage, but the wound in no way hindered him from criticizing his younger self's methods.

"Slowly now, go slowly! Have you checked for broken bones? Do something about that swelling! Do you want to make my daughter a cripple?"

"I know how to treat a twisted ankle!" the Shadow snapped. "And I could get a lot more work done without you glaring over my shoulder!"

"Daxter, where are you?" Jak called, hunting among the ruins of the rotor. "Come on, talk to me! Dax!"

"Ugh..."

Jak abandoned the rotor and pulled aside part of the blimp, finally locating the ottsel within its gray folds. Daxter staggered into the open and shook out all his fur before he reclaimed his place on Jak's shoulder. "Did I really say flying on a balloon would be fun? Remind me to never, ever trust my own judgment again! You hear me, Jak? Never again!"

"I've done what I can, but it's still a little weak," the Shadow told Keira. "I'd rather you not try walking just yet, especially in this rough terrain."

Jak slung his gun over his shoulder and started toward her, but Brutter beat him there and pounded his fist to his chest. "Not worry, Friend Keira. Brutter carry! Brother Jak and Wastelanders need hands free for shoot metalheaders."

"Oh," Keira faltered, casting a bemused look in Jak's direction. "Um alright, if you're sure you don't mind...?"

She squeaked when the Lurker swept her up in arms thicker than her waist, her slender body dwarfed by his bulky frame. Brutter led the way along with Damas, and the sages fell in line directly behind them. Sig almost laughed at the put out expression on Jak's face, and he punched the rookie's arm lightly. "Next time, cherry."

"He means next time, be faster," Daxter snickered. "Hm, now I'm startin' to wonder if Brutter was kidding about that whole challenging you to combat thing..."

Jak shot Daxter a dirty look and sped up so he could keep Brutter in his line of sight. For his part, Sig kept his peacemaker ready and his eyes on their surroundings. Visibility was still low due to the dark eco fumes, but the moonlight was surprisingly helpful in illuminating their path. If he squinted, Sig thought he could see the great cone-shaped silhouette of the nest towering over the landscape. It was enormous, the biggest and most well-constructed nest Sig had ever seen. Definitely the product of decades, even centuries of work, and it must have only gotten bigger since Mar's time.

And here they were. Thirty Wastelanders, a handful of Lurker aviators, two sages, a mechanic and a renegade with an ottsel about to take on an enemy that neither Mar nor Baron Praxis had been able to defeat. It was not a comforting thought. The only thing that kept Sig walking was the satchel slung across Damas' back. He had heard all the stories and didn't believe half of them, but if the Precursor Stone could really power that big old turret up there...well, that was something, at least. It would give them a way into the nest, something no other army had ever accomplished, and the rest would be up to them.

As they left the lake behind and ascended a slope, they began to see the relics of battles long past. Broken down air trains and Hellcats, abandoned weapons of all kinds, all of which had been gutted and stripped of what little eco they contained. After ten minutes of walking, they even came across the bones of some huge beast that Sig guessed belonged to one of the great desert lizards the Wastelanders sometimes glimpsed during storms.

"Where are they?" Jak murmured, eyeing their quiet surroundings in distrust. "They saw us coming, they must have seen where we crashed. Why aren't they attacking?"

Sig shrugged, also unnerved. "Planning something? Most of them are probably attacking the city right now, but I doubt they would leave the nest completely unguarded. Could be they're waitin' for us to come to them."

"I still don't get it," Daxter said under his breath. "I mean, I get why Kor put on the whole old man act with the Underground. To mess with the Baron, to find the Stone...but why'd he drag the kid into it again? Once we got the Stone outta the Tomb, it's not like he needed him anymore. He coulda just attacked the city and went hunting for the Stone on his own, couldn't he?"

"I'm not really sure," Jak said slowly. "Maybe it was just easier to take a hostage and have us bring the Stone to him. But...I'm starting to think he's afraid of Mar's bloodline. If he knew about the kid, then he must have also known about Damas, known he could come back at any time to challenge Praxis. That could be why he struck that deal with the Baron, not just to get eco but to keep Praxis in power for as long as possible."

"Lesser of two evils, huh?" Daxter muttered. "So does that mean now he's out to get both Damas and the kid in one go?"

"And the Precursor Stone," Jak added with a grimace. "Let's face it, if we fail here, he wins once and for all."

"Not quite," Sig told them, nodding at Damas. "He's got a last resort. If things get hairy and there's a chance we're all going down, Damas plans to channel the eco in the Stone and use it to kill Kor. And we'll just have to hope that after we use it on the gun, there won't be enough energy left to destroy the planet in the process."

It was hard to tell in the gloom, but Jak seemed to grow pale. "But channeling that much eco at once could kill him!"

"You think he doesn't know that?"

Jak lapsed into silence, wide eyes darting to Damas with a flicker of anguish. Sig said nothing, but he took note and wondered if Jak was starting to get fond of the Wasteland king. Damas was harder to read, but Sig had caught one or two kind looks thrown Jak's way, almost paternal in their warmth. It made him wonder what had happened on their jaunt through Haven to forge that little bond. Or had it started before that?

"This way," Damas directed them, leading their group through a narrow ravine. On the other side was an open flat area where the zeppelins had all set down safely. There were signs of damage on most of them, but nothing that would prevent them from flying again. The Wastelanders were already spreading out to scout the area and form a perimeter around the zeppelins, their training and instincts kicking in now that they were deep in enemy territory.

And looming over them all was the turret, mind-boggling in its massiveness. The metal was horribly corroded after so many years, but it was still in one piece. An elevator near the rear would take someone straight up to the control panel. He stole a look at Damas, wondering what he thought of being so near the legendary weapon crafted by his long-dead ancestor. Damas regarded it in silence for a moment before he turned to face the rest of them. One and all, the Wastelanders and the members of Jak's party awaited his orders.

"Prepare yourselves," Damas said, steadfast as ever. "The moment we blast that nest open, the metalheads are sure to come running so be ready to repel them down here. Don't waste time on the small fry. Go for the queens and drones first. That will drive the other metalheads into confusion and buy time for myself, Sig and Jak to search for my son. Once we have Mar, we'll retreat, though I doubt it will be easy. Kor won't let us go without a fight."

The plan was passed around, and weapons were loaded and made ready with grave fortitude. Damas picked out a number of the Wastelanders to guard the zeppelins along with the Lurkers. When Brutter set Keira down, Jak turned to her. "You and the sages had better stay behind with the zeppelins. Be ready to make a quick getaway, with or without us."

"I think my younger self had better go with you Wastelanders, actually," Samos spoke up. "Ah...in case anyone is in need of healing, which I have no doubt they will."

The Shadow seemed less-than-thrilled with the idea, but he said nothing to object. Damas caught Sig's eye and jerked his head at the turret. Sig nodded once and stepped onto the elevator with him. Damas dusted off the controls and jerked a lever down with a squeal of rusted metal. A slow, creaking hum arose as ancient gears turned and the elevator began to rise, carrying them higher and higher until their comrades were nothing but distant specks.

"You'll have to put the Stone on the turret for me," Damas said as he unslung the satchel from his shoulders and passed it to him. "I can't risk touching it just yet."

"In case it gets temperamental?"

Damas pulled a face. "Something like that."

The elevator halted, and as Sig stepped onto the walkway, he took a moment to marvel at their proximity to something he had never thought to see in his lifetime. He passed a hand over the huge barrel above his head, grateful that the turret was already pointing right where they wanted it, straight at the solid wall of the nest. The controls were easy to find, and Damas slid into the seat where one would man the gun, nodding curiously at the barrels of eco stacked along the railing. "It's a wonder the metalheads haven't raided those yet."

They've probably got their own bedtime stories to scare the kiddies away, Sig thought in grim humor. He found a circular depression in the side of the turret and knelt to open the satchel, setting eyes on the Stone for the very first time. Sig put his hands on the smooth surface gingerly, half expecting a repeat of what had happened in the forest, but nothing happened, and he felt a little foolish as he shoved the Stone in place.

"All set here."

"I may need a few minutes," Damas replied. He flipped a few switches and laid his hand on a small glass sphere sticking out of the control panel, which pulsed faintly greenish at his touch. "As I thought. I have to charge it up before we can use it. He designed it so only an eco channeler could power the weapon."

"How long?"

"Five minutes, give or take."

Somewhere below, a piercing howl split the silence in half. Dozens of metalheads popped out of their hiding places in the surrounding rocks, all of them making straight for the turret. They must have been stalking their movements all this time and waiting for the opportunity to strike. But this time it wasn't KGs they were dealing with. It was Wastelanders, those strong souls who made their living hunting monsters just like these. The two sides collided, and their allies managed to halt the attack at the foot of the turret, guns blazing and war cries ringing through the valley. Sig caught a glimpse of Jak flitting right and left to keep any metalheads from ascending the elevator. Even the Lurkers were making a stand, bashing skulls with their bare fists.

A shadow fell across the turret, and Sig hastily unslung his peacemaker from his shoulder when he saw a formation of wasp metalheads flying right for him. He shot three out of the air with a well-timed peacemaker blast, and the others broke off their attack and circled, hissing viciously.

"They're after the Stone!" Damas shouted. He was still focused on channeling the energies in the gun, teeth bared in concentration. "They must have waited until they were sure we had it. Don't let them near it, no matter what!"

"Easier said than done," Sig growled, still shooting as fast as he could. With the Stone at his back, he could keep it reasonably well guarded, but the walkway he was on didn't have a lot of space for maneuvering. And the metalheads just kept coming. Each time he shot one down, two more took its place. Within moments, his peacemaker was out of ammo, and he was relying solely on his rifle.

Claws skittered over metal right above his head, and Sig whirled around. The metalhead that had landed on the turret leapt straight for him, knocking him against the flimsy railing, which immediately collapsed under his weight. As he began to fall, Sig had a split second choice between his gun or his life, and he let the peacemaker fall, arms thrown out to catch the edge of the walkway. Sig barely had time to scramble back to safety before the metalhead swooped in for a second attack. It missed, but only just, toppling the barrels of eco instead.

"Damas, I need your gun!"

"I'm a little busy here!"

"So am I!"

The metalhead clattered onto the walkway just in front of him, wings furled and hooked arms ready to shred him to pieces. For lack of anything better, Sig kicked one of the barrels at it. It smashed the metalhead squarely in the chest and knocked it back, stunning it. And that was when Sig caught sight of the painted symbol on the curved side. A solid yellow circle , the same symbol on Jak's blaster rifle.

The symbol for pure yellow eco.

It was crazy. Crazy and stupid. Only someone with no other options would try to channel raw eco without any proper training, but Sig didn't have time to second guess himself. He strode forward and pried the lid off the barrel. The eco that came pouring out was much more volatile than the green had been, boiling into the open like liquid fire before it abruptly took on a smoky quality. Sig shut his eyes and stuck his entire fist in, willing it to come to him.

And come it did. So quickly that the rush knocked him off his feet. Sig crouched on his knees, breathing hard and fast. This stuff had a kick to it. It practically glowed beneath his skin and made lights dance across his vision. He felt like he'd swallowed the sun. The metalhead recovered at the same time as he did. Sig locked eyes with it, grinning when he sensed the eco gathering in his palm and straining against his hold, begging release. Another moment and he wouldn't be able to hold it back…but that wasn't the objective, was it?

"Come and get it," Sig snarled and thrust out his open palm. The metalhead squeaked in surprise when it was abruptly obliterated by an explosive fireball. Turning toward the next attack wave, he sighted a target and lobbed another concentrated burst that tore the metalhead's wings off and send it plummeting to the earth. Its comrades scattered in a confused muddle, startled by this new and deadly development. Sig rose to his feet, still brimming with unfamiliar power that he was learning responded quicker to the movement of his body than the will of his mind. Again and again, he hurled fiery comets at his airborne enemies, switching hands frequently and hardly taking the time to aim before he unleashed the eco. From the ground, it must have appeared the sky was raining skull gems. Shooting this way was neither as fast or as accurate as a gun, but damn, the thrill alone nearly made up for it. He was holding off an army with his bare hands.

Just as his endurance was starting to flag, the turret came to life. It began as a deep thrumming in his chest, a steady vibration in the earth as the great weapon began to charge up, the energy consumed from the Stone washing the entire plateau in iridescent green light. The battle below actually halted in its tracks, silence descending as every living thing stared up at the weapon in mute awe. Then the metalheads panicked, fleeing as quickly as their multiple legs and wings permitted, baying their terror in the face of such might.

Sig caught a glimpse of Damas' face, his rapture and triumph, just before all that power was unleashed in one devastating strike. It was like taking a cannon to a mole hill. The nearest wall of the nest was reduced to mere ashes and fragments, leaving a gaping maw through which he could see a multitude of eggs and the bodies of two queens. Enraged shrieks came from the remaining queens, challenging those who would dare invade their home.

"To the nest!" Jak roared down below. He held his gun aloft as others took up the call, leading the way like an avenging angel descending on the gates of hell. "TO THE NEST!"

The Wastelanders surged forth, unstoppable in their battle fury. Sig whooped and punched his now powerless fist in the air. "Go, chili pepper! Go!"

Their little army poured into the nest, the distant sounds of fighting an odd contrast to the utter silence in the valley. Sig stepped away from the railing and had to take a moment to lean against the turret, winded as the last of the eco left his system. He only noticed belatedly when Damas came to his side, looking torn between concern, disapproval and outright glee. "And when exactly were you planning to tell me you can channel eco?"

"Give me a break, I only learned how to do it yesterday," Sig said, unable to hold back a grin despite his throbbing head. "Ugh, I could do without the migraines though..."

Damas used his thumb to lift up Sig's eyelid. "Your pupils are dilated," he said with a shake of his head. "Eco shock. I feel as though I should scold you. Sudden exposure to raw eco has put lesser men than you in comas."

"Let's not tell anyone just how close it was then," Sig implored. "When I repeat this story, I want it to sound as badass as it felt!"

Damas smirked, which turned into a sigh. "Get the Stone."

Once Sig had recovered somewhat, he retrieved the Stone from the turret and returned it to the satchel, which Damas took once again. The elevator ride back down seemed infinitesimally slow compared to the ride up, and Sig winced when he found the remains of his peacemaker. The poor thing wouldn't shoot again without some serious doctoring. Sig claimed a replacement rifle from a dead comrade, giving a nod of thanks to the corpse, and he followed Damas up the slope at a sprint until they stood before the great wound in the earth carved by Mar's gun. It looked like the inside of every metalhead nest he had ever seen, only taken to the next level. Every inch of the cavernous chamber was covered in pulsating eggs, the pale yellow glow in their cores the only real light to see by.

The three queens defending them were nearly as big as the leader himself, gravid bodies surprisingly quick and deadly. The Wastelanders had their hands full just trying to take them down. And all the while, hundreds of smaller drones were rushing in through the other tunnels, some basic instinct driving them to throw themselves in the path of the invaders to protect their queens.

"Lord Damas!" the Shadow shouted. He had taken cover in a small hollow where he was attempting to heal a man's cracked skull. The sage indicated one of the central tunnels. "That's the way to Kor's lair. I can feel his energy even from here. Jak went after him alone!"

"Of course he did!" Sig grunted. "Damn rookie couldn't even wait for me to share the fun—"

A drone tackled Damas from behind, and he pitched forward on his stomach with a surprised shout. Claws ripping into the satchel savagely, and the metalhead howled in triumph at the sight of the Stone. Sig clubbed the creature over the head and then shot it for good measure, but the others had heard its cry. Damas was surrounded in seconds and backed up to a wall, holding them off with gunfire.

"I'll be fine!" Damas called. "Go after Jak!"

"I'll go when these guys are taken care of!"

"Don't wait!" Damas roared. He caught Sig's eye across the ravenous horde. "Go! Find my son, Sig!"

Just as they had two years ago, the words struck a powerful chord in him. Remembering Mar's big, trusting eyes and even bigger smile, Sig found he could no more resist them in memory than in real life. Damn it, he loved that kid even as Damas did, and if he had his way, no evil would ever befall him again. Sig sprinted for the tunnel Jak had taken, skirting one of the thrashing queens and blowing away any metalhead that got in his path. The dank shaft sloped deeper into the earth, curving in a spiral with other tunnels branching off the outer edge. Sig didn't bother with those. He could smell the leader just fine, that fetid reek that only the biggest metalheads gave off. It was strongest at the bottom of this pit. The sounds of the battle above faded. Sig moved carefully, ready for an ambush, but all the metalheads must have gone to defend the queens in the chamber above. On the final spiral, he noticed the tunnel opening up ahead.

Sig flattened himself against the wall and peered around the last corner. The first thing he saw was what must have been the Rift Gate. It was hard to miss, a giant halo of Precursor metal that resembled the biggest transport ring in the world. The lurid violet glow from the center illuminated the lair very nicely. The floor was earthen, sloped slightly toward a pit at the center, and the rocky walls were covered with a luminous moss that thrived on dark eco. Looking up, Sig noticed a fissure in the ceiling where a hollow shaft allowed in a sliver of moonlight. It must go all the way to the top of the nest, a way for Kor to fly in and out without squeezing through the tunnels.

Enough sightseeing, he told himself. Sig scanned the lair one more time, and his heart skipped a beat when he finally located Mar near the back wall. The kid was imprisoned in some kind of transparent sphere that looked like it was made of pure eco. And he wasn't moving. Either sleeping or...

Sig took one step forward, but a hand seized his arm and pulled him back. Jak locked eyes with him in the dimness and shook his head firmly. Look again.

Sig looked. And he saw what was making Jak hesitate. Kor was on a rocky ledge high above, his great body gradually uncoiling from its fetal curl until he was at his full stature. He looked even bigger here than he had in Haven City, though Sig knew that was just adrenaline getting the best of him. Segmented legs stretched as Kor climbed down the wall headfirst and circled the little boy, tail lashing from side to side. He rumbled deep in his chest when a death cry from one of the queens echoed down the tunnels.

"We gotta get him away from the kid," Daxter breathed in Jak's ear. "Maybe we could...I dunno, talk him down or something?"

Sig arched an eyebrow. "You're kidding, right?"

"If we talk first, we can at least get his attention on us and away from the kid," Jak pointed out.

"Good point," Sig said, nodding his approval. He beamed at the two of them, feeling a surge of warmth for his rookies and hoping this wasn't their last battle together. "Let's do this."

"It was nice knowing us," Daxter joked morbidly.

He and Jak moved into the open at the same time, weapons raised as by silent agreement they split up and crept along opposite walls, following the natural curve of the chamber toward their target. Kor hardly even twitched at their presence. His massive head swung around to face them, and he bared all his teeth in a gaping grin that held a hungry edge to it. "At last, you've come. However, I see Damas has not. So he has chosen to forsake his son after all. The Stone's power must indeed be wondrous to tempt him so greatly..."

Sig didn't have to look to know Jak was bristling at the mere suggestion that Damas would abandon his child. He hoped the younger man would keep his head on straight. Here, they could not afford to do anything reckless. Never taking his eyes off the metalhead, Sig addressed it directly. "Damas ain't forsaking nobody. He just doesn't like your conditions. We're here to renegotiate."

"Yes, so I see," Kor murmured, eyeing their weapons. "And your conditions...?"

"Hand over the kid, and I'll make it almost painless," Jak snarled. "I don't care what your reasons are. I won't let you use him to accomplish whatever you're planning!"

"My reasons," Kor said, hissing lowly. He prowled closer to Mar with all the liquid grace of a wildcat, and a single claw slipped through the energy sphere to trace against the boy's cheek. "To an extent, I understand your reasons for hunting my kind so mercilessly. We are humankind's only natural predators. But have you ever considered that I have a true reason to despise Mar and all his progeny, just as you fear and despise me?"

"We ain't here for a history lesson," Sig retorted. He and Jak had halved the distance between themselves and Mar, but the metalhead was still far too close to the boy for Sig's liking. He caught Jak's eye, and by silent agreement, they both halted where they were.

"Mar thought he was clever," Kor spat, hatred etched into every word. "He dreamed of a haven where every man and woman would be safe, where all would stand and fight rather than cowering like the prey you truly are. He slaughtered us with impunity, eradicated entire nests. And worst of all, he had the audacity to murder my queen right before my eyes!"

In the silence that followed, Daxter cleared his throat awkwardly. "Um, not to be Mr. Insensitive, but don't you have like...a million of 'em? Queens, I mean?"

Kor roared, rearing on his hind legs. "I have many mates, but only she was worthy of the title queen! My queen! He sought to end not only me, but my entire legacy! And now you come here, you come and you massacre my brethren and brood...and you expect me to be merciful toward this child of Mar's blood?"

"Why do you need that kid?" Jak demanded harshly. "I thought it was the Stone you were after!"

"Oh, and I will have it," Kor assured him. "The vast energies within may only be touched by Mar's descendants, and therein lies the boy's usefulness. With a single touch, he can release its power for me to consume, and then no one will topple me!"

"Not gonna happen!" Sig said in defiance. "Cause we're gonna topple you right here and now!"

"I'm curious, boy," Kor said, directing his words to Jak. "How does it feel knowing you're about to aid my ascendance to immortality? How is it to see the future come full circle and know you've still failed at the very end?"

Sig frowned. Something about the honeyed words rang a nasty bell with him. "Jak, what's he talkin' about?"

"I have no idea," Jak insisted, but he also sounded confused. That couldn't be a good sign.

Kor cackled in delight. "Do you truly not know, even now? Then allow me to enlighten you! At the moment of this child's birth, a prophecy was made by the soothsayer, Onin. A prophecy that claimed this mere child would be the end of me and my kind. But it was a prophecy he could never fulfill for by the time he came of age, I would have attained unimaginable power. And so a decision was made to change the course of the future by hiding him in a place where I could not reach him...in a distant past where he could learn and grow and one day return to face me as a warrior."

The laser on Jak's blaster lowered ever so slightly from Kor's forehead. "What...?"

"That boy," Kor went on with relish, "was you, Jak. Or would you prefer to be called Mar?"

Chapter Text

Hidden in the shadows at the edge of Kor's lair, Damas stood frozen in shock, his rifle slack in his hands. What...?

"That's impossible!" Jak protested, but he didn't sound very sure of himself. "That's not—I can't be—I'm not even from this era!"

"Look around you!" Kor countered. "Look at what fate has gathered! The Rift Gate, the boy, the Stone...everything is exactly as Onin predicted. The only thing she did not foresee was my will to survive! And of course, your own mutation at the Baron's hands. Oh yes, I took great pleasure in forewarning him of your arrival, Jak. Now that you've been altered with dark eco, you cannot use the Stone against me as was foretold!"

Damas made himself breathe again, heart pounding and head spinning. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he should make his move while Kor was distracted. There might not be another chance. But he was still caught up in trying to sort out whether the metalhead was telling the truth or not. Because if he was, if it was all true...

"Wait just a damn minute!" Sig demanded. "Are you saying that Jak and Mar...that Jak is Mar? You son of a bitch, you really expect me to buy that? That doesn't even..."

"It explains everything," Jak whispered, his hands shaking as much as his voice. "That's why...that's why Samos was so adamant about bringing the Rift Rider here. Not just to send the Shadow back to Sandover, but to send the kid back. That's why he never told me where I came from. Because we're both from this time."

Daxter drew a sharp breath. "He doesn't talk, Jak! The kid, he doesn't talk. H-He's mute, like you were before the prison!"

Kor chuckled deeply. "Doesn't it all make such perfect sense now?"

It did make sense. Damas shut his eyes, filled with an inexplicable sense of dread. This could go a long way toward explaining why Mar had been taken away from him in the first place, if someone really thought this prophecy Kor spoke of had to be fulfilled. And it explained why that sage had been so certain Jak was their only hope in the here and now. He had wondered at the folly of traveling centuries into the past on the unlikely gamble that a savior could be found. It explained why whenever Jak spoke, Damas heard a distant echo of Mar's lost voice, and why Jak had never known his family...

But here, Damas stopped and snapped his eyes back open. No, Jak could not be his grown son. If he was...then that would mean Mar had never known his father, and Damas would never allow that to happen. Kor had to be lying for some purpose he didn't yet understand. Damas tore his gaze away from the tormented young man and focused on Mar instead. That boy was his son, not Jak.

"After I kill you and use the boy to drain the Stone's power," Kor went on, "I will personally take him back in time to fulfill his destiny anew, and the time loop will be complete. It is inevitable!"

"The only thing inevitable here is your demise at the hand of Mar's heir!" Damas declared, stepping into the open and revealing nothing in his face except defiance and very real loathing. His risk paid off when Kor rose to his full height and moved away from Mar, eyes gleaming. "Are you sure that prophecy wasn't referring to me, metalhead? Because I'll gladly fulfill it in my son's stead."

"Welcome to the party," Sig said, never removing Kor from his line of sight. Jak was not so sensible, jerking in surprise and half turning toward him, and the desperate yearning in his face when he laid eyes on Damas wrenched at his heart. Precursors, he believed it. Jak really thought Damas was his father. But there was no time to sort it out now because Kor took advantage of his distraction. Dark eco gathered at the center of his massive forehead and shot forth, and only Daxter's panicked shout warned Jak in time. Jak threw himself sideways as the eco exploded the ground at his feet, the shockwave flinging him against the wall. Sig cursed and opened fire, but the short eco bursts from his rifle dissipated harmlessly on Kor's armored back.

"So you've come, Lord Damas," Kor said, drawing the title out mockingly. "Ah, and I see you've brought the Stone as well! Come, bring it to me."

"No," Damas said resolutely, feet braced apart as Kor advanced. "You've made it abundantly clear that you intend to kill us all regardless. If you want the Stone, come and take it from me!"

He reached behind him and slipped his hand inside the satchel, intending to unleash the Stone's power, but at the same moment Kor leapt into the air and closed the distance with a single bound and flap of his wings. Damas forgot the Stone and took aim for the vulnerable underbelly. He wasn't quite fast enough. Kor swept his arm out and backhanded him, sending him flying sideways until he landed near where Jak had fallen. Sudden agony spiked in his chest when the impact fractured his ribs. Damas turned over and pushed himself on his hands and knees, and he realized with a thrill of horror that the satchel was gone, the straps ripped by Kor's claws. It now lay midway between him and the metalhead leader with the Stone peeking out from beneath the flap.

"It's mine!" Kor cried and made to seize it.

"Not this time."

The guttural voice came from right behind him. Damas looked back and wished he hadn't, paralyzed by the sight of the pale, grisly monster that went streaking past him. Only its clothing and the ottsel perched on its shoulder convinced him that it really was Jak. The young man made a flying leap onto Kor's back, claws seeking out the weak points in the armor near the spine. Kor shrieked and twisted around, but he couldn't reach Jak. His thrashing tail nearly took Sig's head off as the other man rushed forward and started pumping rifle shots into Kor's exposed chest and gut.

Damas sought cover behind a mound of dirt and abandoned his rifle in favor of Jak's own peacemaker. He pressed a hand to his throbbing ribs with a wince. One wrong move could cripple him and make him useless in this fight. Damas looked toward Mar's prison in longing, debating whether he could make it all the way over there without Kor noticing.

He debated too long as Kor's howling reached a new intensity. "Brothers, sisters! Children! To me! TO ME!"

His call was answered within moments as metalheads winged into the lair and crawled out of the dozens of passageways riddling the walls, making straight for their leader. Damas stayed low and shot at the nearest creatures from the cover of the mound, grateful that none of them seemed in the least interested in Mar or the Stone. When a break in the assault came, Damas leaned out further to check on the main battle. Kor had managed to throw Jak off, but black blood welled from deep gashes on his back and poured down segmented legs that trembled from fatigue. As Sig fell back to reload, Kor rounded on him in a blind rage and charged, driving him toward the pit in the center of the nest.

But at that moment, the rest of the Wastelanders decided to make their appearance. They came pouring in through the main tunnel and ringed the metalhead leader, more than prepared for the greatest battle of their lives. Kor snarled and reared back. "Fools! Weaklings! You think you alone have the power to slay me? You are mere prey!"

Kor lunged and closed his jaws around one Wastelander, tearing the man in two. An enraged cry rose from the rest of his comrades, and the battle began in earnest. Not far from Damas, Jak was clutching his head as the horns retracted and color bleached back into his skin. The Precursor Stone was only steps away from him.

"Jak, the Stone!" Damas shouted over the fighting. "Bring it to me!"

Jak blinked sluggishly, but then he caught sight of the Stone and his confusion cleared. He snatched up the satchel, glancing back only once when Kor spat a vicious curse. The metalhead leader was bleeding heavily from a gash below his eye where someone had got in a lucky shot. Jak sprinted in his direction while Damas covered him, shooting down the two metalheads that tried to give chase. At last Jak dove behind the mound with him, breathing hard, one hand going to his shoulder to check on Daxter.

Damas pushed the peacemaker into his hands, earning a startled look. "Cover me. I need to focus on channeling the Stone's power."

"Wait!" Jak said quickly. "Let me do it!"

"Only I can use—"

"But maybe I can!" Jak interjected. He looked at Damas and then away. "Only an heir of Mar can use it, right? Please, just let me try. I need to know for sure."

Damas held back the harsh retort that wanted to leave his lips and nodded once. It was best to refute Kor's lies once and for all. Daxter dropped from his shoulder and stood back with wide eyes as Jak set the satchel on the ground and opened it until the Stone was completely revealed. He hesitated, hand hovering over the symbol of the house of Mar, then he pressed his palm to the smooth surface. Damas found himself holding his breath the longer Jak stayed that way, eyes closed and body still. And he couldn't help but wonder...

Could it be...?

But Jak opened his eyes again, bitter disappointment making him shudder and duck his head. Daxter patted Jak's thigh uselessly. "S-Sorry, buddy. I know you were hoping..."

Jak shook his head like it didn't matter when it obviously did. "Should've known it wouldn't be that easy," he muttered.

Even with the battle raging around them, Damas took a moment to grasp his shoulder. "It doesn't make you worthless."

Jak nodded mechanically, not even listening. Damas could spare no more thought for him as he lowered his hand and touched the Stone for the first time. The symbol on the front blazed, and Jak stiffened, eyes rolling up in his head. Damas uttered a startled oath when his skin glowed. The eco was rushing into Jak, straining for him like a dog scenting its master. Jak doubled over with a pained cry. Sparks jumped from his fingertips where they were still in contact with the Stone, blazing white and garish violet, and his eyes alternately faded to black before returning to their original vibrant blue.

"Jak, let go!" Damas yelled, but Jak didn't hear him. Desperate now, Damas laid his hand over Jak's and focused. The battle, the nest, Kor and his son, all of it faded to meaningless noise, and then even that was gone. There was only Jak and the Stone and the eco that was too much for him. With an internal effort of will, Damas wrenched the eco out of his grasp and channeled it within himself instead. He barely held up under the surge of raw power that slammed into him like a tidal wave, wild and untamed and completely beyond his control. It swept him up and hurled him away, far away...

Ocean waves lapped at his feet, bright sunlight reflecting off its sparkling surface as crying seagulls dove beneath the waves in search of food. A golden shoreline to his right, and to his left a small village on the rocky bluffs that couldn't hold more than a few inhabitants. Damas blinked at the utter peace of the scene before him, one hand braced against a tree with huge leaves. The bark felt smooth and cool to the touch. It felt real.

Where am I? It's...it's beautiful, but how did I get here?

"Do it again, Jak! Do it again!"

The sound of Daxter's young voice made him turn. Damas caught his breath when he saw the boys, one red-haired and laughing while the boy with green-blond hair merely smiled without uttering a sound. Again, the shock of recognition made his heart skip a beat. He was perhaps eleven or twelve, and he had grown well. Tall and lean and no longer quite so ungainly in his movements.

Mar jogged to the shoreline and turned, eyes alight with mischief as he sprinted past his friend and straight for a vent emitting a cloud of blue eco. Without pause, Mar jumped through the cloud and kept on running. The eco increased his speed and reflexes, allowing him to run right up the side of a vertical cliff. Near the top, he kicked off and threw himself into a backflip that ended with him landing right back where he started.

Daxter whooped and pumped his fist. "You almost made it to the top that time, Jak! Wait'll Old Greenie sees this!"

Jak, Damas thought in a daze. But I thought...I don't understand. Why am I seeing this?

He knew the answer even before the Stone supplied it. To give you the proof you would not otherwise have.

The scene altered. Now he watched as the Rift Gate was activated before the sage's hut. The boy was there too, a few years older now and bearing a distinct resemblance to a young Jak. The adolescent's guarded curiosity morphed into fear when Kor emerged from the Rift, his wings tattered and blood oozing heavily from a gash below his eye.

"YOU CANNOT HIDE FROM ME, BOY!"

"Do something, Jak!"

There was only one thing he could do. Jak revved the Rift Rider's thrusters and sent them flying straight at Kor. The force of the impact shoved the metalhead leader back into the Rift Gate. As they rocketed through the vortex, Jak was the only one to look back and see Kor tumble away and get caught up in the swirling energies, disintegrating in an instant.

Fulfilling a prophecy that had yet to be made...

The visions came faster now. Damas saw Jak arrive in Haven City, saw him captured by the Krimzon Guard. Erol led the way down the ramp and directed them to load the unconscious teen onto a waiting transport. Had the KG commander turned at that moment, he would have seen the green-haired toddler hiding below the ramp, shivering and crying softly, fearing the red-clad monsters would come for him next. He had only been kidnapped two days ago.

The streets of Haven morphed into the fortress, specifically a room that Damas had only seen briefly. But he remembered the chair and the nausea it had caused him just looking at it. The purpose of the shackles became clear when the guards wrestled a battered and terrified Jak onto its surface and restrained his wrists and ankles. The machine above him powered on, dark eco crackling at the tips of the needles. Jak squeezed his eyes shut, tears escaping and trickling into his hair.

Somewhere, he heard an older Jak screaming.

No, NO! Stop, don't make me see—!

The vision shattered. Damas reeled as vague images of Kor's lair swam before his eyes like being caught halfway between dreaming and waking. Jak was still with him, pale and shaken, a prisoner to the Stone's revelations just as he was. And it wasn't done with them yet. Daxter shouted at them both futilely as the surge of eco returned and they were drawn into its embrace once more.

Damas remembered the celebration in the courtyard before the Palace, an annual gala to commemorate the city's founding. The musicians played songs both traditional and contemporary for the enjoyment of the revelers, and while Damas wasn't one for dancing, this time had been a special case. His younger self held hands with a little girl with curly red hair, for once relaxed and untroubled as he spun her around, smiling at her joyful innocence.

He heard Jak draw a sharp breath. Ashelin...?

The peace didn't last. Damas caught a glimpse of Mar's Tomb, of himself turning away from the Stone's final test and the consequences of that decision. Many years later, he stepped off an air train onto the scorching sands with his hands shackled and his anger a rigid mask as those who had chosen to follow him into exile were manhandled down the ramp. Sig was among them, both eyes intact and equally smoldering. Baron Praxis had the gall to look Damas in the eye in the last moments before the air trains departed.

"This is not mercy, Damas. All the power of the Precursors won't save you now. You've been brought here to die."

Damas faced him, wearing his disgrace like a vestment of royalty. "Pray I die quickly, then..."

They didn't die. Refused it, in fact. The monks banished with them led the entire group to the ancient ruins carved into the cliffs near the ocean. There, Damas defied destiny and Praxis alike with the rise of Spargus and with his own marriage and the birth of his son. He saw the laughing little boy in the throne room, small feet dipped in the water, but those images were overlapped by his more recent memories of Jak. The conversation in the Power Station, the battles at the Palace and the bazaar, the journey to the nest and Kor's lair...

The final visions took on a hazy, uncertain quality. The past was set in stone, but the future that would create it remained obscured. All save for one event, one decision. A choice that would result in, and at the same time was a result of, everything that had happened before this moment.

Kor would lose this fight. He would realize it soon, perhaps already had, and in his weakened state he couldn't hope to harness the Stone's power. He would turn to the only course left to him. He would kill Mar, unraveling future and past alike. In his desperation and hatred, he would not understand that doing so would have repercussions far beyond anything he could imagine. Damas rebelled against the future the Stone depicted, fighting the energies that still held him captive. He wouldn't let that happen!

And certainty dripped into him like ice water. That was the choice. His choice. The torrent of sights and sounds flooding into him were so jumbled that Damas almost couldn't sort them out. Kor taking to the air, Sig running toward them, Jak reaching for him.

I will not be stopped! They swore this world would be—!

Damas, why aren't you...?

No! Damn it, I won't let you!

Kor folding his wings and swooping for Mar, claws descending on the helpless boy. At the last moment, Damas saw himself cast his own body between them, though it was a mercy that he didn't behold the moment of his death. The next vision was Jak aiming a fully charged peacemaker straight at Kor's heart, screaming his rage and grief. The dying Kor fled through the Rift Gate, and in the aftermath, Jak sank to his knees and cradled the sobbing child to his chest, offering comfort even as he shed his own anguished tears.

He won't remember. He won't remember any of it. The Stone will make sure of that...

At last, the Stone released him. Damas swayed and braced his hand on the earth, trembling so violently that he thought he might collapse. It took him several seconds to realize he was back in the present. Hardly a moment must have passed because Kor was still locked in battle and Daxter was still gripping Jak's sleeve and trying to get his attention. Jak shook off the daze more slowly, locking stunned eyes with Damas. He had seen it too.

And that was when Damas finally saw him. He looked beyond the rebel soldier and the dark warrior, beyond the hardened youth sheltering a fragile soul. Behind it all was Mar. His little boy was there in the rare, fleeting smiles and in the devotion he displayed toward his loved ones, everything from his spirited banter with Daxter to his gentleness when he reached for Keira's hand. And now Damas witnessed all that love coming to center on him, so much warmth and heartache coalescing in a single word.

"No," Jak breathed. He didn't specify what he was refuting, but he didn't need to.

Movement above distracted Damas, and he looked up to see Kor soaring high above them. Many Wastelanders had been killed, but many more were still standing and dealing with the last of the metalheads that had come to Kor's aid. A stray eco blast struck Mar's prison, and the sphere flickered and vanished. The boy crumpled to the ground, suddenly conscious and taking in his surroundings with confused fright. The setup was exactly as the Stone had shown him. It was all too perfect, and Damas grew cold inside. Fear. No, he was not afraid of death, but to embrace it willingly, knowing he could do nothing to stop it, was almost too much.

But he would do it. For Mar. For Jak. His son belonged in that beautiful seaside village, playing with eco like it was his own personal magic and far from any who would cause him harm. Damas looked at Jak one last time, taking solace in the absolute proof that Mar would grow to be strong, if not entirely unscarred. Then he stood up.

"No!" Jak shouted, rising as well. He caught Damas by the wrist before he could turn away completely. "No! Damn it, I won't let you—!"

Déjà vu for them both. Jak cut himself off, horror flitting across his face. Damas wanted to reassure him, wanted to yank him into a fierce hug and tell Jak not to fear for him. But if he gave in now, Damas knew he wouldn't have the strength to pull away ever again.

"I will not be stopped!" Kor roared. He clung to a ledge where none could reach him, nursing his wounds. "They told me...the Makers, they swore this world would be mine!"

"Damas!" Sig shouted as he raced toward Damas and Jak. "Hey, what's going on? Why aren't you using the Stone?"

Knowing what must be done, Damas pried his wrist from Jak's grip and shoved him into Sig's arms. "Don't let him go no matter what!"

It was a credit to Sig's faith in him that though the order confused him, he obeyed without question and enveloped Jak in a bear hug. Jak struggled wildly as Damas backed away, kicking his feet out and clawing at Sig's arms. "Wait, you can't! Don't do this to me! Don't do this!"

"I must," Damas said, voice catching, hating himself a little more with every step. He took up Jak's peacemaker and started running, the pain of his ribs forgotten. "Avenge me, Mar!"

"FATHER!"

"Kill the child!" Kor bellowed. "His father as well! Bring their bodies to me!"

Three metalheads veered away from their leader and toward Mar, who had tripped over an exposed root and lay sprawled out on his stomach. Damas skidded to a halt and charged the peacemaker, aiming with care, and all three metalheads were incinerated with a single blast. Mar looked up when Damas shouted his name, mouth open like he wanted to answer. Damas started toward him only to be tackled from behind and have the morph gun wrenched from his grip. Damas twisted around to face this new enemy, stunned at the sight of Jak standing over him. Further back, Sig was swearing profusely as he tried to pry Daxter off his bloody ear where the ottsel had bitten him.

"I won't let you," Jak repeated with conviction. "I told you before, I won't that kid go through what I went through! But if he never goes to Sandover...if I can keep him here with you, then maybe..."

Understanding what Jak intended, Damas caught his breath. "But...wait! If Mar doesn't go through the Rift, what will happen to you?"

Jak's expression became haunted. "I don't know."

So he intended to gamble not only his life, but his very existence on a chance to alter his past. But if he succeeded, then the Jak standing before him now would never come to be. Damas might not remember that he ever had been in the first place, and the very thought caused him far more distress than he expected. Damas tried to rise, intending to stop him, but Jak was too quick and sank a quick and brutal punch into his ribs. Damas blanched when something cracked in his chest and left him on his hands and knees, vision tunneling as he coughed up blood. By the time he dragged in a labored breath, Jak was too far away for him to reach, running for Mar without a backward glance.

Running toward his death, and at the same time trying to save himself from it.

"Jak," Damas gasped weakly as Kor launched himself off the ledge. "Jak!"

Mar looked up with wide eyes as Kor folded his wings and plummeted toward him. But Jak got there first and swept the boy up in his arms, crying out when Kor's claws rent open his back. Jak threw himself into a roll, teeth gritted against the pain as he aimed the morph gun with one hand and fired. The half-charged peacemaker blast caught Kor right in the chest, and the metalhead reared back with an earsplitting howl. His segmented legs folded and let his great body fall to the ground. But though he was mortally wounded and clearly close to death, he still found the strength to raise his head and gurgle a laugh.

"T-Think you can alter the course of time, b-boy? You sealed your fate long ago, at the moment you came through the Rift!"

"Go to hell!" Jak spat, clutching Mar close to his chest.

"Only if you join me!" Kor spat. Once more, eco gathered in the gem on his forehead, but this time the blast struck the ledge directly above Jak and Mar. The rock fractured, and Jak only had time to fling himself on top of Mar before they were both buried beneath the landslide. With that final strike, Kor let his head drop, panting, eyes glazed as his injuries overcame him.

Damas squeezed his eyes shut, barely conscious of the gradual sound of cheering from the rest of the Wastelanders at the fall of the metalhead leader. Slowly, every motion a torment, he pushed himself up and staggered to his feet, grateful to find Sig's arm supporting him. His breathing was nothing more than short, pained gasps, but he had no thoughts for his own sorry state or for finishing Kor off. He had no thoughts at all except getting to his son. Jak, Mar, either or both, it mattered not because losing even one of them would kill him.

Once they reached the rock pile, Damas shoved away from Sig and started hauling them away with his bare hands, heedless of torn knuckles and fingers. Sig pitched in without a word, digging with a ferocity that perhaps should have surprised him and yet didn't. The celebration around them petered out as the Wastelanders caught their leader's urgency and began to help. It didn't take long to unearth the bodies, and Damas sank to his knees, an anguished moan catching in his throat.

He was dead. Damas knew it even before he laid his fingers on his neck and found neither pulse nor breath. Jak lay on his side curled protectively around the little boy in his arms, eyes closed and face forever twisted in a pained grimace. By contrast, Mar could have been asleep if not for the blood trickling from his nose and mouth and the larger pool spreading beneath them both. Damas eased Jak onto his back and pulled Mar into his arms, tears spilling over when he felt the chilled skin beneath his cheek, the flaccid hand in his own. Mar's heart was still beating, but it was weak, erratic. Fading by the second.

"Oh hell," Sig murmured above him. He looked from Jak to Mar, gradually moving from understanding to devastation. "Jak...it really is him, isn't it? It's Mar."

Damas nodded without taking his eyes from Mar's face. He heard Sig swear angrily and a few of the others had to restrain him from exacting swift and painful vengeance on Kor. At that moment, Damas was incapable of such righteous anger. He was empty, his purpose utterly extinguished. He could have cared less if the paradox of Mar's death tore the world asunder. What would it matter? His world had already ended.

"Jak?" Daxter whispered brokenly. He hopped on Jak's chest and tugged on the red scarf. "Jak, q-quit messin' around! I said quit it! This ain't how the team was supposed to split up! I-I know I'm always goin' on about you being the sidekick, but come on, you know I wouldn't last a second without you! What about when you stopped me from killing Krew? What about when you went all the way to the north to try and change me back? Damn you, say something!"

"By the Precursors...no!"

Damas raised his head listlessly. The others had come now that the battle was over, the sages and the young mechanic. Samos sprinted toward the group, stumbling over the uneven terrain until he reached Jak's side. He pressed his hands to Jak's temples, and green light pulsed beneath his fingertips, but it wasn't strong enough. In the dead heart of the metalhead nest, there was precious little green eco to augment his powers.

"H-He's too far gone," the Shadow said hesitantly, attempting to pull the elder sage away. "You should save your power for those who need it..."

"I won't let it end like this!" Samos snapped. He choked back a sob, his own tears trickling into his beard. "It can't end here, not after I promised...hold on, my boy, just hold on!"

Keira slipped to her knees at Jak's side and took his hand in both of hers, staring numbly at his still face like she couldn't comprehend why she wasn't dead too. Vacant eyes looked up at Damas before dropping to the child in his arms. "T-Those are Jak's goggles," she said in a wavering voice. "Aren't they?"

Damas glanced down. Indeed, hanging around Mar's neck was a pair of goggles identical to the ones Jak wore, only not quite so battered from use. It was just a small thing, another insignificant piece slotted into the puzzle, but it dredged Damas up out of the mire of his own sorrow. Something in him panged as he watched these people mourn for Jak. For Mar. Just because his son had never known his real family didn't mean he had ever lacked for one. These three were his family, all of them, perhaps even more than Damas himself was.

And Jak had been willing to give that up to save a father he didn't even remember. Maybe in his eyes it had been worth it, but Damas was beginning to think the sacrifice would have been too great.

Sacrifice...

Damas looked over where the Precursor Stone lay abandoned, lustrous in the light of the Rift Gate. Hot anger flooded into him, burning away the frozen grief. For once he did not see it as a holy relic, but as a curse on his bloodline to give all they had for the greater good and receive only suffering in return. And Jak had suffered the most. Abduction, torture, the life of a fugitive. Even so, he had kept giving all he had so they would live to see another day.

He had given enough.

Abruptly, Damas stood. "You," he barked at the Shadow, and the sage jumped. "Come with me."

He limped toward the Stone, paying no heed to anyone's questions or stares. It wasn't until he stood right below the Rift Gate that he realized the pulse in Mar's wrist was gone. His heart had stopped. Damas shuddered, feeling as though someone had slipped a cold knife in him, but he didn't give in to despair yet. There was still time.

A withered hand touched his elbow. "Lord Damas, I can sense a spark of life yet," the Shadow said gently. "If you let me, perhaps I can still..."

"You'll heal him once you reach the other side of the Rift," Damas said shortly. He leaned over and put Mar into the sage's arms, the single hardest thing he had ever done. "You'll have plenty of green eco to draw on there. This is all I can do for him now. If I can't...if I can't change his future, I can at least give him back those years he spent safe and happy."

"But...but wait!" the Shadow said quickly as Damas picked up the Stone. "Perhaps you should go with him! You are his father. You can raise him yourself in that era, and when the time comes to return..."

Damas hesitated, struck by a painful yearning to be with his son, to teach him and watch him grow. They could be together for years yet...but he shook his head, indicating the Stone. "Who would open the way for us? And who could heal him on the other side? It must be you. Are you prepared?"

The Shadow looked very much like he wanted to say no. But one last look at the child in his arms steeled him, his apprehension and uncertainty replaced by a kind of doomed resolve. Damas had to wonder if that was how he had looked to Jak when he accepted his fate. Either way, it didn't matter. It was his son's fate that hung in the balance now.

"I'll take care of him," the Shadow promised. "You have my word, I'll bring him back to you!"

Damas breathed deeply, preparing himself to do what must be done no matter how much it hurt. Rather than focusing on the fact that he would never see his child again, he fixed his mind on the image of the two boys playing on that golden stretch of beach, laughing and carefree. Living in a world without Praxis and Kor, without fear and danger. A world of sun and sand, of wind and water and eco.

A world without him.

This time the Stone answered to his will and allowed him to draw on its power. Light eco coalesced into an iridescent cloud above his head before it formed a crystalline sphere around the Shadow and Mar, a shield rather than a prison. The sage only had time for a single wide-eyed look before the sphere carried them into the Rift faster than an eyeblink. Seconds after they vanished, Kor croaked a wordless protest and spread his tattered wings, flinging himself into the vortex. But Damas knew he wouldn't catch them. Kor would arrive ten years too late, in time to see a grown Jak set off for Haven City and his destiny. Damas dropped the now lifeless Stone and shut his eyes against a fresh wave of tears, fists clenched at his side. It was done.

"Damn," Sig said in a hushed voice, and several more equally reverent murmurs made Damas look up once again. A ghostly apparition had materialized from the Rift and now hovered over them all, its face featureless and hands pressed together as if in prayer. It looked just like the Precursor entity that had appeared before him two years ago when Damas went to the mountain temple to pray for his lost son. And the words it spoke to him now were exactly the same as back then.

"All is not lost, desert warrior."

The glow from the apparition brightened until it dazzled him, a gentle rain of white and blue sparks cascading down. When Damas lowered his hand, the apparition was gone and the Rift Gate falling apart. Behind him, Daxter gave a startled cry. "He's breathing! Jak's breathing!"

Chapter Text

Gray. Everything was so gray. That was the first thing Jak was aware of...if this could truly be called awareness. He didn't remember where he had been before this, and he wasn't in much of a hurry to go anywhere else. It was nice here. Peaceful.

Still, as content as this place made him feel, he couldn't shake the nagging feeling that he shouldn't be here. Bright light danced at the edges of his vision, the cool touch of green eco floating just out of reach, and voices called to him from somewhere. Voices that he knew. Jak tried to ignore them, but it was difficult. There was something he had forgotten, something important. Something or...someone.

A pinpoint of brightness in the gray uniformity. Jak started. There was only one at first, but gradually more and more white sparks drifted down from some unseen source. Jak reached for one and recoiled almost immediately. No, he couldn't go back. As long as he was here, he was safe. It held no power over him here.

What doesn't?

The words came from everywhere and nowhere, an echo in his mind rather than an audible voice.

What holds no power over you?

"Pain," Jak murmured. Now he understood. He had come close to death too many times not to know what it felt like. This detachment, this severed existence from his dying body. But Jak had never seen this place before, and he started to wonder if he was dreaming.

He fisted his hands at his sides so he wouldn't be tempted to grab those sparks. They were light eco, life incarnate. They were movement and breathing and laughing...but also screaming and crying and despair. To take them would be to return to a place where pain could touch him, and Jak feared that more than anything. Just like he had feared waking each day in the prison, in darkness and agony, alone...

You will not be alone.

"I'll have to take your word for it," Jak said wryly. He seized the nearest spark, savoring the fiery jolt that went straight to his heart. "I hope I don't regret this."

He had always been too stubborn to die anyway.

"He's breathing! Jak's breathing!"

Sort of, Jak thought morosely as he gasped and coughed, a violent spasm ripping through his body. Now that he was conscious, he could very much feel how badly that rock fall had messed him up. His head pounded with a bad concussion, and shattered ribs had punctured his lungs like half a dozen jagged spikes. In fact, the spikes would probably hurt less. He tried to take another breath and gagged when blood bubbled up in his throat, choking him.

"Bear with me, Jak," Samos murmured to him. "Just hold still. I'll take the hurt away in a moment."

That was all well and good for him. Jak was the one drowning in his own blood. But he waited, trusting in the sage like he had since he was a small child, and Samos was as good as his word. Soothing energy permeated his chest like a draught of cool water, easing the agony in his lungs. Jak took a slow, cautious breath that went right to his head and left him giddy. God, he hurt. Dark eco and contaminated dirt made the slashes across his back burn like fire. Jak clenched his jaw against the stars that peppered his vision and fisted his hand in the earth beneath him, scrambling for something real to hold on to, terrified of slipping away again for good.

Someone had his other hand, which helped. He focused on that, on the slender fingers with rough calluses and nails bitten down. That had to be Keira. Jak should know. He had spent enough time staring at her hands back in Sandover and daydreaming about holding them just like this. He could hear Daxter too, babbling something in his ear about knowing he would make it all along.

But now confusion set in. Jak had stopped the kid from going through the Rift...hadn't he? He had altered history, which meant Daxter and Keira shouldn't be here. He shouldn't be here. Slowly, Jak forced his eyes open, blinking grit from them. And at the sight of Samos and Keira and Daxter all leaning over him, he had never been so happy about failure in his life.

"H-Hey, guys," Jak croaked, lips parting in a feeble grin.

"God, Jak!" Daxter burst out, clearly long past the point of hysteria. "Thanks for scaring the crap out of me! Really, thank you! I've actually been wondering what it's like to have a heart attack and a stroke in one go! You are such a jackass!"

Jak coughed. "Sorry, Dax. I'll b-be quicker next time."

"You'd better be!" Keira snapped, but the blow was softened by the way she choked on the words. She pressed a kiss to his knuckles and rested her cheek against his hand. Her skin was chilled and a little grimy after the crash earlier, but the warmth of her tears kept him from noticing. Jak hadn't seen her cry since...he didn't even know how long. Not since they were kids. It used to intimidate him, but now it was strangely warming to know those tears were for him alone.

And it hit him then that there might be another reason for those tears. Jak tried to look around, but was hindered by Samos' hands cradling his head. "Jak, please stay still..."

"D-Damas," Jak rasped, fear making the name catch in his throat. Maybe he hadn't changed anything at all. Maybe what the Stone had shown him had been irrefutable, something that couldn't be altered, and Damas had still...

"I'm here."

And he was. Jak turned his head just enough to see the remains of the Rift Gate and Damas kneeling at his side. Rough fingers closed around his other hand, and Jak returned the tight grip as he felt something inside him become whole again, a void being filled that he hadn't even known was empty, and it left him torn between rejoicing and weeping.

Father...Father...

"I'm here," Damas repeated. His voice was hoarse and his face haggard and tear-streaked, evidence of some lingering grief for the loss of the kid. But the tender hope in his smile erased Jak's doubts. "I've missed you so much, little warrior," he added in hardly a whisper.

The nickname evoked a sharp pang in his soul, achingly familiar. Jak blinked away tears. "N-Not so little anymore."

"I knew he'd say that," Sig chuckled from somewhere nearby.

"Jak," Samos said gently. "I'm going to put you in a healing sleep now, and you might not awaken for quite awhile. Like on your ninth birthday when you were attacked by all those wumpbees and you slept for two days."

"Good times," Daxter added, beaming at him.

Jak shook his head as his vision clouded and everything grew more distant. He didn't want to sleep now. He had so much to say to his father, so much he wanted to ask before Damas went back to his city in the Wasteland. And there was no way all the metalheads had been finished off in that battle. Jak should help them fight their way out of the nest instead of letting them protect him. But when the green eco flooded into his body, numbing him head to toe, blissful slumber was impossible to resist.

"Don't leave," Jak slurred as he put up one last halfhearted resistance. "Still want to...don't go yet..."

"We're not going anywhere," Damas promised him. He nudged Jak's eyes closed. "Rest now."

Strong arms slipped under him and lifted him to an armored chest. "I've got you, cherry," Sig rumbled above his head. "Take a breather for once. The world'll still be here tomorrow."

I hope so, Jak thought as he let sleep carry him away on gilded wings.

A long period of time passed. Jak couldn't have said how long as he spent most of that time drifting in a world of hazy, eco-laden dreams interrupted by brief periods of lethargic wakefulness. It was so similar to the partial coma Samos had put him in after the wumpbee attack that more than once he dreamed he was back in the sage's hut with his arms and legs slathered in salve and his face so swollen that he couldn't even open his eyes. The pain in his healing body was ever present, but held apart from him and never allowed to spike to unbearable levels.

Jak thought that people came to visit him. Maybe. He heard Daxter's voice at irregular, but frequent intervals, and he had a distinct memory of Keira helping Samos cleanse and bandage all the scrapes on his arms and shoulders. When she noticed him awake, she helped him drink a few mouthfuls of water that tasted metallic on his tongue like the tap water in Haven City. That gave him a where, which was almost immediately forgotten as he dozed again.

As his injuries began to mend, the eco gradually fading from his system, his dreams took on a more realistic quality. Most were benign, memories of Sandover replayed like a favorite song. Others were not. He dreamed of Kor and the nest from two perspectives, the one no less nightmarish than the other. Those were often followed by a dream of a dark forest and Damas in the firelight and being unable to speak no matter how much Damas begged him to.

One night, the silence and the cold brought him back to the fortress and the chair. He thrashed against invisible restraints and cried out for someone to save him, convinced that any moment Erol would return to finish him off as Praxis ordered, and he despaired of ever seeing his friends or his home again. But someone brought him back to the waking world with calm words and a compassionate touch. The shackles vanished, the chill of the chair becoming sweat-soaked bedding. And Erol's leering face morphed into Damas.

Run, Jak thought torpidly. You have to run. Erol's coming, he's going to...

"Erol isn't here, Jak," Damas murmured, his words reassuring with an edge of fierce protectiveness. "Trust me, he would have to fight through quite a few people to reach you now..."

Lulled by this solemn oath, Jak sank into his deepest sleep yet, the nightmare forgotten. And the next time he woke up, his head was clear. Jak opened bleary eyes on a dim, unkempt room with little more than a bed and a pile of storage boxes stacked against the far wall. He had rarely bunked at the Hip Hog, not willing to trust Krew that much, but he recognized this room as one of those on the upper level of the bar. Murmured voices drifted up through the floor, a soothing hum in his ear pressed to the pillow. Jak raised his head, finding himself alone except for the loyal crocadog curled up at the foot of the bed. The crocadog lifted its head, tongue lolling in happiness at the sight of Jak awake, then yawned and went right back to sleep. Jak smiled a little as he glanced at the window. Through the grimy glass he could see the night sky, and he wondered vaguely how long he had been asleep.

With a soft groan, Jak pushed the blanket back and took a few deeper breaths. A mere twinge in his ribs, nothing more. He doubted they were completely healed, but at least he could breathe. Now to try getting up. Jak propped himself on his elbows first and very slowly sat upright and swung his bare feet to the floor. The motion fatigued him more than it should have, stiff muscles creaking in protest, a testament to just how long he must have gone without moving at all. He rested a moment, exploring the bandages around his bare chest and the smaller scrapes and colorful bruises he hadn't noticed before. Nothing infected, nothing incapacitating. Daxter could say what he wanted about Samos' stinginess, but when it came to healing, he held nothing back.

Saving the best for last, Jak gingerly reached back to explore where Kor had struck him. The gashes had been so deep that he had wondered if even Samos could do anything for them. But the wounds were closed, and his body didn't seem to have suffered any for absorbing a little more dark eco. Under the bandages, Jak counted four thick lines of scar tissue slashed diagonally across his shoulder blades. The highest one actually curved over his right shoulder and ended near his collarbone. Any higher and Kor could have taken his head off. The scarred skin was still raw and pained him if he stretched the wrong way. A macabre part of Jak wanted to know what they looked like, but since there were no mirrors handy, he decided he could wait to find out.

First, there were some people he wanted to find.

Having recovered from sitting up, Jak made a stab at standing. The room gave a dizzy little waltz, but since he hadn't passed out, he assumed he was good to go. Jak kept one hand on the mattress as he went hunting for his shirt and boots, finding both near the door. His shirt was clean and neatly folded, and someone had stitched up the numerous rips while he was unconscious. Jak picked at the stitches curiously before tugging it on and sliding his feet into the boots. His morph gun leaned against another box nearby, thoroughly cleaned and repaired and currently unloaded, but he left it for now.

The voices seemed much louder when he stepped into the hallway, the informal banter beckoning him down the narrow staircase to the source of the light and warmth. At the doorway into the bar, Jak hesitated and hovered back in the shadows. It sounded like a full-blown party was in motion in the next room. There was even music playing on the radio, which Krew never used to allow. Jak almost turned around and went back upstairs, not up for dealing with a bunch of strangers, until he realized that he recognized every single voice in that room. Jak moved into the doorway and smiled at the scene, but didn't intrude. Right now, he just wanted to see them all and know they were still alive.

"—and with the metalheads closing in from all sides, I pushed Jak to safety, grabbed the peacemaker and blew Kor's big metal butt to smithereens!" Daxter concluded, and he demonstrated with sound effects and an enthusiastic roll, nearly kicking Pecker off the bar. "I tell ya, if I hadn't been so busy fending off the rest of Kor's harem on the way out, I would've lugged that ugly monster's head back here and tacked it on the wall!"

"I'm sure you had enough trouble getting your own fat head out of there, let alone Kor's," Pecker said drolly, rolling his eyes. "So when are you going to cut the bull and tell us what really happened?"

"I just told ya what happened! It ain't my fault you haven't been listening!"

"I've been listening to you rattle on for the past half hour, rat, and I have yet to hear two versions of your tale that match up!"

Tess laughed and put her arm between the two animals. "Boys, let's not fight about it," she implored. "The good news is that you all made it back and you took out Kor for good."

"And," Daxter prodded.

"And you're still my one and only hero," Tess added impishly, leaning forward to give Daxter a quick kiss before she sat back, one hand on her scarred belly. Keira had taken a seat beside her, laughing at Daxter's antics, while on her other side Samos was engaged in deep conversation with the soothsayer, Onin.

"...still don't quite understand it. For some reason, I had thought the Rift Rider that Keira built for us was the same one we used to come to this era from the past. But if the one she built was destroyed in the nest..."

Onin's hands painted invisible pictures in the air, and Pecker stepped in to interpret. "Onin says that her visions have settled since the time loop was made stable so there's no need to worry about it. Who knows? Perhaps Keira's Rift Rider will one day be unearthed and find its way back to that era in a way we shall never know."

"Still," Samos said with a remorseful glance at his daughter, "I am sorry, Keira. I had hoped to at least give you a chance to go back to Sandover, if you chose. Jak and I are from this time originally, but you were born there."

"I wouldn't have gone without you," Keira said firmly and laid her hand on his arm. "Besides, after all the excitement here, I think Sandover would have been a little boring. They don't even have zoomer races!"

Jak felt his lips quirk up at that. Then his attention shifted over, and both eyebrows flew up at the sight of Ashelin and Torn sitting in a booth to themselves, he with his arm wrapped firmly around her waist and grasping her hip in a way that was more than a little covetous. The truly miraculous thing was that Ashelin wasn't punching him, and in fact had her hand on his knee in much the same manner. Just when had that happened?

Amused and a little disturbed at this development, Jak averted his gaze from the intimate scene. And when he caught sight of Damas and Sig sitting in the next booth over, a hard lump grew in his throat. He was still here. He hadn't gone back to the Wasteland as Jak had half feared. During a break in the conversation, Damas happened to look up and catch his eye. Surprise became such profound relief that brought an ache to Jak's heart, making him want to run up to the Wasteland king and hug him like a little boy. Damas almost made as if to rise, but he also held back uncertainly, fist clenched on the table. It was a testament to how much time had passed and how much had changed for them both that they were left staring at each other awkwardly, waiting for some cue that it was alright to close that distance.

In the end, neither made the first move. Sig followed Damas' line of sight and grinned broadly. "Well, look who's up!" he said loudly.

"Jak!" Daxter bellowed, and he was echoed by nearly everyone in the bar. The ottsel sprinted down the bar and made a flying leap for Jak's head, seizing double handfuls of his hair.

"Ow! Dax—!"

"Don't you ever do that again!" Daxter snapped, punctuating each word with a sharp tug that made Jak's eyes water. "I'm serious, if I ever see you pull a harebrained stunt like that again, I'll kick your ass and hand it to Keira on a platter! You've been down and out for four days!"

"No wonder I'm hungry," Jak muttered. "Can you get off my back for two seconds and let me eat something?"

"I'll give ya something to eat, you damn martyr! How about my FIST!"

To Jak's eternal gratitude, Tess retrieved Daxter from his hair and cuddled him against her chest, which seemed to calm him some. Keira abandoned her chair and rushed over to throw her arms around him, face buried in his shirt. Jak held her lithe body close and dropped a kiss to her shoulder. "You alright?" he whispered in her ear.

Keira nodded, but her eyes were still haunted with old pain when she looked at him. "I'm fine. And I'm with Daxter, you really scared us back there! I was so afraid you weren't going to..."

"I always come back," Jak said firmly when they separated, dropping his hand to twine their fingers together. "Always."

"Jak, you shouldn't be up and about yet!" Samos rebuked him. True to form, he expressed his own relief in the form of a lecture. "You may feel rested, but you're still healing!"

"Sending me back to my room already?" Jak said with a quick grin. "I just wanted to see how you all were doing. And what about the city? Is it still under attack?"

"Not anymore," Torn said, approaching the group along with Ashelin. "Almost as soon as Kor went down that night, the metalhead forces devolved into chaos. They weren't working together anymore so it was just a matter of boxing them in and eradicating them. Some small clusters are still being routed out, but this is the first night we've been able to move people back into their homes without worrying about another major attack."

"A lot of people are celebrating tonight," Ashelin added with some satisfaction. "So we thought we'd take a break from our duties and come check in with everyone here."

"You thought," Torn muttered, but there was no vehemence behind it. He crossed his arms with a funny little twist to his mouth, then he sighed in defeat. "I guess there's no getting around it. Thanks, Jak. We couldn't have done this without you."

Coming from a man who usually barked out orders and handed him missions like his obedience was a given, even this halfhearted appreciation was something. Gratified, Jak clasped Torn's hand. "Anytime. And I mean that in only the most figurative sense."

"Dear God, the rat's rubbing off on you," Torn grumbled, casting his eyes to the ceiling.

Pecker flapped over to the edge of the bar, disgruntled. "Onin says that she thinks you did very well, Jak," he said grudgingly. "But I wouldn't say that if I were her! Now that you're awake, let me have a few words with you about messing with the flow of time—"

"Oh shut up, Pecker," Daxter said in exasperation. "I've heard just about all I can take about paradoxes and crossed paths and oxymorons and whatnot! I'm beggin' ya, save me a migraine and keep your trap shut!"

"Bah!" Pecker spat in disgust. "You cannot even fathom how close he came to collapsing the universe with his actions! And oxymoron is a grammatical term, you uneducated cur!"

"Oh ho, so the gloves are off now, eh? Let me tell you something, you beakless prick—!"

The bar door slid open before the argument could really take off. "Hey, hey! I finally made it back! How's it goin', pretty boy?"

"JINX!" Tess shrieked in delight. She sprinted across the bar and flung herself into Jinx's arms, oblivious to the stink of salt water and metalhead blood the man had brought into the bar with him. "You're back, you're okay! I thought you were killed when the shield wall went down!"

"Excuse me!" Daxter said, his hackles rising. "Just what is going on here?"

Jinx kept his arm draped around Tess' shoulders as he strolled over to lean against the bar, either not noticing Daxter's jealousy or not caring. "What's goin' on is I just spent four straight days tryin' to find a way out of the Underport! Man, I'm whipped. I got completely turned around down in those tunnels, and I used up all the explosives I had with me so I had to improvise with whatever I could find. Ha, you shoulda seen it! So there I am gettin' chased around by this sonuvabitch metalpede, and all I've got to work with is an old power cell and a tripwire—"

Daxter poked his head between him and Tess and shoved them apart. "Fascinating story," he grumbled. "What I meant is how do you two know each other?"

"Oh, I didn't tell you guys?" Tess said brightly. She patted Jinx on the arm. "He's my uncle!"

Everyone stared. Jinx lit up a soggy cigar with a careless shrug. "What? My sis is, like, twelve years older than me. I was five when she got knocked up."

"Oh," Daxter said, still blinking. Jak snickered, deciding the hilarity was worth the glare he received from his ottsel friend.

"Anyway," Jinx went on, taking a seat, "so this metalpede is comin' at me, right? And my little peashooter ain't doin' a thing to break open that hide. But I've got this power cell, and I decide to—"

"Alright, hold on a sec!" Daxter said loudly. "If you're gonna be telling stories in my bar..."

"Your bar?" Jinx said, perplexed. "Who says it's your bar?"

"The sign does!"

"What sign?"

"You're kidding me! The one right over the door!"

"A sign don't make it yours," Jinx snorted. He poked Daxter in the chest with the butt of his cigar. "Have you bothered to look for Krew's will yet? I bet you fifty skull gems it'll say he left the Hip Hog and all its assets to yours truly."

"Oh no!" Daxter exclaimed, waving his arms. "There's no way I'm letting you have this place and give it back its crappy name! Nuh uh, not happening!"

"You wanna fight about it, rat boy?"

"You bet, I do!"

For Daxter's safety, Jak considered intervening in the heated squabble, but he just didn't have the energy for it. Samos hadn't been kidding about him not being fully recovered. Just standing here and trying to follow the conversation was taxing what little strength he had. And it didn't help that he was still conscious of being in the same room as his father and unable to look the man in the eye or think of a single thing to say to him.

Deciding avoidance was the better part of valor, he squeezed Keira's hand with an apologetic look. "I'll see you a little later, okay? Need some air."

Keira seemed a little surprised, but she gave him a small smile and let him go. "Oh, alright. We'll talk later then."

"Yeah," Jak replied as he went back the way he came, taking the stairs to the upper floor. Yet another thing he wasn't up for right now. In under a week, he and Keira had gone from skittish strangers to almost what they'd had in Sandover, and it left him at once ecstatic and uneasy. And to think, he had once thought killing Praxis and stopping the metalheads would mean an end to all his problems. Now he couldn't even put his personal issues on the backburner and run off on a suicide mission when he was feeling antsy.

At the top of the stairs, Jak bypassed the room he had awoken in and instead opened the door that led onto the roof. The cool, salty breeze blowing off the Port waters completely washed away the feeling of being closed in. Jak breathed deeply, moving to the edge of the roof where he rested his hands on the concrete wall. It wasn't the same as looking at the ocean, but the moon still reflected off the water in the same way, and he could pretend the layer of pollution blocking the stars was fog.

The enormous glowing ottsel perched just above the bar door, however, wrecked the image a little.

"What the hell, Dax?" Jak muttered. He leaned a little farther so he could read the brand new neon sign that hurt his eyes to look at. The Naughty Ottsel. He smirked, envisioning Krew's reaction if he could find out what had become of his beloved bar. But at least Daxter had found his place here. Jak was sure he would make the most of it.

The hinges on the door squealed behind him. "Hey, hero," Ashelin said quietly. "Sick of our company already?"

Jak looked around when she joined him at the edge of the roof. "Just needed a couple minutes," he replied. "I'm still trying to get my head on straight after...everything."

"You mean after finding out you really are Mar's rightful heir."

"You don't seem that surprised."

Ashelin shrugged, studying him with a wry smile. "I am, and I'm also not, if that makes sense. Anyway, I figured I'd better give this back to you before you started thinking I stole it or something."

She slid a hand under her collar and withdrew the seal of Mar from somewhere in her cleavage. Jak took it and studied the swirling symbol carved from rose-colored stone, still warm to the touch after being tucked right between her…Jak cleared his throat. "Uh, yeah. I guess there's no running away from it, huh?"

Ashelin leaned on the concrete wall with her arms folded, watching the streets below. Jak also glanced down. He hadn't noticed before, but the city's atmosphere was a little different, and it took him a moment to pinpoint why. The citizens no longer walked with shoulders slumped and heads bowed in defeat. There was a bounce to their steps and an almost musical lilt to their conversations, and even the few KGs he spotted were relaxed and upbeat. Moreover, the red-armored soldiers weren't being avoided or glared at, but treated with a kind of informal deference. Jak supposed it was only their due. He may have been the one to kill Kor, but it was the Krimzon Guard that had driven the invasion away and protected the city and its people. After years of being feared and despised, the KGs were probably feeling pretty damn good about themselves.

"Is anything wrong?" Jak asked when he noticed Ashelin's discontent look.

"Is anything right?" Ashelin retorted. She heaved a sigh. "The metalheads are defeated for now, but they'll be back when they find a new leader. It could be in a year or a decade, but it's not over yet. And...I finally found out what my father did to Erol. I have no idea where he's gone now. It's just one more thing to worry about on top of everything else."

Jak looked off across the Port waters, a cold knot growing in his gut at the thought of Erol out there somewhere, a mutant with a crippling addiction who had been out for his blood long before he was exposed to the twisted effects of dark eco. It took some effort to push the disturbing thought from his mind. "What do you mean on top of everything else?" he asked. "Looks to me like you have the city under control."

"And how long will that last?" Ashelin said acerbically. "My father died four days ago, Jak. He died and left me with a city on the brink of anarchy. If it hadn't been for the metalhead invasion, I doubt I could have seized control so easily. After all that's happened, the Guard answers to me, but once the excitement wears down, I doubt the people will be glad to see another military leader."

"You won't be like your father," Jak said, surprising himself with how sure he sounded.

Ashelin just shook her head. "Not many will see it that way. Especially now that everyone knows for a fact the city's rightful ruler and his heir are still alive."

Jak frowned, unsure how he felt about the title heir. He certainly didn't feel like one, and the last thing he wanted was people coming up to him and expecting him to take over. Especially when most of those people had been calling him a monster only days ago. "You're not going to be alone in this. What about Torn? Hasn't he been helping?"

"He has," Ashelin replied, a small smile coming to her lips. "To tell you the truth, he's been a godsend with all the connections he has through the Underground. He's...dependable. Knows how to get things done. More than anything, that's what I need right now."

Thinking back to the way he had seen them in the bar, Jak grinned. "Dependable, huh?" he said slyly. "I didn't think that was the first quality you looked for in a guy. Good to know."

Ashelin shot him a defensive glare, but seeing that he was teasing, she smirked. "What's the matter, hero? Jealous I'd rather hang off his arm than yours?"

"I'm just curious what he did to catch your eye that tops my fancy heroics."

"He made a move on me in the Palace with my father watching."

Even Jak blanched at the thought, struck by a whole new respect for the rebel leader. "Holy crap…well, I guess if you want to go out in a blaze of glory..."

Ashelin laughed quietly. She turned her back on the city and leaned on the wall, pinning him with a shrewd look. "There's something else I wanted to say to you. I noticed you weren't exactly jumping for joy at finding your father again."

Jak grimaced. "Yeah. I just...I don't know. It's so hard to know how to act around him. He came to Haven City looking for a little boy, and instead there's only me. I can't even imagine what must be going through his head right now."

"Probably the same as what's going through yours," Ashelin pointed out. "You two aren't all that different. He's just as unsure as you are, and when it comes right down to it, I think Damas just wants to know that you don't hate him for not being part of your life."

It made sense when she put it in that light. It hadn't even crossed Jak's mind that Damas' own reluctance might be born of fear rather than disappointment. But still...

"He's got nothing to worry about," Jak said slowly, gazing up at the sky. "When I first met him...I really admired him. He had everything taken from him by Praxis. His throne, his city, his entire birthright. But he didn't hold it against anyone. He was able to move on and make his life worth something, which is more than I ever did. I...I wanted to be like him. I've never felt that way about anyone."

"He's your father, Jak. It's only natural to want to be like him. To be better than him, even."

"I guess."

Ashelin put her hand on his arm, giving him a very serious look. "Don't waste your chance with him. You have the rest of your life to make up for what you lost as a child. No matter how painful it is, you'll regret it if you walk away with nothing."

Before Jak could answer, the door behind them opened again and someone paused on the threshold. "I...hope I'm not interrupting," Damas said after a moment.

"No, I was just leaving," Ashelin replied in a way that said she wasn't about to let either of them slink away. To Jak's bemusement, she leaned closer to give him a chaste kiss on the cheek. "Don't waste it," she whispered in his ear.

Damas stood aside to let her go through the door, shooting Jak an odd look once she had gone. Not displeased, more like speculating. "It's strange. I used to think it was a shame I didn't have a son her age. And now..."

Jak flushed deeply at the insinuation and threw up his hands. "W-What, m-me and Ashelin? No, no way. I mean she's great and all, but...no. We'd kill each other within a week. And then Keira would kill me again."

Damas held up a hand to halt the rambling, smiling in amusement. "Say no more. Truly, I can't say it's any of my business."

"Uh, right," Jak muttered as Damas joined him at the edge of the roof and rested his hands on the wall. The way he surveyed the Port below, at once attentive and reflective, went a long way toward explaining how he had become the king of two cities and gained the unflinching loyalty of an honest soul like Sig. Jak cast a wary look to the streets below, uneasy about Damas showing his face in the open until he realized that by now Ashelin would have taken the price off both their heads and told the Krimzon Guard to keep their distance. But that wouldn't stop some random KG with a grudge and a score to settle...

A distant, high-pitched whine reached his ears. Jak looked up in time to see a streak of light shooting up from the breakwater across the Port and into the sky. Before he could figure out what to make of it, the streak exploded with a deep boom and dozens of vivid blue comets lit up the sky and dissipated harmlessly. Two more of the exploding lights followed it, the first green and the second yellow.

"Whoa," Jak breathed, transfixed.

"You've never seen fireworks before?" Damas asked, gesturing at the lights.

"I really haven't," Jak admitted. "They didn't have them back in...back where I grew up."

"Hmm…you'll have to tell me more about that place. Sandover, wasn't it?"

"Yeah," Jak replied. Seeing Damas' expectant look, he shrugged self-consciously. "Compared to here, it was pretty primitive. Our village was tiny and far removed from others. People didn't have much aside from the homes they built and the possessions they made or traded for. But since they didn't need much to begin with, life was pretty simple."

"Do you think you would have been happier, had you stayed there?"

Jak faltered, then straightened. "There's no point asking that. I'm here now. But...no, I don't think so. I would have left eventually, gone looking for something more than the life of a villager. Dax and I were always getting into trouble for sneaking off, but I was the one who kept pushing the boundaries."

"You were like that as a child too," Damas said with a wistful light in his eyes. "Always poking your head around corners, straying off the beaten paths. It made me worry quite a bit."

You're not the only one, Jak thought, remembering how the kid had liked to wander off when no one was keeping an eye on him. His eyes dropped to the seal in his hand, struck by a sense of unreality. It was so strange to think of that kid and know it had actually been him. He had walked in those little feet at one time, and the longer he pondered it, the more bizarre the notion became.

"Mar," Damas began and stopped himself. The name seemed to catch in his throat, as strange and unfamiliar to say as it was for Jak to hear.

"You can call me Jak, if you want," Jak said quietly. "It's been my name for so long. I don't remember any other."

This only seemed to make Damas even more apprehensive. He turned to face Jak more fully. "You truly don't remember? Nothing of the Wasteland or...nothing at all?"

"I'm sorry," Jak said with his head bowed, unable to look Damas in the eye. "I wish I could say otherwise, but I don't even remember coming to Sandover with Samos. Sometimes...sometimes I dream of other places, other people, but I can't know for sure if they're memories or just something I made up."

"I suppose you were too young," Damas said, his words heavy with disappointment. "But I'd hoped you would at least...remember me in some capacity. Even if it was just a moment, just a few words said..."

Jak opened his mouth, whether to apologize again or just empathize, he wasn't sure. But at that moment another firework went off, painting the Port waters a dazzling red that threw the Wastelander's face into sharp relief. Jak froze when déjà vu all but slapped him in the face, not daring to move or even breathe in case he lost it. Something about Damas and...and a cold cave warmed by the dying embers of a fire...

"I remember the forest!" Jak exclaimed, and Damas looked up at him sharply. "Just now, I remembered! We were in that cave and...and you wanted me to talk, only I couldn't. You told me..."

He broke off when the memory started to slip away from him. He touched his throat with his fingertips and shut his eyes to blot out the city, striving to hear the jump and spark of the coals, the wind rustling through the leaves on the trees, and a voice both strong and reassuring. I'm sure you only forgot. But I'll...

"Do you recall what I said to you, Jak?" Damas pressed him. "When I learned that you couldn't speak, I said I would help you remember. But only if..."

Jak opened his eyes. "But only if I kept trying too."

Damas drew a sharp breath, his expression filled with as much pain as joy. He grasped Jak's shoulder and turned him so they were face to face. "I will help you remember," he vowed. "More than simply how to speak again, I want you to remember everything about who you are. I'll do whatever it takes to make that happen."

Jak could only nod. A memory. A real memory, not some unreliable dream or a figment of his own imagining. More than anything the Stone could have shown him, this convinced Jak that it was all real. He ducked his head and bit back a swell of emotion, refusing to break down before the father he didn't remember, but never stopped missing.

"Come with me to the Wasteland," Damas said, the words tumbling out like he was afraid he would lose the nerve to say them. The request startled him, and as Jak jerked his head up, his first thoughts were for all the people in the bar below. Keira and Samos and Daxter, Torn and Ashelin, Sig and Tess...all the friends that he finally had a chance to catch up with now that the greatest danger had passed. But he looked at Damas again, seeing his hope and a shared yearning to make up for what they had both lost.

Don't waste it.

Slowly, Jak nodded. "Okay."

Damas tilted his head as he released Jak. "Okay? Just like that?"

Jak flashed a grin as he looked out over the city again. "If I don't like it, I can always come back here."

"Yes, I suppose that's true," Damas said after a moment. He also turned his attention away, but this time he looked to the sky, his serene smile mirroring Jak's own inner peace. And Jak reminded himself to thank Ashelin. She had a point earlier. Things weren't quite right yet. But maybe with time, they would be.