Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Hey, Jak?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you sure you’re not lost?”

Jak stopped in his tracks. Around them, the trees surrounded them at all points. The sun was coming through gaps within the branches and leaves, and with every soft breeze that bristled through, the light would weave in and out. It was a canopy of wooden limbs and pointed leaves. If he looked closely, Jak would make out birds fluttering high above them to avoid the scouting metalheads that loitered lower to the ground. A stray ray of sunshine warmed his cheek. His hand, ever positioned on his morph gun, twitched a little when he heard a twig crack somewhere near the brush. The branches shook and the leaves shuddered as something moved from within. He stood still for only about a beat before the Kid’s crocadog leapt out of the bush, rounding about to jump on the Kid’s back where he wasn’t looking. Though a giggle escaped from the child, he didn’t say anything else as he picked the animal up by his waist and ran to Jak’s side. He lifted his finger off the trigger. Wide blue eyes looked up at Jak, unwavering trust and confidence flooding them, and the teen could only give a curt smile in return.

Daxter was right. They were lost. The ground below them was taunt with firm dirt, and smooth, so they weren’t necessarily going around in circles. The trees had little to no difference between them at first glance, but Jak thought he would notice if he saw the same one twice. He could’ve sworn he knew Haven Forest like the back of his hand at this point. Precursors, he’s been sent out there enough times to have memorized the route from his destination to the entrance by now. His initial strategy was to keep walking until they got somewhere recognizable, but that was at least hours ago. It’ll be dark soon, and the Kid was going to need a place to rest before they went any further.

Hell, Jak needed a place to rest. Every muscle and tendon twinged every time he moved, reminding him of the physical exertion he was putting himself through. By his calculations, it’s been exactly seventy-two hours since the last time he’s slept and approximately a day and a half since he had something other than an expired ration bar. He can’t vouch for the Kid, though if the rumbling in his stomach were any indication, he was in the same boat as Jak.

Daxter nudged Jak’s temple with a fuzzy elbow. “Hey, Earth to hero. I said are you sure you aren’t lost? I'm pretty sure we’ve passed by that tree that looks like Samos twice now,”

“We aren’t going in circles,” Jak sighed, but that still wasn’t going to be enough for Daxter. He was going to have to face the music on this one. “But we are lost,”

Daxter threw his hands up at that, sliding down Jak’s body towards the forest floor to stand in front of the teen, effectively stopping him in his tracks. “WHAT!?” he screeched, dramatically stomping his foot for punctuation, “I was joking! We’ve been following you for hours and now you tell me you’re lost?!”

“How am I supposed to know where to go? It’s not like I have a map!”

“Ooohh, you better get one, bub!” Daxter pointed, gesturing wildly at the Kid and the crocadog with his other hand, “We’ve got to get this kid to Onin. ASAP! You heard Torn, the kid is important or whatever, we can’t fu-” Jak shot him a glare, “-dge this up, dude!”

“I know! I just got turned around somewhere back there, let’s go back and …” Maybe they were going in circles. The trees were mesmerizing and pulled focus from the path to their fiery orange and vibrant yellow leaves. The thought died out quickly when he looked over his shoulder and saw that his footsteps were completely eradicated by the Kid’s and crocadog’s. Tiny footprints and larger paw prints went in every which way, and the ground was hard enough to leave only the barest hint of dust and debris rather than full footsteps. Jak looked further and realized that the trees had parted into a fork in the road, and he couldn’t really remember which path they had taken to get to this point. “Huh,”

“Huh? Huh?” Daxter once again threw up his arms, and this time reached into Jak’s bag to fish around in while muttering to himself. “Huh he says. Things were easier when you were mute,”

The blonde didn’t respond to that, and instead looked towards the Kid and his pet. The Kid raised an eyebrow at him, picking a foot up from an indent in the ground and examining it. The crocadog passed and nipped at his toes, sending him into a fit of laughter. If he was worried about being lost, the kid certainly didn’t show it. The crocadog ran in and out of the brush like a game of hide and seek, pouncing on the Kid like prey before hopping back into the leaves and twigs. If Jak didn’t know any better, he’d think the crocadog was actually scoping out the overgrowth for metalheads and other hostile animals, and was pouncing on the Kid to train him to anticipate a potential attack. The Kid didn’t care though. He laughed every time, burying his face into the animal's soft fur and taking the crocadog’s face in his hands, expressing love the only way he knew how: physically and unabashedly. The Kid was very physical. Jak has felt the Kid try to hold his hand a couple of times, but recoiled the moment the older boy flinched. He didn’t mean to. It was just a reflex from two years of having someone put their hands on him in ways other than to express affection or trust, and it was something he doesn’t think a six year old would understand. Still, being out in the forest, away from the heavily polluted air of the city, the Kid seemed to be happier than Jak has ever seen him.

Torn picked up on it before he and Daxter did. In retrospect, Jak should’ve noticed the eyebrow raise and the smirk that crossed the man’s face whenever Jak and the Kid were around each other. At first, it was a simple task to watch the Kid for a couple hours in the bunker. It was nap time for the kid, Torn explained, and seeing how he wasn’t a Goddamn babysitter, he wanted Jak to stay there with the child while everyone went on to do other things that needed to get done. After that, the tasks got a little bit longer and complicated. It wasn’t until Jak was waist deep in a muddy ditch, carrying the Kid against his chest as Krimzon Guards stomped overhead that it clicked: Jak was picked for these tasks because he actually liked the Kid. Not because he was the best fitted to protect him, but because Jak would rather blow his foot clean off than see a single misplaced green hair on the Kid’s head. No one else really seemed to care about the Kid, nothing beyond making sure he’s fed and alive. It was Jak that usually took up the mantle on all things child-related. Hell, it wasn’t too long ago where the teen almost got his ass kicked by Torn for yelling about the Kid hasn’t had a proper bath in almost a week before stomping away and bathing the child in the bunker’s locker rooms with just a scrap of cloth and a bar of soap.

This last mission, though, something was off. Jak couldn’t really put his finger on it …

Jak batted Daxter away from his hip, reaching inside it himself to search for the communicator.

Jak furrowed his eyebrows. They were officially lost, and while he knew Torn was going to have his ass for royally screwing over the mission, it was better than to continue trekking through the night. Metalheads still roamed the area last he checked, and he wasn’t really in the mood to spend another night awake to keep watch. His fingers grazed the round unit, and he pulled it out. Torn’s number was the only one on there, despite everyone seeming to have access to Jak’s number. He pressed the button to call. Static filled the receiver, popping and sputtering until it finally clicked off. Odd. The communicator always worked, no matter where they were. Be it the Slums, the Fortress, or the Stadium, the communicator never crapped out on them before. Jak tried again. Nothing.

“Great! Now what?”

The teen racked his brain. The mission parameters were simple: get the Kid where he needs to go. Don’t get arrested, don’t let the Kid get arrested, and don’t die. Technically, he hasn’t failed his mission since they weren’t in jail cells nor were they dead. There was a chirp from a bird overhead and Jak watched as a blue and yellow bird cocked its head to the side to look at them from its perch.

Samos once mentioned having a cabin out in the woods for meditative retreats. He claimed he built it and added onto it in his years as a fugitive from the Baron, just before dedicating himself to finding the Underground. The cabin still stood, now a place for rest on long pilgrimages in the forest to reconnect with the only ounce of uncorrupted greenery in the city. It was sure to be stocked with supplies and food, and Samos wasn’t arrogant enough to not have a warp gate or communicator inside. If they can find the cabin, they can raid it for resources to last them until morning when they can return back to Haven before Torn pops a vein in his forehead.

All he had to do was concentrate hard enough to sense any eco lingering in the forest.

“Look, we’re supposed to take the Kid to the Shadow at Onin’s, right?” he said it like a statement, but he really meant it as a question. He couldn’t remember what exactly the mission was. The leaves on the trees were too mesmerizing. “The Shadow mentioned once having a safehouse around here in case he got locked out here, remember?”

“You’re saying we should find the geezer’s hideout and squat?”

“I’m saying that we find it and see if there’s a way to communicate back to the Underground,” Jak continued, “If the Shadow is afraid of being locked out of the city enough to have a contingency plan, there’s gotta be a way to communicate that,”

“It makes sense, though I doubt the Shadow would leave something like that out in the open,” Daxter rose up and put a hand over his eyes, squinting ahead as if to look past the sea of trees and bushes, “If something like that is out here, chances are ol’ loghead would be the only one to get to it,”

Jak’s hands twitched at the thought of possibly having to use eco to find the hideout. It’s been a while since he’s channeled so much as green eco, and now his body is hankering for a fix of any sort of eco. It’s easy to hide the way his body craves it, constantly making him twitch and itch until he eventually gives in and seeks out the nearest metalhead to absorb its dark eco. Instead of making him ill, though, the substance washes over him like a cool wave in a desert. Embracing him while slowly snuffing him out. Focus, he thought, shelter first, eco second.

“Let’s get a move on then,” he replied, and clicked his tongue a couple times to get the attention of the crocadog. His ears perked up at the noise and barked back, the Kid picking him up once more to run after Jak. Daxter jumped down from Jak’s shoulder and instead settled on top of the crocadog’s back, who paid no mind to the extra weight. A breeze blew by, and Jak rolled his shoulder to burrow deeper into the cloak around his shoulders. The weather has been getting more brisk lately, autumn creeping into the city steadily over the last couple days. Haven was insufferably hot in the summer, musty and muggy despite the close proximity to water. Jak was sure the cold weather was welcomed by Havenites, but the teen grit his teeth against the chill that nipped his ears. The Kid didn’t seem to mind the cold at all, taking it upon himself to point to the butterflies and fireflies that cruised around them and hike the crocadog higher up to get a glimpse of himself. Jak made a mental note to keep an eye out for any signs of discomfort for the kid.

Daxter still looked up towards the treetops, and the uneasy feeling in Jak’s stomach grew. Wherever they were, it wasn’t right. Even Daxter was picking up on it now.

For starters, the birds stopped singing.

Hooking a finger inside the collar of the child, Jak stopped dead in his tracks. He didn’t need to say anything else to the Kid. He caught on quickly and immediately pressed himself against the teen’s leg as he looked up at him. The forest fell silent around them. There was something there, and though the dying sunlight was threatening to plunge them into darkness, it was still light enough that Jak could scope the surroundings with his morph gun in both hands. The rest of the crew held their breathe for a good couple seconds, but no one dared to move at the moment. He tapped the Kid’s shoulder three times, and the Kid stood eerily still for his age while Jak advanced towards the brush the moment he heard something crack.

They’ve been walking through the forest for hours at this point, it was bound to happen. He’s been on edge for a while. Metalheads weren’t exactly shy, least of all to Jak. They practically claimed the forest at this point, killing off the natural wildlife and replacing it with their own kind. The Shadow once explained that the metalheads particularly liked the ancient Precursor structures littered around the area, grumbling how he hasn’t been able to reach the temples due to the metalhead activity there. Jak had to agree. He can hardly step foot in the forest without immediately being attacked by a scouting metalhead or some other gem-skulled creature who wouldn’t hold their punches with him. Wherein the Krimzon Guard aimed to capture, the metalheads aimed to kill.

He slowly clicked the safety off — a feature he only had on whenever the Kid was around — and approached the direction of the sound. Whatever it was, it must be relying on the element of an ambush. He got within arm’s length of the bush, morph gum aimed and ready, just about to pull the trigger …

CRACK.

The sound echoed around them, and while Daxter and the Kid craned their necks to look, Jak took the opportunity to pull the trigger.

Nothing. He tried again. And again. And again. He checked the ammo and found a perfect, untouched ring of red bullets within. He clicked it back into place, pulled the trigger again, and was met with the same clicking noise as before.

His gun was jammed, and they were in the middle of one of the most heavily populated metalhead hubs in the entire city. This wasn’t going to be the walk in the park they were hoping for.

Another crack bounced off the trees, and the sounds of cracking filled the air as a tree disappeared from the skyline. “There’s someone chopping down a tree,” Jak commented, and Daxter turned his glare back to the teen.

“No shit, Sherlock. The real question is how did someone get in here,” Daxter asked.. “If we’re taking votes, I vote we turn back around and not head in the direction of the person wielding the very lovely weapon capable of chopping down trees, yes? All in favor? Kid, raise your hand,”

Jak would be lying if he didn’t say he was considering it. He doubts anyone who has clearance to the forest is anyone they want anything to do with, especially someone who is wielding what could be an axe. Living in Haven really cemented in the idea to keep to one’s self and go about your day as if you saw nothing. It’s the kind of mentality that the Baron liked. No one would ask questions about something they haven’t seen. This could be said the same about the stranger. Jak could see the entire thing playing out: they go to greet them, the stranger gets spooked, kills them all with the axe to get rid of any witnesses, and leave their bodies to the fauna in the forest.

The Kid’s stomach rumbled, though, and the stranger might have something that they could barter off of them. Besides, Haven Forest is a protected area, and Jak knew that the Shadow would never allow it if he knew someone was chopping down trees. With one last look towards the brush, Jak pocketed his morph gun and turned back to the Kid and Daxter.

“Whoever it is, they might know the way out of here. We should go see if they know anything. Worst case scenario, I’ll deal with it,” Jak said, his tone leaving no room for argument. Daxter didn’t look convinced, though he reluctantly nodded. Secretly, the blonde was relieved. He trusts the ottsel’s opinion more than his own, and after all these years, he knows that Daxter is the sensible one of the two.

The Kid started to move towards Jak. The teen just brushed past, pretending not to notice the small hand that remained outstretched to grab the other’s. If Daxter saw, he didn’t say anything and instead decided to fill the silence himself.

“I want the record to show that I, the Amazing Orange Lightning, am completely against this. We don’t know what kinda of wackos come here. What if he’s some kind of Baron sympathizer? Or worse, another Samos? Three Samos the Sages? Jak, are you listening? There could be three of them!”

Jak wasn’t listening. Something was still watching them from behind the trees.

It only took about ten minutes to reach the clearing left by the downed tree, and the sun had completely disappeared. Nightfall draped itself across the forest in a matter of moments once the sun was gone, the autumn cold finally arriving in full. Every little sound was amplified now that the other fauna had gone to sleep and the others woke from their daytime hibernation. Jak kept his eyes constantly jumping from tree to tree, praying that he wouldn't find a pair of illuminated yellow ones staring back at him from the darkness. Daxter’s orange coat made it easy to track the Kid in the moonlight, though the further into the treeline they went, the harder it got to see as the trees got taller.

A warm glow caught his attention immediately. It flickered and beckoned them like a candle, and the sounds of chopping started to get louder as they drew closer to the stranger. The crocadog bolted ahead, barking at the Kid to follow, and Jak felt his stomach jump to his throat the second they both breached into the clearing without hesitation. He didn’t even have the time to call out before he saw the Kid run straight for the stranger’s lantern sitting on the dirt ground.

Fuck. Jak didn’t have to think twice about running after the Kid, putting himself between him and the stranger. Daxter jumped down to tug on the child, realizing he was too late just as the stranger turned to look at them.

He was older, though not terribly. The stranger’s face was etched with wrinkles and hard lines, though it looked more like a testament of strength than age. Nothing looked off about him, but it was his clothing that gave Jak pause. The clothing was thin and frayed. Everything on him looked handmade, and it’s been years since Jak has seen anything handmade, especially in Haven. In Sandover, it was custom to make clothing and make due with what you had. Most of Jak and Daxter’s clothes were made by the villagers in Sandover with fabrics either made from yakkow fur or threads brought over from whatever distant land Jak’s uncle had been to recently. In Haven, though, everything was mass manufactured and sold in the bazaars. The most handmade it got was the Kid’s overalls that Jak was sure used to be drapes.

The stranger’s axe was lodged in a tree, and Jak’s eyes grew wide at the sight of the sheer size of the trunk. It was huge. Gargantuan in size, almost as thick as Jak was tall. It would take about four people holding hands to wrap around the entirety of it. The stranger didn’t even look fatigued. Out of the shredded bark, black liquid oozed out of it like blood. Rivets and rivets of it coming together to pool at the feet of the stranger. On his back and in his arms were rows of logs and bark, and he halted mid-hum when he saw the Kid near the lantern.

“You’d be wise to not touch that, boy.” he growled, dropping the logs in his arms and swiftly picking up the axe. Jak beat him to the draw, however, and both men found themselves pointing weapons at the other. “What are you doing here?! Explain yourselves!”

“We could ask you the same question,” Jak barked back. The Kid and the crocadog were now behind him, peering up at the stranger while clenching to his cloak. The stranger narrowed his eyes. “Look, your business is your business. We’re just looking for a way out of here,”

“The woods are no place for children,” the stranger said, then lowered his voice into a hoarse whisper, “Don’t you know The Beast is here?”

Jak rolled his eyes. Children. He was at least seventeen — if his crude tally marks on his jail cell were to be believed. Daxter crawled back up his torso and pointed a finger towards the other man. “Who are you calling children?! I’ll have you know you’re in the presence of a hero!” he then gestured towards Jak, “And his sidekick who got us lost. Just be a dear and point us towards the exit so we can all go our merry way,”

“We’re just looking for a way out of here,”

The stranger didn’t move his gaze from Jak. “Welcome to the Unknown, boys. You’re more lost than you realize,” he lowered his axe, though Jak didn’t lower the morph gun. Only he and Daxter knew the gun was jammed, and right now it was the only thing that stood between them and a bloody death by axe. The stranger didn’t seem to think so, and raised an eyebrow at the gun. “You’d be so kind to lower that monstrosity, would you? I have better things to do than harm any of you with this axe,” When Jak didn’t move, the man only seemed to grow angrier. “It is for your own good! Stubbornness and arrogance will not save you from what lurks in the shadows!”

The stranger turned his back towards them, lowering himself down to pick up the discarded logs and lantern before straightening back up. He let out a slight groan, sighing to himself once he was fully standing. “It’s nightfall, and it isn’t safe for you children to be out in the wild like this,” he looked over his shoulder at Jak, “Put that away and I’ll take you to my homestead for the night. You’d do well to take my aide, boy, my generosity will expire soon enough,”

Daxter and Jak looked at each other simultaneously. With one shoulder, Jak shrugged. What do you think?

Daxter frowned, then signed back. I don’t think we have much of a choice. It’s cold, and I’m starving. His hands stilled before he continued, I say we go with him and if he pulls any BS, we hit him where it hurts.

Jak shook his head. What about the Kid?

What about him?

He’s vulnerable. You and I can take the Wastelander, but the Kid’s only four.

The Kid’s got the crocadog with him. Worst case, we distract him long enough for the Kid to make a break for it and we join him later. We need a break, Jak.

Jak nodded and lowered the gun. Okay. Keep your guard up. Something’s not right.

With that, the teen put the gun back into his pocket. “Alright. We’ll come with you,” he continued, “I’m sorry about the gun. You can’t be too sure about who you meet in the woods,”

The man chuckled without a hint of amusement. “You are right. One would be wise to be weary of the woods,”

The Wastelander’s home wasn’t too far from where the downtree lay. The path back was well-worn and almost matched the exact pattern of the older man’s footsteps. The only thing lighting their way was the glow of the lantern that the Woodsmen held like a weapon, chasing back shadows with one swing of his arm.

Daxter nonetheless stayed vigilant from Jak’s shoulder, whispering into it on occasion whenever the Wastelander paused to glance towards the trees. It was the quietest Jak has even seen Daxter, and the observation only piled on the anxiety currently running through him. The Kid stayed close, having wrapped his fist tightly into the blonde’s mud caked trousers and vanishing half his upper body within the fabric of the cloak. Jak cursed himself for not thinking of bringing a jacket or something for the Kid. The crocadog thankfully remained snuggled close to the Kid as well, flanking him from his exposed side and using his fur to warm the child. Still, Jak could feel the Kid shivering.

As if to read his mind, the Wastelander turned back to look at them. “We’ve arrived,” he announced, nodding toward the home.

Again, Jak was taken aback by the view. It was tall and plain, two structures attached to one another. For the tallest of the two, a large wheel moved on its own with the water from a river nearby, lazily spinning and creaking on occasion when the building settled. The smaller of the two was a cabin. All of it, however, was made of white wood strained brown and black from age. It looked homely. Someone had obviously taken the care to build it, and it couldn’t have been the Precursors or monks as the metal fixtures were iron, not copper or bronze. It was far removed from anything Jak had seen in the forest before.

“I found this homestead abandoned and I repurposed it’s mill for my needs,” The Wastelander explained once they were inside, crouched before a brick fireplace. Bringing a rock down on a piece of iron in his hands, a spark jumped out and ignited the logs in the fireplace. The Wastelander turned to face Jak. “You and your brother will be safe here while I work,”

Jak didn’t make the move to correct him. He also ignored the pang in his chest at the thought of someone thinking they were brothers. Just two siblings with their friend and pet out in the middle of the woods. Two boys who were careless enough to get lost in the forest with no way back. The logical side of Jak’s brain cheered and sighed in relief. The Wastelander had no clue who they were. Jak’d like to keep it that way.

Daxter immediately made a beeline for the fireplace, getting as close to the flames as possible without actually being one with the logs inside. “Thank the Precursors!” he exclaimed, thrusting both hands before him towards the heat. “Oh, that feels great. Another second out there and I would’ve lost the tip of my tail to frostbite! Look at it! Does it look blue to you? See any icicles?”

“What kind of work do you do?” Jak asked, and the Wastelander tensed.

“Everyone has a torch to burn,” he started. His hand moved to rest on top of the lantern by his side, “And this here is mine. I grind the horrid edelwood trees into oil,” Reaching behind him, the Wastelander took a branch off the mound on his back, then snapped it in half. He tossed them both aside. Daxter scurried out of the way from the absent minded movement, rushing to stand near Jak once more, “All to keep this lantern lit. This is my lot in life. This is my burden,”

“This guy sounds loony,” Daxter whispered to Jak, his elbow nudging the teen’s calf. “Maybe we should make a break for it,” he paused to think, now speaking more to himself than Jak. “Except he knows the woods better than us, so we might have to lay him out first, which could end badly. I just got my hangnail fixed,”

“Dax,” Jak hissed.

“You’re right. Bad plan, bad plan, forget it,”

“What are you whispering about?” The Wastelander asked, peering over his shoulder. The flickering of the fireplace exaggerated his features, leaving hard lines that make him look angular and sharp. Daxter’s eyes got wide.

“Us? Nothing! Nothing at all, we were just … uh … discussing … the weather! Gee, the forecast said we were in for another two weeks of summer, but it’s practically snowing out there. I should’ve known something was off when the weather lady was wearing a light jacket instead of something a bit more bree-”

The Wastelander groaned as he got to his feet, then turned to face them, practically shoving the lantern into their faces as he did. “Leave if you wish. But take heed — The Beasts haunts these woods,” Jak blinked, trying to keep his eyes focused on the Wastelander’s face, but all he could see now was the flickering within the lantern and the black spots that swam around his vision when he closed his eyes, “Singing his mournful melody, in search of lost souls such as yourselves,”

Daxter chuckled nervously, tapping his fingers together. “To help us? Right? Right?”

The man didn’t answer. He moved past them toward a door that looked older than the rest of the doors in the cottage. “I have to get to work in the mill. When I am finished, I will do what I can to guide you, if you’re still here. Help yourselves to some bread in the kitchen,” With that, the Wastelander disappeared in the darkness on the other side of the door. The door clicked from a lock, and the only sound in the room was the crackling fire.

Daxter shivered violently once the door closed. “Yee-sh, that guy gives me the heebie jeebies! Bad vibes all around,”

Jak nodded, though he wasn’t exactly paying attention. Up until now, the Kid and the crocadog have been propped up against the couch near the fire, eyes drooping and leaning on the other to keep themselves awake. Tired, hungry, and cold, Jak was surprised the Kid hasn’t had a full meltdown by now. Everything in him told him to go straight to the Kid, but that nagging little voice at the back of his head who showed up two years ago instead insisted he do a sweep of the room. He doesn’t believe the Wastelander had any nefarious intent with them. In fact, he sounded almost desperate to help them, fearful of The Beast he claimed to lurk in the woods. Still, the voice wouldn’t stop until he began making his way through the room.

The room was small, which made it easier for Jak to loosen up the tension from his shoulders. Smaller rooms allowed for better visual, and thankfully the couch was just against a wall that overlooked the front door and the mill’s door. There was a small kitchen, a simple dining table, and a cupboard, everything else must’ve been up the stairs. The teen rolled his shoulders, and debated briefly if he should venture towards the second floor. Eventually his curiosity won and he began to make his way upwards.

The steps creaked and groaned under his weight, but held strong as he ran a hand along the wall opposite of the railing. The wallpaper was paper-y and uneven under his fingers, and he was sure he was leaving streaks in the dust that clung to the paper. Other than that, perfect squares of missing picture frames revealed the vibrant design. Once he reached the landing, he was greeted by two doors on either side of him. They looked identical, though one looked to have notches cut into the frame, one above the other with varying degrees of distance between them. Height markers. Jak laid a hand on the marks, willing away the memory of him watching Samos do the same for Keira back in Sandover, each time commenting on how the girl had grown since the last mark. The teen remembered him and Daxter measuring the other on the old Sentinels, using rocks to etch the marks in chalky white lines over the stone. Keira’s height markers remained in Deadtown, only slightly corroded away from rot and termites, but Jak knew for certain his and Daxter’s were lost almost immediately after marking them in. If not from whatever had devastated Sandover, then to the rain that washed the chalk away.

Jak opened the door with the height markers. The smell of dust and humidity immediately hit him, forcing a coughing fit as he looked around the room. It must’ve belonged to the children of the previous owners. The beds were nothing extravagant, though there were ribbons tied to the bed posts and night gowns thrown over the linen. The dresser was lined with widled and ceramic birds, perched to watch him in various poses. If it wasn’t for the entire room covered in a blanket of dust, Jak would’ve sworn the kids were going to be back any moment now from playing in the woods. Everything looked untouched, frozen in time and awaiting the sounds of two little girls to run in. It felt wrong to disturb it, to move about the room and kick up dust bunnies and leave impressions of his boots, but the children looked to be around the age of the Kid based on the size of the nightgowns. Living in the woods, there was bound to be …

The teen stopped. Living in the woods. No one lived outside the walls, least of all the woods. They wouldn’t have survived long enough to step foot in forest, much less build a mill and a cottage without metalheads or the Krimzon Guards getting to them. Even if they did manage to survive this long, where did they get the linen? The furniture? The wool for clothing? The richest Havenites in the city were living hand to mouth as it were, there was no spare materials to go around. The cottage and its residents weren’t well off by any means, not by the looks of the weathered furniture. Nothing was making sense anymore. They must’ve wandered far beyond what they previously thought. He didn’t recognize any of the trees or the markers he uses on missions, and the forest wasn’t vast enough to have someone living and operating off the land without notice. It clicked, then.

They weren’t in Haven.

Welcome to the Unknown, boys. You’re more lost than you realized.

Mar watched Jak go up the stairs and smiled to himself when he no longer saw the hero disappear into the darkness. Now the real fun can begin.

The child wiggled his toes near the fire. Mar liked the fireplace. It was warm, and the weather outside was cold like the place in his dreams. It would get so cold, Mar’s Papa had to put socks on his feet and bundle him up under a blanket at night. Mar hated wearing socks to sleep. It always got so hot by the time he woke up. That’s why he doesn’t like wearing socks and shoes. It was always too hot for them.

The crocadog — Jellybean — panted near him. Mar was in charge now that Jak was away. He’d have to protect Jellybean. They didn’t trust the old man, not by a longshot. Both his companions thought Mar was too little to be useful. Not true! Papa even said that he was a warrior, and warriors are never too little to be useful. They just don’t know him like Papa does. They think he doesn’t understand when they use their hands to speak. They underestimate him. That’s what Papa would’ve said. Well, he’ll prove to them that he’s not just some kid.

Mar sprung up on his feet and made towards the door. He’ll help Jak look around for stuff. Inside checks are smart, but Papa used to take Mar on outside checks to look at the health of the palace. Usually, one is supposed to do outside checks with a group, but he and Jellybean would have to do. He opened the door easily, the doorknob just within reach as he turned the knob and Jellybean helped him pull it back. The cold smacked them both in the face, but Mar wasn’t going to let it stop him. He wanted to help.

The outside of the home was quiet except for the sounds of water in the stream nearby. Mar saw it on the way in, and wanted to dip his hand inside until Jak told him not to. Jak always knew when Mar was about to do something. It was annoying. Papa didn’t know what Mar was thinking most of the time, so it was fun to be able to slip away before anyone noticed and have Papa run after him. Not Jak. Jak wouldn’t even have to turn around to know what Mar was thinking. Maybe he was like the woman in the tent with the sparkles.

Mar wrinkled his nose, giggling at the idea of Jak in a big hat in a tent with sparkles. He spotted a few barrels outside, but they were too tall for him to look inside. Near them were crates, which were low enough for him and the crocadog — Sparkles — to climb up and look through the small window. He had to blink a few times to realize he was looking at the old man sitting on a stool, poking the sticks into a weird metal thing. It made a scary noise as it went in, and the gears turned and turned and turned until black stuff came out the other end and filled up a jar. It looked like eco, though Mar knew it couldn’t be. Eco was purple, this was all black. Sparkles whined next to Mar, and they barely had time to duck before the old man snapped his head towards the window. It must’ve not been important, because the old man didn’t even get up to look.
The peace didn’t last though, because the second that Mar took a step to climb down, he slipped and fell into the barrel. Sparkles took most of the fall, yelping when the boy landed on his paw, and Mar signed an apology to him. He didn’t know if crocadogs understood signing, but Mar was training him, so it was okay. When Sparkles learns signing, then Mar will apologize again.

The two sat for a moment at the bottom, their only view outside being the darkness of the night looming over them and the pale light from the moon. Mar didn’t mind it though. It felt like hide and seek, and he had the best spot because no one would come look for him in a barrel that was too tall for him to climb. It was perfect. Jak will be mad when he finds him, but that only made Mar giggle more. His companion looked like a mad chicken when he got angry at Mar, muttering to himself about being driven crazy and how when he was his age he never did the things Mar did. It always left him in stitches because Jak sounded just like Pa—

Mar froze. Other than the babbling stream nearby, there was a new noise. A scary one. It sounded like breathing, but it wasn’t normal. Every breath out sounded like thunder bubbling up out of someone, the inhale was thin and raspy. Mar covered his mouth with his hand, and did the same for the crocadog — Chicken. He heard a noise similar once, late in the night when Kor thought he was asleep. He’d climbed out of bed to get water and the noise was coming from outside his door. It was scary. So scary that Mar forgot about being thirsty and jumped back into bed, hoping Torn will hear it from down the hall and shoot it dead before it goes through the door. This noise, though, was more scary. It growled and snarled as it got closer to the barrel, and Mar could hear it sniffing the ground. Chicken noticed it was getting closer, and started to growl under Mar’s hand. Tears started to well up in his eyes. Chicken was so much smaller than The Beast. He didn’t have to look at it to know, he already knew that Chicken would get hurt if he tried to fight it. Mar didn’t want to lose Chicken. He already lost so many people, he didn’t want to lose Chicken too. It wasn’t fair. Everyone tries to get rid of Chicken and no one cares that Mar loves him. He had to protect Chicken from The Beast, but he didn’t have anything to defend them with. He didn’t have time to look for anything either, it was getting louder and louder. The bottom of the barrel shook now, every step from The Beast sent shock waves through them and the barrel groaned with each one. It was older than Mar realized, and it wasn’t going to protect them if The Beast really wanted him.

The Beast was upon them, stopped just outside the barrel now. Mar held Chicken close, fisting his hands into the animal’s fur and buried his face into him. He squeezed his eyes closed. Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look. The top of the barrel groaned, Chicken whined, and the bad smell of copper filled the air. Mar’s tummy hurt.. He opened his eyes, and teeth and bulging black eyes was all he could see.

Jak had just closed the wardrobe, holding a new shirt, coat, and shoes for the Kid when he heard the explosion of noise downstairs. “JAK!” Daxter screamed, and by the level of hysteria, Jak knew it was bad.

He stuffed the clothes into a satchel he found hanging on the wardrobe and sprinted back out of the room. There were sounds of crashing and things breaking downstairs, filling the entire cottage with screams and growling. He only had the time to step foot on the top step before a piece of wood was flying towards him, aimed right for his head and almost taking it clean off his shoulder had he been a second slower. It was a madhouse down there. Daxter was throwing whatever he could get his hands on at the gigantic wolf standing at the doorway, a litany of “Take that!” and “Help!” filling the gaps between the screaming. The Kid and the crocadog were huddled into a corner, his cheeks streaked with tears and his clothes were covered in dirt and bits of wood. Jak dashed toward the child and the crocadog, jumping over the railing of the stairs and landing heavily on the couch. The Kid looked away from the wolf and held his arms out to Jak, the last of his resolve running out at the sight of him because he instantly started to sob the second the teen pulled him up to his chest. Tiny fists clung to his tunic with a strength of a thousand men, burrowing himself further into Jak as if he can safety the further into his chest cavity.

The door of the mill immediately burst open, the Wastelander running out armed with his lantern and axe. “What’s happening?!” he bellowed, then his eyes widened when he took in the sight of the wolf.

Except, it wasn’t a wolf. The creature wasn’t a metalhead, but it looked almost like one. Every inch of it was covered in thick, inky black fur that stood up as it snarled and tried to bite at Daxter. Its mouth and eyes were too large for it to be proportional, almost like it was smiling as it dripped ooze onto the floorboards in thick drops. Its ears were pointed, swiftly twitching towards every new noise it heard. It didn’t even look like it was looking at them, both pupils were looking in opposite directions, rolling around independently as it tried to locate the closest victim. Its legs were skinny and long, resembling more that of a spider than a mammal, and it towered well over the door frame. Jak got his hands around one of the logs poking out of the fireplace, and without missing a beat, swung it at the creature with all his might. The animal roared in pain, embers landing in its open mouth and flames licked at its teeth. The ottsel scurried toward Jak’s shoulder, clinging to his ear as he screamed, “It’s The Beast!”

“Stay back, boys!” the Wastelander shouted, swinging his axe up with both hands above his head. “This creature is what’s known as—”

The man didn’t finish his statement. The Beast swiped at the old man with his paw, sending the Wastelander flying through the staircase and putting him out for the count. Once he was out of the way, The Beast turned its attention to Jak. It surveyed all four of them like it was deciding which meal to partake in first, but Jak would be damned if he made it this far only to be killed by something that looked straight out of a child’s drawing. He had to protect the child, and he had to kill Praxis. If The Beast wanted to kill him after he completed those tasks, fine, but it wasn’t going to be today.

Jak used his free hand to pull the tip of Daxter’s tail, keeping both eyes trained on the animal as he took a couple steps back. It followed just as Daxter cursed at him. “What was that for?!” he rubbed the tip to soothe the invisible hurt. “I’m about to be eaten and you still find-”

Daxter, Jak signed, hoping his friend will understand the short hand as he used his other hand to adjust the Kid higher up his body, I’ll distract it. Go get the axe.

He didn’t need to see his friend nodding in acknowledgement, just having his weight off his shoulder was enough. Now that left Jak to deal with The Beast. His mind raced with all the possibilities. Normally he would just whip out his morph gun and blast The Beast away until there was nothing left, or at least try to fight it off long enough for him and Daxter to run. The only problem with that, however, is that he currently has an actual child attached to him at the moment. With every step back, The Beast stalked forward. All Jak could do was keep the monster’s focus on him, leading it around the room so he had a clear shot for the door. The crocadog had other plans, however, and The Beast howled in pain as the smaller animal gnawed on its leg. Jak jerked his head toward Daxter, spotting his friend attempting to drag the axe toward him as fast as he could. Jak grit his teeth, adjusted the Kid once more, then sprinted towards Daxter to grab the axe out of his hands. Using the momentum he gained, the teen swung the axe down on The Beasts’ stomach. He heard the animal make a pained noise, but frankly he didn’t care to spare one more look at it to confirm he maimed it. Pulling it back, he realized he used the wrong side of the blade and had merely knocked the wind out of it. Less than ideal, though Jak still tucked the axe between the straps on his back. Looking up, Jak assessed the situation. The creature was still blocking the front door, but the door of the mill was wide open.

The quartet made a break for the door, and Jak’s brain decided it was the right time to be self-conscious of how he looked carrying a child in one arm, an axe in his other hand, an ottsel on his shoulder, and a crocadog circling his feet. If only Keira could see him right now, she’d double over laughing at how domesticated it looked — if it weren’t for the bloodthirsty beast chasing after them. The creature came crashing into the mill like a bull in a china shop. Its gargantuan body collided with the machinery and knocked down a pillar, all the while growling and snapping its jaw at them. It tried to get up, but its feet couldn’t gain traction on the floor and it collapsed over itself in a panic.

The hero tried to squint in the dark to see what was making it trip over itself. The mill was dark with the only light being from the moonlight filtering in through two small windows. The only thing he could make out was the illuminated eyes of The Beast bearing down on them, and the shin of those teeth protruding from its smile.

“Jak!”

Daxter was higher up than a moment before, beckoning him from atop a platform. The crocadog was with him, worried and shifting from paw to paw in anticipation. Jak didn’t waste another beat, pulling the child away from him, and sticking him on the ladder to climb upwards. The Kid didn’t want to at first, wide eyes chalk full of terror and stubbornness, but once he saw The Beast get one good leg under him, he ascended the ladder swiftly with Jak hot on his heels. Daxter pulled them the rest of the way with what little strength he had. “We were so worried about the Old Loon, we forgot to freak out about the other crap trying to kill us in the forest,” the ottself complained, “What the hell is that thing?!”

“Do you really want to stay to find out?”

Daxter held his hands up, shaking his head. “No, I’m peachy. I’ll die a happy man if I never find out,”

Jak nodded in agreement, though his eyes were darting around the mill for an exit. The windows were downstairs, so their only option was to go up. He smirked when he saw the outline of an opening in the ceiling, just within reaching distance. By the time The Beast turned its attention on them, the hatch was already flung open with Daxter and Jak pushing the child onto the roof. It gave another roar as it leaped towards them, missing the blonde’s leg by a hair as he pulled himself up and out of the way. Kicking the hatch closed, Jak took inventory of everyone present. twenty fingers, twenty toes, two tails, eight paws, four heads. All intact. The Beast only allowed them those precious moments though. The second Jak was done inspecting the Kid’s ears, the monster headbutted the hatch and an inky black paw peeked out briefly. Daxter yelled in alarm, tugging Jak’s arm, “C’mon, c’mon! Let’s make a break for it!”

Jak grabbed the Kid’s wrist and tugged him along. The waterwheel was only seven feet away, if they timed it right, they could leap onto one of the divots and jump down to the ground. With any luck, it’ll stall The Beast long enough for the Kid and crocadog to hide while Jak takes care of it with the axe. The Beast burst through the hatch with a growling, gouging the wood under its claws as it forced itself up. It must’ve realized that they were faster than it, and decided not to chance it this time. It lunged at them.

The hero pulled the Kid down flat on the roof, using his body to shield the child as the creature leaped overhead. He bit back a gag when he felt warm liquid dip onto his gloves, the monster’s underbelly only inches above his own head. It cleared right over them, landing straight between the watermill and a boulder. The wheel continued to turn with the force of the stream behind it, and when faced between a literal rock and a hard place, the two were stronger than The Beast. It beat on it for only a second before the creature jammed the mechanism. The mill under their feet groaned and whined, gears clicking and screeching from inside as the watermill tried to continue its rotation. The roof splintered and rose up as the machine gave way to the wheel, cracking the mill and dislodging the wheel from its place. With nothing to hold onto, the four of them were thrown off the roof. Jak tucked the Kid into his chest in a massive bear hug and they rolled down and off the edge of the shingles. The landing was hard and abrupt, earning a sharp gasp from the teen as he took the brunt of the impact that rattled his bones. He felt his shoulder pop out of its socket, but he grit through the pain. The dark eco — whatever was left, anyway — will repair it soon. As much as it rotted him, it still needed his body to feed off of. Like a parasite invading every nook and cranny of his being. This, too, shall pass.

He unfolded his arms away from the child, slow enough to telegraph his movements when the Kid shuddered hard against his chest. Sitting up was a mission, and he pulled the Kid away from him, looking at his face. Round cheeks were caked in dirt and his hair stuck up in funny spikes from the fall, a splinter or two tangled in his curls. His hat was askew, leaning heavily on the left but still held in place. He stared up at Jak with wide eyes, gasping for breath, a tiny hand fisted at the crook of his elbow. The older teen continued his brief inspection, squeezing each arm and leg and looking for any signs of pain. Other than dried tears and a few scrapes on his arm, the Kid was in perfect condition. He even grimaced when Jak licked his own thumb to wipe away dirt from near his eye.

Standing up, Jak spotted a black turtle in the grass. It poked its head and arms out of its shell, then scurried off towards the treeline, leaving a streak of black liquid in its wake. The same black that now stained almost every inch of the cottage where The Beast stepped, and splattered on the walls like paint. He reached down, hovering his hand over the substance and took a deep breath. If he concentrated hard enough, he could hear the old sage’s voice as if he were standing next to him. Eco is fickle, like a flame. Pull it to you. Feel the energy and beckon it towards you. Don’t let it control you! You’re the channeler, you must channel it to obey you. Nothing came as he called. He couldn’t sense the energy he was used to from the liquid. It wasn’t eco, but it did give off energy. He just couldn’t figure out what.

The muscle in his bicep twitched, his vision swimming. Jak needed dark eco, and he needed it soon.

“Hey!” Daxter exclaimed, and Jak did a double take. Sitting with the crocadog, Daxter emerged out of the creek soaked to the bone atop a … crocadog? It panted lazily.. “What the hell, man? You stopped, dropped, and rolled out of the way and left me to vanquish The Beast!”

Jak startled. “The Beast! Where did it go?”

Daxter patted the head of the large crocadog, the animal looking around dumbly. “You’re looking at it. The wheel gave it a Heimlich and it threw up something. Next thing I know, I’m being mauled by this sloppering … thing. Don’t get me wrong, I prefer this fuzzball over that thing, but if I knew it was that easy, I would’ve made you sit on it. All ten tons of you,”

The animal shook itself, throwing the Kid’s crocadog and Daxter off its back. Once satisfied, it trotted off without a spare glance backwards. “Stupid mutt! Is this the thanks I get for saving you?” Daxter yelled after it, shaking a wet fist in its direction.

The Kid wrinkled his nose, small hand moving around his face and chest. It took a second for Jak to realize he was signing. Ain’t that just the way?

Jak lifted his hand to sign back, but was interrupted by a voice moaning behind him. “The mill is destroyed,” The Wastelander said, standing before the buckled building with his ever-loyal lantern by his side. “The oil …!” He fell to his knees, surrounded by shattered vials of the black fluid that the turtle left in its wake. “All gone!”

“Well, good news is that we defeated The Beast!” Daxter interjected from his reclaimed spot on Jak’s shoulder, pointing at the animal currently curled up and asleep by the creek. “You’re welcome!”

“I’m sorry about the mill, but it wasn’t our fault. The Beast—”

The Wastelander’s face twisted angrily, clenching his fists around the remnants of a vial. He rounded towards them, coming within an inch of Jak’s face. “That crocadog?! That is not The Beast!” he ripped the axe off of Jak’s back, shouldering past him to the rock creekbed “The Beast cannot be mullified like some farmer’s pet! It stalks in the night! It sings like the four winds!” The old man swung the axe down, actually slicing a rock in half as if it were butter. “It is the death of hope!” He turned to face Jak again, thrusting the lantern into his face once more. Jak batted it away from him, his patience on this folklore has run out.

“Look, Beast or not, we got rid of that thing from making you into its next meal! We told you — we just want to make our way back home,”

“Home?! You think you’re going home?!” The Wastelander bellowed, shoving a finger against Jak’s chest. “You won’t even survive the night! Not with The Beast stalking the woods!”

“You’re insane!” Jak shouted, shoving the man back. Defeating the creature took a lot out of him, plus the exhaustion, hunger, and withdrawal, Jak only managed to send the Wastelander stumbling backwards. “The only thing in these woods are metalheads and I’m more than capable of taking care of them myself! You’re just a gullible old man believing in fairytales!”

“Listen, boy!” The Wastelander continued, and if Jak wasn’t currently on the verge of taking the axe back and ridding them of this crazy old man, he would be concerned about the worried furrow of the man’s eyebrows. “It steals children, and it’ll …” he blinked, his voice fading out, “It’ll …. Run … it’ll,” the old man moved past him, dropping town by the creek and hunching his shoulders over the running water. He muttered to himself. Jak snarled at the man’s back, waving a hand at him.

“Forget it. Enjoy your stupid lantern and supersitions, we’re getting the hell out of here,” Jak hissed, taking the Kid’s hand in his own. “Thanks for the lesson in stranger danger, I guess. Don’t follow us,”

Quicker than Jak had time to react, the Wastelander was suddenly behind him, a hand on his shoulder and twisting the teen around to face him. Jak flinched hard, feeling like he'd been electrocuted as every alarm set off in his head of danger and fear. He tried to pull away, but the man’s grip was tighter than expected.

“You are the elder child,” The Wastelander said. “You are responsible for you and your brother! Take your brother north. Look for a town,” he looked down at the Kid, then back up to Jak. “Beware the Unknown. Fear The Beast, and leave these woods! At any cost!” he tightened his grip when Jak tried to move away again. “It is your burden to bear!”

He finally stepped back from the blonde. His expression was neutral, numb as he shouldered the axe. The Wastelander looked on autopilot as he turned his back to the four. Jak didn’t care to see where he went, pulling the Kid after him. The creek wasn’t terribly shallow, but the rocks that allowed them to cross it were slippery and smooth. He hopped over them, beckoning the kid with one hand holding a tiny fist and the other under his elbow.

“Brother, huh?” Daxter said softly, patting on Jak’s shoulder for attention. “I’m touched, buddy. I always did consider you a younger, less attractive, less talented brother of mine,”

Jak didn’t reply, instead focused on the last jump to solid ground. Once reached, the path was wide and clear. It must be a well worn path, big enough to fit a two seated zoomer through without any issues like roots or branches to ruin the A-Grav sensor. As much as he didn’t want to listen to weird ramblings of the old man, he seemed worried about their safety. Terrified, even. Jak doubts he would send them directly into danger — mill destroyers or not. Besides, a town meant lodging, lodging meant food, and food meant fire. They could get their fill and then continue on, maybe even ask someone for directions on how to get out of here.

He could barter a Precursor orb or two for eco, maybe. Better yet, maybe the activity of a town would draw in some unlucky metalhead that Jak can kill and drain without question. He was running on empty, the last of his eco reserve funneled into fixing his shoulder from the fall. Jak ignored the cramping in his stomach and the sudden wave of nausea, and dropped down to a knee.

“C’mere, Kid,” Jak pulled his backpack off, opening the flap and digging around for what he needed. “We’re going to do a quick outfit change,”

He laid the new — old? — clothes out on the bag. He unbuckled the Kid’s overalls, pushing them down so he could untuck the dirty tank top underneath. In the summer, the teen envied the shorts and tank top on the child. It reminded him of what he used to wear in Sandover, loose clothing that allowed for unconstrained activity as he ran from one end of the beach to the other just to test himself on how fast he could do it. Back when he wanted to show off tanned, unscarred skin and wasn’t worried about the looks he’d get from how blemished it was. The only thing on his mind back then was whether Keira was looking or not, if she’d swoon if his biceps were just a little bigger.

He stuffed the Kid’s old clothes into his bag, making a mental note to get him new ones once they got back to Haven. Taking a step back, Jak gave the final once over. White button up top with a collar and ribbon bow, thick tights under new pea colored overalls, and scuffed black shoes that Jak already knew was going to be a challenge to keep on the Kid. To top it all off, Jak had found a thick navy coat that almost perfectly matched the color of Jak’s cloak. It was a little big on the kid, but it would have to do.

The Kid frowned at Jak, kicking up dirt with the shoes and shaking his foot as if to get it off. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Sucks, but you’re going to keep those on until I say so,” Jak said, taking the Kid’s hand again and shouldering his bag. “You’ll get used to it, Kid.” With one hand, he signed, Ain’t that just the way?

The Kid huffed, kicking a rock in his path as they walked. The crocadog followed close behind, looking around the woods with the same simple expression the former-wolf-turned-crocadog had. Daxter, on the other hand, had succumbed to his boredom and started up the white noise that Jak had grown used to.

“Well, if you want to talk about getting used to something, take it from me: shoes are the least of your worries. I mean, honestly. Shoes are underrated! Now, don’t get me wrong! Jak and I have had our fair share of barefootin’ it around back home, sure. Was it fun? Absolutely. But you know what isn’t fun? That’s right! Athlete’s foot! You see …”

As Jak tuned out the rest of what Daxter was saying, his eyes had drifted over to looking at the trees that flanked them. They were creepy, and he didn’t mean that because he hadn’t seen an actual woodland tree in a while. Some of them looked funny, twisted up horribly and seemed to have eyes that followed him as he moved. If he squinted, and used his imagination, he would make out eyes and a woeful mouth. But then, he’d blink, and Jak would just be staring at regular trees.

He shrugged, swinging the hand that conjoined him. Whatever. They’ll be out of the woods soon and never have to think about this horrible adventure ever again. The Kid will be handed off to the Underground, Jak will kill Praxis, Keira will get the Rift up and ready, and they’ll all be on their merry way back to Sandover, where this entire nightmare will be over.

… Right?

Chapter Text

Jak rolled his shoulders and the Kid giggled as his arms flew to grab hold of the teen’s head. He had no idea how he let the Kid convince him to give him a ride, though he couldn’t find it in him to complain. It wasn’t like he was doing anything wrong. Besides, they were still nowhere near any towns and the Kid would only end up slowing them down if Jak let him walk the whole way.

The night bled into morning slowly. First the moonlight faded lower and lower, then the blinding sun rose to meet its light half way. The sky was still a chilling light blue, the cold clinging to the last of the night before evaporating once touched by the sun. They hadn’t slept a wink since leaving the mill, and while Jak wanted to say he didn’t really mind, exhaustion was tugging at him like a lover to bed.

Daxter was somewhere behind them, muttering something about how the Kid stole his spot, and the crocadog panted from somewhere near Jak’s calf. He didn’t look to confirm. He was too busy looking up. The Kid’s face was sporting the biggest smile he’s ever seen on him as he reached up to graze his fingertips over the multicolored leaves that loomed just above them. Tiny heels dug into his chest, trying to gain a higher purchase to pluck one from a branch, but the Kid gave up on the endeavor in favor of laying his head on top of Jak’s, breathing out through his nose contently.

A kid needs nature. Be it his own upbringing in Sandover or not, Jak would often sit on a ledge and gaze out at the sparkling water and think about how lucky he was to live in such a beautiful place. All he’d ever known was Sandover’s emerald palms and cobalt sea, blinding sunshine and earthy scent. It was a shock both mentally and physically to find himself surrounded by harsh metal and unmoving brick, caged off from everything he’d ever known. Sure, now it wasn’t so bad — there were still palm trees outside the walls, there was still a sea to gaze out at, the snowy peaks of mountains were still visible — but Jak did feel for the Kid. He hasn’t known the unadulterated freedom of running long distances with the power of eco licking at his heels as he pushed himself to go further and faster. Was the Kid even aware that there was more to their world than steel and concrete?

Well, if he didn’t then, he knew now.

Jak snapped out of his thoughts when the Kid tugged his ear. A butterfly fluttered by his nose, swooped low, and landed just on the tip of the crocadog’s snout. It opened and closed its wings lazily, spreading its back wide to them to show off the iridescent faux eyes that blinked when it twitched. For the crocadog’s credit, he stood as still as he could before his instincts took over and he snapped his jaw at it. It flew over his head, then headed straight through the treeline.

The crocadog followed suit.

“Whoa, hey! C’mere, boy!” Jak called after. The crocadog didn’t even so much as hesitate to hop through the brush, barking after the butterfly as it disappeared into the overgrowth. The Kid whined from somewhere above him, already scrambling to get off the teen’s shoulders.

“Oh, come on!” Daxter wailed behind him, “Why hasn’t anyone invested in a leash yet?!”

Jak whistled sharly, but it fell to deaf ears. The crocadog cut through the forest like a knife through butter, hopping over every exposed root and squeezing inside logs. The butterfly was nonchalant, oblivious to the antics of the crocadog currently hunting it with juvenile glee. Jak thought of the Lurker puppies on Sentinel Beach, and their vicious bites that left scars on both his and Daxter’s calves in their more ignorant missions to try and befriend one. The crocadog was a vastly different breed, but his sharp fangs and slobbering tongue still brought back the ache in his chest that he’s learned only appears alongside the memories of his lost home.

The teen kept a good pace behind the crocadog, though he was almost bested by a low branch that threatened to knock the Kid and his head clean off his shoulders. The Kid, meanwhile, laughed as if this was the best ride of his life — panting for breath, throwing his head back, squeezing his eyes shut as he fought to suck in more air to laugh every time Jak had a near miss. Finding the crocadog and avoiding any metalheads was high on Jak’s list of priorities, yet he couldn’t help but exaggerate his tripping just to get a hard bout of laughter from the Kid.

It was worth the fist-full of blonde and green strands in his hands.

Despite keeping his eyes practically glued to the crocadog, Jak still managed to lose him. His scaly hide disappeared among the overgrowth and forest debris — an element that slowed the teen down greatly, especially with a toddler throwing his weight distribution way off. The only way that Jak knew the vague direction that the crocadog was going in was from the sharp barking that echoed through the trees. Daxter begged him to slow down, but Jak ignored his request. The crocadog, though a huge pain in the ass to keep track of without a leash, belonged to the Kid, and as someone who had next to nothing before living with his Uncle, Jak felt a sense of duty to keep the animal safe as well. Besides, Jak was too big a softie to let the pup venture into the forest alone.

An ear-piercing whimper sent chills running down his spine. He ran faster.

The glowing amber gem was all the warning Jak received before it ran at him at full speed, knocking the Kid off his shoulders and sending the teen careening in the opposite direction. The metalhead didn’t offer much of a reprise. It snarled and roared, looking between the two boys with expressionless slits before deeming Jak as the greatest threat. He caught the monster in the midsection with his boot, kicking it off with a rather pathetic jab. It only threw it off balance, but it was back on its feet just as quickly.

Jak heard something drop to the ground near his knee and looked down to find the knife from inside his boot laying innocuously in the dead leaves. The metalhead was already advancing, running on all fours to ram its tusks into his abdomen again, and Jak made a desperate grab for the hilt. It was tacky, covered in a sticky film that made his palms crawl and his fingers twitch unpleasantly, but he tightened his grip as the metalhead got within a close enough distance. It gouged four long lines into the soft dirt under it, gaining speed the closer and closer to Jak it got. He grit his teeth, and with all his might, plunged the sharp blade into the animal’s eye.

It shrieked and growled. Hissed in pain as it pawed at the hilt of the knife to dislodge it. The eyeball popped like a balloon — the sudden violence of the blade severing the binding. Dark blood gushed out. It sprayed him in the face and neck. It didn’t deter the creature though, and after its claw hooked around the knife, it dislodged it. The weapon clattered to the ground, kicking up dust and dew, but the weight of it made the sound of it falling as loud as thunder.

The monster reeled backwards. Anger and hurt make it ripe for justice. It no longer wanted to make a quick meal out of Jak and the Kid. No, now it was personal. Jak took out an advantage the metalhead had as a predator, he interfered with the laws of beasts and man. With half a vision, the teen left it exposed and vulnerable. Metalheads aren’t used to vulnerability. They were cunning, and they were organized. Their hive mind kept them in-line for war, but it was the individualism that made them dangerous. This metalhead didn’t need permission from its leader to gut the teen like a fish. This was personal now.

Tit for tat, and all that.

It paced with its remaining good eye tracking Jak, and it wasn’t until he moved his leg to stand did he realize why the metalhead was taking its time. His ankle was twisted, feeling tight in his boot and there was no doubt a ring of purple and blue bruises darkening his skin. Jak hissed as the movement disturbed the injury. Both of them were vulnerable to the other, the playing field leveled in some sick cosmic balance. It was dishonorable to maim a foe while gravely injured or unarmed. Apparently laws of battle and war translated fairly well for metalheads also.

The Kid whined. It snapped the metalhead into motion, now charging again for Jak’s middle. In the dying sun, its teeth shun with slick saliva as its maw opened. It favored its right side, angling its head to hide the mess of fluid and meat that Jak had torn into. He wasn’t going to be able to defend himself from the forest floor, not with the knife feet away from him. The metalhead expected him to stay low, possibly even anticipating him to roll to the side to avoid the impact. What it didn’t expect was that Jak had a bucket list of revenge the length of his arm and a chip on his shoulder that rivals Daxter in mass.

He hunched forward, taking a knee just as the creature made contact in a dizzying impact of metal and leather. A swift punch to the wound distracted it long enough for him to grab it by its torso, and with a pained cry that was all teeth and blood, Jak used both his legs to push him backwards. His ankle screamed in protest, and he felt the torn ligaments stretch longer than natural, but it was worth hearing the metalhead yelp as he slammed it head first into a boulder behind him. The skull gem cracked like glass, its head caved in with a screech, and the monster’s body gave one final twitch before seizing up. It went limp a second later with a low groan that Jak knew wasn’t voluntary, and he dropped to the ground as soon as the metalhead was dead.

This wasn’t the worst injury he’s sustained. He can rattle off his top five of his greatest hits and a twisted ankle wouldn’t even be a viable contender. When you’re Jak, a twisted ankle or a broken wrist are akin to a papercut. It’s nothing a bag of ice, an application of green eco gel, and a pill couldn’t fix. He caught his breath, and made to stand up, but instantly folded back to his knees like a house of cards.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,”

Jak snapped his head up. Crouching in front of the Kid, holding his small arm in her hands was a woman. He hasn’t even heard her approach — no crunching leaves or rustled flora. She must’ve arrived somewhere between the time the metalhead jumped on him and when he brained the creature on the boulder that now sported a splatter stain the size of a manhole cover. There was a basket set down next to the pair, filled to the brim with flowers and other vegetation that threatened to spill right out. She ran her fingers gingerly along the scrape on the Kid’s forearm, inspecting it like it held the answers of the universe. “Oh, you poor dear. That was a nasty tumble, wasn’t it?” she said to the Kid, flickering her black eyes up at him. She cooed when he nodded solemnly, sucking on his pointer finger. Her hand reached up to press against his cheek, standing with ease as she wiped a tear from him with a smile. Then she turned her attention to Jak. “I apologize if I don’t extend to you the same sympathies, but I rarely show pity to those who knowingly do stupid acts,”

Jak bared his teeth at her. Pity? Stupid acts? It might not have been his brightest idea, but he deserved at least a lick of respect for surprising the metalhead with its own assumptions. It's not every day they hunted power through a torn ligament just to get the jump on their would-be assassin. He opened his mouth to argue, but the woman shot him a look that made his stomach churn in a way that only Samos and his Uncle have achieved in his lifetime.

The woman — standing at a clear couple inches taller than him because who didn’t? — moved toward him with lingering steps. It gave him enough time to take in the new face. Her eyes were dark and sharp, almond shaped hidden under long lashes that curled at the tip. Her face was long and angular, but what her cheeks lacked in softness was made for in plump lips that were painted a deep scarlet. Her long hair was pleated into elaborate braids nestled in wavy black locks, embellished with gold cuffs, woven with ribbons and orange flowers placed delicately in the folds. Her clothes, like the Wastelander’s, were handmade, yet Jak could tell she hadn’t exposed her wardrobe to harsh conditions like the former did. Her blouse was stark white in the looming darkness of the forest, and her deep wine skirt swayed as she drew nearer. She was dripping in florals — her blouse was hemmed with multicolored flowers and leaves, happily spewn about as if they were dancing along her collar tones. Her skirt was sectioned into three parts, all held together with thick ribbons that bore the same flowers that were sewn into her top, and stopped just short enough to show off the white ruffles of a petticoat underneath. Around her waist, she had tied an apron made of lace and in the front Jak could make out a blooming marigold front and center.

So caught up in his assessment of her, Jak didn’t notice she was standing in front of him until a pair of brown leather boots came into frame. The woman sighed, bending down once more to lay a hand on the hard fastenings of his boot. Jak jerked away, growling, but the woman paid him no mind and laid her palm firmly where his ankle would be. “Boys. You are a stubborn lot. What on Earth possesses you to do such harm to yourselves, I’ll never know,” she muttered to herself, now looking up at Jak with fierce eyes, “You’re lucky your crocadog led me to you. The woods are no place for children, especially at night,”

“So we’ve heard,” Jak replied, hissing when the woman squeezed. She hummed.

“You’ve sure did a number on yourself,” she stood up, “My home isn’t far from here. Come, come,”

“Sorry. We don’t talk to strangers,” Jak said flippantly, shrugging a shoulder when the woman tilted her head, “There’s a lot of creeps out there, you know,”

The woman was silent, a brief pause lingering in the air between them. Her lips were set in a thin line, and when she bent down to hold a hand out to him, he noticed the tips of her fingers were painted black. The sharp contrast of the digits and her golden rings were pleasing to the eye, even if he didn’t want to admit it. “I’m Hin,” she smiled, all teeth and crows feet, “There. I’m not a stranger anymore. And you are?”

“Mar,” Jak lied. Not the best alias, especially considering that Mar was one of the most influential people to ever live. He didn’t know much about the world he had fallen into, though he doubts that only Haven would be aware of the hero's exploits. Hell, there were nursery rhymes and idioms that all stemmed back to the legendary founder. It was the first name that popped into his head, and judging by the tender nod the woman gave him in return, she was none the wiser.

“Well, Mar, I’d very much appreciate it if you accompanied me back to my home. The predators out here love to hunt at night, and I’m afraid with an injury like yours, you and your brother will be easy suppers,” her voice tinged with worry. Jak narrowed his eyes on her. He couldn’t really place his finger on it, but Hin brought up uneasy emotions the more he looked at her. There was nothing wrong with her — if anything, she seemed almost too flawless, and her smile radiated a comforting coolness. The chilly kind that came after a broiling summer, when a breeze that tinged a little too freezing for it to be a typical breeze. The kind of coldness that meant Keira squealing about his cold hands and rubbing them between soft mittens. There was just something about her that rang in his brain like a foghorn, screaming at him in chanting psalms of you know her you know her you know her why do you know her.

Thankfully, Daxter popped out of a pile of fallen leaves at the exact right moment. Sure, it scared the ever living Hell out of Jak, and he was definitely going to throttle his friend for disappearing the second the metalhead attacked, but he had never been more grateful to have someone take the reins of the conversation.

“And why should we trust you?” Daxter asked dramatically, sifting through the pile to clear his way out, “The last time we listened to one of you woodland weirdos, we almost got our heads lobbed off with an ax. Forgive us if we aren’t exactly giddy about accepting help from yet another stranger,”

Hin’s expressions morphed harshly into concentration, knitting her eyebrows together.

“The last guy to help us almost killed us for messing with his lantern,” Jak growled, “Who’s to say you aren’t going to try the same?”

“If you believe you can take on another metalhead with a twisted ankle, then be my guest. I have work I have to get to,” Hin then adjusted her shawl around her shoulders, folding her arms to keep it firmly in place as she turned around. The rounded bits of metal on the tips of the fringe sang as she moved. The stranger turned her back towards them, lowering herself down to pick up something off the ground. It was then that Jak realized it was a dead bird, now no more than a pile of hollow bones sticking out in stark contrast with the sparse dry grass. She examined the skull, blowing into the empty sockets, and once satisfied, she tossed it into the basket. From this angle, Jak can make out more animal bones sorted to the side, all laid together like logs near a fireplace. The woman stood up, placing both hands on the basket now. “The Beast is afoot. Your stubbornness won’t save you,” Jak and Daxter shared a look. Hin was right. He wasn’t going to be much help if he could barely stand. In Haven, it was easier to take a trip to Dead Town and use the dark eco there to heal — or at the very least, numb the pain — his ailments, but Jak was starting to believe that the forest didn’t have a lick of eco within it. Daxter didn’t look convinced, shaking his head as if the answer was so obvious he couldn’t believe that Jak was even considering an alternative. Movement from behind Hin gave Jak pause though, and seeing the Kid sitting with his arm in a makeshift sling broke his heart more than it should’ve. He sighed.

“Do you promise to not hurt the kid if we go with you?” he asked with his eyes closed and hands fisted in the dead leaves under him. Hin turned only a fraction back around, a nonchalant gaze thrown over her shoulder. As if she expected it.

Smiling, Hin drew an X on her chest with one blackened finger. “Cross my heart and hope to die,” and she bent down to help the teen up to his feet.

Hin’s home was the antithesis of the mill.

Where the mill was barren with only the essentials allowed, stirpped bare of any personal touches that didn’t come from the children’s room Jak had spent a brief moment in, Hin’s cabin was overflowing with its maximalism. It was a plain cabin, ivy and foliage climbing along the sides and bells hung from the porch’s rails like tassels. Hin explained had been in her family for generations as they trekked up the beaten path, lit by fireflies as they emerged from the ground as the sun set. The living room housed a plethora of trinkets, tapestries, clay tablets, and metalwork that crowded the walls. Shelves upon shelves were lined with bottles and jars, and they sparkled in the light of the fireplace that greeted them with a delighted crackle when they walked in through the door.

“You have a nice home,” Jak said dumbly. Daxter groaned from somewhere near his elbow.

“Thank you,”

Hin deposited Jak onto a rickety chair at a round table that created a makeshift barrier between the living room and kitchen. He hissed at the movement, keeping his injured foot propped against the floor. The woman buzzed around the kitchen, opening cupboards and pinching herbs out of glass jars and threw them all into a stone bowl she carried with her. The Kid, having been reunited with his beloved crocadog and sitting on the worn sofa, met his eyes. He scrunched his nose at him, then covered it completely with his hand. Jak didn’t need the Kid to properly sign to him for him to know exactly what he was trying to say. The cabin did smell, but not in a way that Miss. Peck or Farmer Zeb’s homes did. This was an Earthy smell, acidic in how it burned his nostrils. He tried to tack a name on the scent, but he was drawing a blank.

“This will help,” she smiled, crouching down in front of the Kid. She set the bowl beside her and untied the knot of the sling, holding the child’s arm as if it was made of glass. The Kid watched her with weary eyes, keeping his good arm around the crocadog’s back. Whatever he was thinking, Jak knew it involved his newly-acquired shoe and Hin’s arched nose. Luckily, it ended up not having to come to that extreme. Hin scrooped up whatever was in the bowl with two fingers and rubbed it on the scraps. It looked more like road rash to Jak — a comparison he believed was very appropriate considering he has his fair share of scars from a zoomer incident gone wrong. He swallowed thickly and looked away.

The table was the only bare surface he has found thus far. The cloth on top of it was thin and see-through, and he could make out the wood’s markings underneath. It had a fair share of stains, all green or yellow in nature so he chalked it all up to being from the older woman using the table as a workstation. The basket the woman was carrying took up the other half of the table.

“Aloe and calendula should do the trick. Usually, I’d include something with a bit more kick to it, but you’re young. You’ll bounce back in no time,” Hin remarked. She seemed to have deemed the paste sufficient enough for the Kid, picking the bowl up and returning to the kitchen. Plucking an empty jar from her rack, the woman scraped the remaining medicine into it with a wooden spoon. She spoke as she finished the task. “As for you, we’re going to need something a bit stronger. Be a dear and take your boot off for me,”

Daxter scaled Jak’s back, cupping his hand around his mouth and leaning into the teen’s ear. “You think she knows Grandpa Green? We should ask her if she knows where his little hidey-hole is,” he whispered. Jak nodded, bending down to unfasten the straps of his boots. The release made him sigh in relief as blood rushed back into his foot, and wince when the loose tongue made contact with his ankle. The process of removing the boot completely was agonizing. It probably wasn’t the best idea to try and take both his sock and boot off at the same time, but he had already committed to it. By the time his foot was free, a fine sheen of sweat moistened his upper lip.

Opting to ignore the pain, Jak turned his attention to Hin. “You seem to know your way around injuries. Are you a doctor or something?”

“Or something,” Hin replied back, setting a kettle over the fire. She used her apron as a kitchen cloth and wiped her hands down, removing her rings as she went along. “I’m a healer,” Jak eyed the bones, laid down on a table with little ceremony. There were rib bones and bird skulls. A jaw that belonged to what the teen can assume might’ve once been a jackadeer. The teeth were loose and some had fallen into the crevices of the woven basket. “My garden usually supplies me with everything I need to make my tinctures, but, alas, sometimes I find myself without and have to go foriage for them. It’ll be tart, I hope you don’t mind. I seem to have ran out of sugar,”

Dark berries, tiny white flowers, herbs, and seeds all went into the kettle. It bubbled the minute the ingredients touched it, devouring them all as it brewed. Jak shook his head. He wasn’t exactly the biggest fan of tea, but if the woman insisted on serving it to them, he wasn’t going to be rude. Hin must’ve realized he was thinking about the tea, because she chimed, “It’s to help with the ligaments and muscles. Pastes and oils are fine and all, but I find that sometimes we need something on the inside to help the body heal faster,”

She set down a stool across from him and sat down. She motioned him to lift his foot onto her lap with a wave of her hand, helping him steady it once he lifted his heel off the ground. Without the boot and his sock, Jak finally got a good look at his ankle. Perhaps it was the dizzying smell in the cabin or his adrenaline from the fight with the metalhead wearing off, but the teen was struck by the sight. It was a nebula of pain — a constellation of bruising in a puffy cloud disguised as skin. No wonder his boot felt tight, his foot had swollen to the size of a kangarat. The healer in front of him wasn’t phased, however, and she made quick work of lathering a gel-like concoction she pulled out of a container she had brought with her from the cupboard. It was chilled when she applied it on and he breathed a sigh of relief as it soothed away the pulsing pain.

“Yeesh! Oh, I think I’m going to be sick. How do you do it?” Daxter moaned from his spot on the table. Hin chuckled at his theatrics, shaking her head in amusement as she rubbed the salve into Jak’s skin.

“This certainly isn’t for the faint of heart,” she said, “Fortunately for you, I have a strong heart,” the container gets closed, and Hin sets to work on wrapping his ankle with a long stripe of moist gauze. It made his skin crawl and his toes curl at the sensation, reminiscent of using a wet towel to dry oneself off after a swim. It smelled of citrus and dirt. “Soaked in oil. It’ll heal the skin, but there is a tonic I’ll need you to ingest,”

The teen frowned. “It’ll heal on its own. I won’t be needing anything else,”

“Ay, you’re more stubborn than a yakkow,” Hin clucked at him. She pushed his leg off her lap unceremoniously, standing up swiftly to attend to the screaming kettle on the fire. It sputtered and screeched, gurgling up white foam that dissipated the moment Hin pulled it off the flame. She wasted no time pouring the liquid into a blue glass bottle with a sprainer at the mouth. The purple tonic filled the bottle up in no time, leaving leftovers that Hin seemed to be excited for as she set it aside. Jak watched from behind.

The Kid, seemingly restless as any kid his age would be, trotted over to the teen. He poked around Jak’s leg, avoiding the obviously bruised lower extremity, then pushed back the chair on Jak’s right. It took a minute of struggle and balance, but he managed to sit down comfortably and followed the blonde’s gaze set on the older woman’s back.

“Really, I’ll be fine. In fact,” Jak licked his lips, “My brother and I were just on our way to our grandpa’s house. We got turned around a few miles back … you wouldn’t happen to know where it’s at, would you? He’s an eco sage,”

Hin paused. Her hand hovered over the stove with the kettle still in her grasp, and she turned to look back at him with a puzzled expression. He resisted the urge to lick his lips again, standing firm with his fib. After a tense moment, the woman was back into motion. “A sage, you say. What kind?”

“Green eco. He’s just got the hang of it, and we were going to congratulate him,”

“Aren’t you just precious? Oh, a green eco sage!” The healer clapped her hands together, hurrying to bring the vile and a jar of amber honey to Jak. She abandoned the stool by his feet in favor of sitting on a proper chair at the table with him. She held the vile out towards him, setting it down when he didn’t move to take it, then unscrewed the lid of the jar until it came open with a crunchy pop. Crusts of sugar flaked off on Hin’s fingers as she stirred the honey with a teaspoon, her strokes purposeful and quick as if she were whisking eggs. Once satisfied, she scooped up a generous amount and held the spoon out for the teen. “Here. A little bit of sweet before the bitter,” she whispered. Jak moved to grab the spoon’s handle, but Hin shook her head and shifted backwards. The teen huffed, then dutifully opened his mouth. The sweetness of the honey brought back bittersweet memories of his ninth’s birthday, and if it weren’t for the metal spoon clanking against his molars, Jak would’ve laughed. Hin retracted the spoon.

“You know, had I known your grandfather was a green eco sage, I would’ve taken you straight to him. I’ve always been passionate about the study of eco myself for as long as I can remember. I do what I can with what the forest gives me, but all the herbs and plants in the world are no match for the power of eco. Tell me, Mar, have you ever heard of Kaliope?”

“I can’t say I have,” the name rang in his mind, though he struggled to connect the name to a face. Kaliope. It sounded colorful, and joyous. A pretty name. The Kid snapped his head to face Jak’s. The older teen ignored him, never taking his eyes off Hin.

“Surely, you must. She’s very important to keeping our planet alive,” Hin pushed the vile towards Jak again. “Drink. It’s good for you,” When Jak didn’t move, the older woman sighed. “If you drink the tincture, I promise I’ll point you in the direction of the nearest town. It isn’t far from here, just a few miles or so. You can trust me. I only wish to help you, Mar,”

Jak eyed her suspiciously. Trust wasn’t exactly his strong suit. Daxter had grown eerily quiet since being in the cabin, having elected to curl up on the armchair near the corner. Even the crocodog seemed more subdued than normal, sluggishly laying on its side as it stared at the door. The cabin, for all its comfort and tranquility, felt suffocating. Like a hug that wouldn’t cease. The teen flexed his ankle and bit back a cry of pain a whine —

— He shouldn’t have tried to stand so quickly after an injection. His limbs felt numb, folding into themselves with every step, but it was now or never. The guards wouldn’t stay down for long. Malnurishment left his muscles depleted and useless, there was only so much force he could pack in a punch without exhausting his energy completely. Errol knew this. Errol knew a lot when it came to keeping Jak down.

He didn’t get far. He never does. A shot rang out and a bullet tore through his knee, shattering the bone like glass. His leg buckled under him, but Jak fought to stay upright. It hurt. It hurt more than anything, but it was nothing compared to the pain that would be inflicted on him if he stopped now. He just had to get out of the chamber. He was lithe, he could hide easily once outside the open chamber. He ran for the door, gasping and crying as the pain in his leg shot up his thigh and up to his ribs. He was so close, he could’ve practically tasted the steel of the door as he stretched an arm towards the security pad-

He didn’t get far. He never does. The guards woke up in time and pulled him back to the chair, screaming and snarling and kicking. He was so close.—

— as it throbbed. The vile practically beckoned him, the promise of relief just outside his grasp, and he couldn’t resist it anymore. He held it up under his nose, breathing in the smell of almonds with a foul uppercut. It smelled like death, but the violet hue of it reminded him of dark eco and his mind quickly pushed any repulsion aside in favor of accepting anything that even closely resembled the destructive substance. Wasting no time, Jak drank the contents of the vial in one gulp, pinching his eyes closed to steel himself from the acidic taste. It coated his teeth and burned his throat, but it was inside him now.

The teen handed the vile back to Hin. He coughed, but otherwise it stayed down. The Kid made a grab for the bottle, getting only as far as reaching over Jak before the teen batted his hand away like a fly.

“Done. Now tell us where that town is,”

She was quiet for a long time – long enough that Jak was opening his mouth to demand an answer – when she spoke again.

“Kaliope is the patron Precursor of green eco, health, prosperity, youth. I’m surprised the grandson of a green eco sage doesn’t know about her. You cannot be a sage of green eco and ignore the very Goddess that gifted you sagehood. Ancient monks used to devout entire temples to her — as if Kaliope was interested in notions of that nature,” she waved her hand, shaking her head as if amused by the antics of those that came before them.

“What does this have to do with telling us how to get home?” Jak growled, then coughed. His ankle felt infested with ants.

Hin leveled him with an annoyed look. “Patience, my boy. All in due time. Now, where was I? Oh, yes. You see, Kaliope belonged to the forest. The gardens, the valleys, the mountains, the trees — that’s where you’d be able to be closest to her. She didn’t care about monuments, just as long as she could feel the earth between her toes and hear the plants breathe. Her sisters on the other hand, now, they’re the ones who were interested in temples,”

“The Six Sisters,”

Hin chuckled. “So you do know your theology. And here I was starting to worry what the world was coming to if a smart young man like yourself didn’t know about one of the most important beings in the universe,” a small black speck moved in the corner of Jak’s eye and he realized that it was a spider. Its thin legs moved slowly and cautiously around the wood, moving eerily like a possessed man. Hin must’ve noticed it too, because her eyes were on it the second it made itself known with its languid movements. With slow grace, the healer unfurled her hand and laid it still on the table top. She moved slowly, almost on par with the arachnid. Jak coughed again — hard. “Kaliope, blessed with life, the child goddess who roams freely among the trees. Neera, a force to be reckoned with, the goddess of speed and fortune who never stops running. Tyr, savage and blunt, the warrior goddess of war and ire who smiled with bloodied teeth. Kajin, stronger than a hundred men, the Marauder goddess of strength and resilience. All of whom reign over their respective eco, and protect those who wish to learn at their feet,”

“That’s only four sisters,” Jak muttered. His tongue felt fat and dry, slurring his words as he struggled to push them out. A red flash from the corner of his eye had him squeezing his eyes shut.

There’s a shift. It starts with her eyes — dark pools of deep oak — then down to her shoulders. Her body becomes loose, pliant. A sense of vulnerability littering the air, but Jak knew better. It was her Siren’s song, so to speak. Appeal to someone’s dominant sense, feign submission, make herself irresistible. They’ll inch closer, slowly, moving like a harmless house spider. She’ll hold out her hand, offer herself up for the taking, just so long as they make the effort of moving to her.

The spider — unsuspecting, bewitched — climbed into her hand, poking and testing the landscape. Once deciding it was safe enough, steady enough to support it, the animal started the roam about her palm. Hin lifted her hand up, elbow resting on the wood and rotated her wrist to keep her eyes always on the insect.
The predator is now the prey.

“You’re paying attention. Good,” Hin hummed, then continued, ignoring the fits of coughing coming from the older child, “Each of the sisters came to be in a specific order. A Channeler like you knows this — first green eco, then blue, then yellow, then red. Once you master one, you build up in intensity until you’ve learned to control them all. The Six Sisters, however, were born in the opposite order. Why, you ask?” Jak wasn’t asking anything, too preoccupied with trying to keep back the bile that threatened to rise out of him. Hin kept talking, “Well, no one knows. It’s presumptuous to think one can understand the Precursors. Now, you were right, Jak. I saved the best two for last. The twin goddesses. The patrons of light and dark eco,”

The spider paused somewhere between her fingers. She shifted her wrist, the spider startled and ran down her forearm. Hin cooed as she put her other hand in its path, fooling the poor thing into running back towards the danger it was desperately trying to escape from. His own fingers went numb. “Despite being twins, Mariym was born just before her sister. The sun burst as she took her first breath, and she spun the sunshine into a ball of pure, cosmic light. She was the patron of light eco, the corporal form of transcendence, goddess of life. Mariym was the first of the patron Precursors, and they adored her more than anything that has or ever will be, and though more powerful than any of the newer Precursors, she needed her sister to help her rule over the planet and its inhabitants. Her name was Micte, the patron Precursor of dark eco, facilitator of transformation and goddess of death. She was born when the moon and sun met and enveloped the world in darkness, and she swallowed the stars. They, too, adored Micte just as much as Mariym, but they feared her because they didn’t understand the forces of dark eco. They said it was corrupt, chaotic, and crass. They didn’t understand. They weren’t afraid of its properties, they were afraid of what it brought: A complete metamorphosis. It could break something down to its fundamentals and mold it into something entirely different yet all the same,” her voice turned cold. Like she was repeating something back to him, her mind otherwise occupied as she brought the spider close to her eyes. Look upon me and despair. “Mariym didn’t care for such primal fears. They were twins. They knew each other before they even knew themselves. They lived within the other,” Her face twisted horribly, tight jaw and furrowed eyebrows. Her body shook from the coldness of her heart seeping out, gripping the cabin in a harsh blizzard. The spider didn’t know what hit it as her palm snapped into a fist, a mock imitation of a venus flytrap pouncing on its meal. Only, where the plant committed such violence for survival, Hin did it for sport. She hunted for game, for the crunch of a body and the prone feeling of a lifeless corpse. Hin tightened her fist with her other hand, keeping it close as if she wanted to keep its very soul trapped inside the cavern of her hands.

Jak’s heart dropped to his stomach. “I never told you my name was Jak,”

Hin laughed. “Oh, I know more about you than you realize, dark eco freak,”

Specks of blood peppered the pristine table cloth, spewing from his mouth with each bone-rattling cough. His gloves were soaked from it, and he abandoned any sort of composure. Oxygen was now a scarce resource. His body fought to suck in as much as possible, but every time he managed, it got blocked by the opposite velocity of his coughing. From the corner of his eye, the Kid was passed out cold with his head on the table, breathing softly with his finger between his lips. Hin opened her hands and what remained of the spider — now only bits of black spikes — tumbled out onto the table, right in the middle of the blood stains. Jak watched, vixened, as the spider’s body melted into the stain and wood, darkening the center like a scorch mark. It changed, suddenly, and in the fog of his mind, Jak watched as the spider’s legs blossomed into eyelashes and a fucking eye blinked open.

He startled, pushing the table and whatever that thing was away from him. He reached for the Kid, but the cabin swam around him and he collapsed to the ground in a nauseating flurry of movement. The fall knocked the wind out of him — a pathetic display as the fall wasn’t even that hard. The cabin was just so stifling. It was hot and muggy and the air was thicker than wool and that smell. He heard something fall to the ground. The vile. Precursors, the vile. “What did you make me drink?” he demanded, though the sweat on his brow and the shakiness of his voice wouldn’t even have intimidated a metalbug, much less Hin. “What did you do to us!?”

“Jak, I’m hurt that you would think so low of me. I would never harm children, as the Precursors above as my witness. The boy is merely asleep, I can assure you he’ll wake up in an hour and be blissfully unaware. You, on the other hand,” Hin was suddenly next to him, crouched almost to eye level. Jak tried to crawl away, but the woman grabbed him by the chin and wouldn’t let go. Sharp nails dug into his skin. “Well, you’re no mere child, are you?” Jak shoved her away, and without her strong grip keeping him steady, he dropped to the ground in another fit. His stomach felt like it was burning from the inside out, eating away at his insides in large chunks and forcing him to upheave it all onto the worn wooden floor. It took Herculean effort to roll over, to spit out the globs of ink and blood that tasted like death. He whined when the globs began to squirm, and he realized to his horror that it wasn’t congealed blood or bits of tissue he was coughing up, but tiny black turtles — no bigger than his thumb. He scrambled away the best he could.

Hin’s face came back into view, both her hands holding his jaw tenderly. Her thumbs swiped at his cheeks, wiping away sweat and blood from his lips. Her touch scorched, yet he couldn’t find it within himself to push her off him again. Watching her with wide eyes, Hin the healer cooed and touched him with all the love and generosity he imagined a mother would. A facsimile of being beloved and for a child who was stripped of any semblance of generosity and love, Jak had to fight himself from leaning into the touch. “So much power in someone so young. Oh, what have they done to you, tzicuēhuallotl? To give you such a divine gift and let it go neglected … it’s truly a holy crime,” she pressed her forehead to his, closing her eyes and breathing the same air as him. She muttered something, soft enough to be a whisper, then pulled his chin down to kiss the crown of his head. She looked back at him, holding his face in both hands, “The Six Sisters will just adore you,”

Jak turned his head and vomited hard. It came out with a punch, even if there was little contents to expel. What ended up dribbling out of him was more black sludge, latened with seeds and leaves and dirt. He felt like he was upheaving the very earth itself. The ink stained Hin’s skirt, but she didn’t yell or reprimand him. No, the healer held him by the shoulders to keep him from face planting into his own sick. She sat by him. She rubbed circles on his back, and made sympathetic noises as he whined and keened. Jak fought back. That’s all he knew, really. He shrugged her hands off his shoulder, protested when she tried to move his face toward her, pushed against her when she wanted to move him. Hin ran her fingers through his hair, strands of it getting stuck in her various rings and pulling them out of his scalp. He knew he should get away from her, but still. —

— “Come on, baby,” Erol sneered, fisting his hand deep into Jak’s hair. It was matted with blood, stuck together like glue. Jak bit his lip, digging deep into his own skin until it felt like it would rip off. This was Erol’s favorite game. The scientists and eco vitalogists didn’t care for things like this. They preferred if he was rather seen not heard, present but absent. They said it made it harder when he was grounded — not because they were faced with morality, but because they didn’t like having to work around his unruliness.

A harsh knee to his stomach only yielded a squeak from him. Erol clicked his tongue at him, forcing Jak’s head back to look at him. “C’mon, be a good boy for me. You’re always so good,” His silhouette was illuminated by the halo of the Room’s light. Through the tears and sweat, Jak couldn’t help but gawk at the image. It looked straight out of Precursor mythology: A being made of light flying down from the Heavens, avenging swift and deserving justice. He blinked, and Erol was a woman, tall and strong. She smiled at him … or at least he thought she was. The backlighting casted her in darkness, her features vague outlines, but he could map the whites of her eyes as she leaned down and spoke silently to him. He blinked again, and the glint of a blade near his collarbones was all the warning he got.

Erol sliced at the tender flesh of his breast bone, peeling off the dark skin in agonizingly slow movements. Jak couldn’t hold in his screams anymore. They were guttral and strangled, rising in crescendo until it echoed through the overly bright cell. Erol continued to carve away. A circular piece fell to the blood streaked floor, then he twisted the tip of his knife above the wound. Jak squeezed his eyes closed, and screamed, “STOP!”

Erol halted immediately, dropping the knife. It clattered on the floor. The dizziness from pain was starting to set in, and he was swaying on his knees before he felt arms wrap around his shoulders. The Commander’s hand cupped his cheek, his thumb pressing into the soft flesh. Jak shuddered out a terrified gasp. Fear gripped him deep inside his chest and stomach, and he wondered if it would gore him if he dared to move a single muscle. Errol pressing the young boy’s face into his shoulder. Jak tried to jerk away, but the fear and the comfort bled into each other seamlessly. It was intoxicating — feeling any sort of touch that wasn't instantly followed by violence. He'd spent so long knowing only suffering and pain, he'd forgotten what tenderness felt like. “There you go, sweetheart. Was that so bad? Oh, come here,” Erol cooed, his other hand rubbing wide circles on his back. Carefully, of course, to not disturb the gashes from last week. Despite himself, the teenager melted in the embrace. It was warm. If he closed his eyes, he could pretend he was in bed at his Uncle’s house, lulling himself to sleep under the mass of yakkow pelt to shield from the cool sea air. “You’re a good boy. I’m so proud of you, Jak. You’re first word! Oh … it breaks my heart that you make me do this to you. Can’t you see? I only want the best for you,”

“He’s lying. Don’t believe him. Grab the knife and kill him,”

“My sweet, sweet darling. You did so well,” —

— Still. Her palm was cold as she pressed it to his overheated forehead, muttering, “It’ll pass. It’ll pass. Just a little longer, tzicuēhuallotl. It’ll pass,” as he folded in himself to escape the pain in his stomach. He gagged and retched but nothing came up, only a line of thick mucus that dripped to his knees. The Kid didn’t so much as twitch. Everything was so loud, how could he possibly sleep so soundly? Couldn’t he hear the roaring in Jak’s ears? The promises of reprieve from the effects of the tincture? The popping of the fireplace as its flames licked high enough to leave scorch marks on the brick? Everything was just too loud.

Jak spit out the thick mucus, grimacing as a line of spittle still connected it to his lower lip, and with all the hatred he could muster, he asked, “What are you?”

Hin brushed a loose lock of green back from his face, and cradled the back of his skull, just above his nape. “I’m your mother,” she replied, “I made you,”

A tear slipped down his cheek. He didn’t know what to make of the statement — his heart seized in his chest and the part of him that refused to die lit up with child-like excitement. It didn’t care about logic or facts, about reasoning or practicality. It saw someone willing to claim him as a son and it was ready to offer itself up to them. Children don’t know any better. Who could blame them? It was in humanity’s nature to crave the affections that were denied from childhood, held back by emotionally distant sages and well-meaning Uncles. Jak found the tension in his shoulders leaving him, and his hand shakily moved to his mouth.

Red again. Just hidden in the shadows of his vision that threatened to tunnel. Hin’s eyes darted in the same direction, and Jak knitted his eyebrows. The healer’s hand tightened in his hair, pulling him forward until his forehead met her shoulder. Her other hand cupped his cheek, and he had the idea to sink his teeth into the flesh between her finger and thumb. Another kiss on the crown. Another stroke of his jawline. Hin hummed, and the vibrations from her throat made his teeth rattle. It was hard to breathe.

Jak slipped out of consciousness. The last thing he remembered was a high-pitched ringing, and a flash of blinding light.

–

Jak snapped back awake with a fit.

His heart pounded in his chest, and adrenaline flooded his senses. Hin wasn’t near him, that much he was aware of, which meant he only had a finite of time to grab the Kid and run out of the cabin. Who knows where she had gone to, or how long she was gone, but Jak was going to be damned if he was going to wait around to find out. He lurched into a seated position with little finesse. Something heavy landed in his lap.

Big black eyes, a long pink tongue, and a tuft of brown greeted him with a toothy grin when he looked down. The crocadog panted, then barked his approval of Jak’s lucid state and took it upon himself to show it physically by licking his chin.

“Finally, you’re awake,” Daxter groaned from behind, and Jak twisted his torso around to see the ottsel standing with Jak’s scarf in both hands. Instinctively, the teen reached up to touch where the cloth used to be, and his fingertips brushed against the silvery scars that criss crossed around his throat. He swallowed. At least the inside was clear now. “What the hell happened back there? One second I’m having the best nap of my life and the next I'm laying in a bed of dirt! Did you piss off that loon or something?”

Jak took in their surroundings and breathed out a sigh as he spotted to Kid in a shallow stream. He was crouched near the edge, placing tiny blades of grass into the water and watching them get swept away by the current. He looked up at Jak and waved. The blonde waved back.

Ranking up his pant leg, Jak realized his sock and boot were back on. He doesn’t remember putting it back on before passing out, so it must’ve been Hin. His stomach churned at the thought of her, but he shoved her into the same corner of his brain occupied by Erol, Praxis, Gol and Maia. There was time for them later.

He unfastened the buckles that kept his boot tightened around his ankle, shoving his fingers between the stiff fabric and his skin to find that the gauze that Hin had wrapped around his foot was no longer there. Pulling the boot off, he realized that the bruises were gone too. He rolled the appendage, flexed his tendons, dug his knuckles into the soft flesh and found that he was completely healed. Well. Not completely. He’ll never be completely healed, not when his skin still bore the markings of sharp surgical instruments and burns. The bones that never set right, the track marks that peppered his forearms, the veins that pulsed and glowed purple under the thin tissue of his skin. These were only the physical hurts, and only a few of the litany of horror that hid beneath his clothes. He could say, rather, he was completely healed of his twisted ankle specifically. He pushed himself to his feet and took a couple steps, relieved.

“Or something,” Jak mused back.

Daxter rolled his eyes. He rambled on about how he couldn’t believe Jak managed to piss off the very nice (albeit strange) lady before they were able to sneak some rations into Jak’s bag. The teen tried to listen earnestly, but he was too preoccupied with getting his boot back on and checking for the knife he kept in the other one. He was practically giddy with glee when he felt the hard outline of it. It wasn’t his, that much he was sure of, but he couldn’t really remember how he came to possess it. He just knew it was important for him to keep it intact and on his person at all times. Protection, or sentiment — he didn’t care which.

The trees sang and Jak felt a chill run down his spine. He looked to the trees. Something was watching them again. The presence was strong and menacing, and his headached the more he looked through the bark and branches. He searched for a face, a shadow, a silhouette, but there wasn’t anything in the negative space of the forest. Daxter was going on about missing a proper meal and Jak’s stomach rumbled at the mention of food. The Kid ran back to his side, grabbing onto the teen’s leg to keep up with their pace. Something bad happened, he knew that much for sure.

He just wished he could remember what it was.

No matter. If it was important, he’ll recall eventually. It’ll chew at him until it does, but that’s just something he’s going to have to learn to live with.

Jak pulled the Kid up by both his arms, swinging him back and forth above the ground. The child exploded into laughter, throwing his head back as the teen ducked down low enough to chuck the Kid back on his shoulders. He squealed as the sudden movement, grappling to hold onto Jak’s head and digging his heels into the older boy’s shoulders.

They headed North.

Chapter Text

Putting his feet up on the chair next to him, Jak leaned back on the wooden chair and let his muscles relax. The tension in his shoulders melted immediately and he took inventory of his aches. The shoulder he landed on two days ago gave a twinge of pain once in a while, though he can chalk that up to the lack of eco. His ankle has healed almost completely, but the tinctures' effects were still felt in the forms of stomach cramps and globs of bloody mucus. He took a deep breath. Concentrated on pulling what was inside him, envisioning the violet substance inside his bloodstream, trying to untangle the eco from his blood cells. It evaded him, dodging every attempt to bring it out. The teen huffed as it escaped him once and for all.

There was an ache in his feet and calves, mixed with some in his biceps. Sweaty palms. A tight chest. Otherwise, nothing else was amiss. He pulled the goggles off his head and let them hang around his neck and rubbed at his hairline. Opening his eyes, he gave a small smile to the child.

The Kid sat in front of him across the table, chewing on a hunk of meat atop a fork like the world’s weirdest lollipop. He was kicking his feet, which Jak knew because he felt them graze his shins moments before. There was a live performance in the tavern, some group of travelers in tunics and hats whistling along with the music. They danced around the makeshift stage, two of the members falling into twin rhythm. The Kid was engrossed in it.

Everyone they’ve encountered in the forest has assumed they were brothers. Could be because why else would a teenager be traveling with a child by his side, but Jak didn’t think that was the general thought process. They did look awfully similar, even he couldn’t deny it. In Sandover, the only reflective surface was still water. He couldn’t conquer the image of him at the Kid’s age, so all his comparisons had to be what he retained from the odd glances in the water on the shoreline or in the glass of Precursor artifacts. Nowadays, mirrors weren’t something Jak actively sought out.

The most obvious features they shared were hair and eye color. Though, Jak’s were blonde at the tips, a feature he attributed to sun bleaching after many hours spent outdoors. Not so obviously were things like nose shape, and the notch in his ear. Jak remembered once begging Samos to tell him about his parents, practically on his knees as he signed rapid fire at the old man. He told him that he never even met Jak’s parents before, citing that he first met him when his uncle introduced them back when Jak first moved in with him, but he did note that Jak’s ears had a slight notch at the tip. Samos told him that it was a genetic mutation, a benign one of course. A benign mutation that connected him to the parents he never met. Looking at the child in front of him, Jak noticed the same mutation in him as well.

They really could pass off as brothers. No one would really know they weren’t related. If shit goes south in Haven, if they lose to the Baron, Jak could flee with the Kid. There had to be something beyond the walls. Hell, the Unknown was outside Haven’s walls and other than the odd clothing and architecture and homicidal denizens, it wasn’t too bad. They were two for two so far, that had to count for something, right? Jak idly wondered if Rock Village still existed. The weather was always miserable, yet it was the one place besides Sandover where Jak got a real feel of the eco harvested there. If it still existed, Jak wouldn’t mind settling down in the old village with its electrifying air and morning dew grass. He hoped it still had the sea. He knew the kid would love it.

Jak closed his eyes again. It was a nice fantasy. He doesn’t see how it would hurt to hold onto it for a moment longer. The tavern was warm, juxtaposed to the storm outside that rattled and lit the sky with bursts of cackling lightning. The heat spread through his body, and although the chair was the furthest thing from comfortable, Jak caught himself dozing off a couple times. Daxter and the crocadog were already ahead of him, both snoring softly somewhere near him. If he fell asleep now, the Kid would be the only one to keep watch, and the last time that happened, they ended up dropping an entire building on themselves.

He opened his eyes and stretched, satisfying pops cracking somewhere in his back and neck. The tavern was nice, and the food was good, but they had to get moving. “Well, hey there, peach pot,”

Standing at about a few inches taller than Jak, a woman holding a broom approached them. Her face was round and her hair was tucked under a bonnet, a curious look on her face as she took them all in. “Whatcha doin’ around here?”

“Sorry. My brother and I are just waiting out the storm,” he dug into his pocket for some change. She must’ve just noticed them enter and likely was looking for money for the food the Kid grabbed off the counter. Even though they were leaving, he still wouldn’t have felt right just taking the woman’s food without payment. “How much do I owe you?”

She waved her hand at him in dismissal. “Your money ain’t good here. Though who are you two anyway, bringin’ animals into my tavern?” she pointed to Daxter and the crocadog. The Kid eyed her suspiciously, stopping mid chew. He signed something with his free hand and Jak shot him a look. Be nice.

Jak didn’t have it in him to argue anymore. The irritation that lived inside him took a backseat for once. “I’m Jak, and this is my brother …'' The Kid took the cue, spelling it out for him. M-A-R. “Mar …? The ottsel’s Daxter and the crocadog’s name is …” S-T-E-W. “... Stew,”

“That’s great and all, but who are you?”

Immediately, Jak tensed. She must’ve caught on at the mention of the Kid’s name. The only exit out of the tavern was the front door, and there was a large dog sleeping in front of it. He could try to get them out the window to the stables, but that means he’ll have to react impossibly quickly to wake up Daxter, Stew, and Mar. Fuck. He might have to blast his way out. No, the morph gun was still jammed. The wood was old, maybe it’ll crumble once he hits it hard enough. Once they were out they could hide in the forest for a while until the Krimzon Guards—

“He’s the butcher,” the woman said, jabbing a thumb behind her to a man sitting at a table on the other side of the room. The Butcher grunted, but didn’t make any other move to greet them. She pointed to other people as she rattled off names. “The baker, the midwife, the master and apprentice … the tailor, and I’m the tavern keeper. Who are you?”

Oh. “I don’t … I guess I’m the …” Hero. Champion. Channeler. Prodigy. Legend. Boy. Prisoner. Thing. Renegade. Fuckup. Mistake. Monster. Creature. Beast. Eco freak. Eco freak. Eco freak. ECO FRE— “I’m just passing by,”

The tavern keeper didn’t look impressed with his response. Neither did the other patrons. “Maybe he’s simple?” the Butcher asked.

“I’m not simple,” “It’s strange he doesn’t speak. Are you sure the boy isn’t simple, Samos? “I just don’t like labels. We just needed to get out of the storm, but we’ll be on our way now,”

The tavern keeper tapped her chin. “Well then, who do you want to be?”

Jak stiffened. He was never given that option, was he? The title of hero has been thrust upon him since he was young. It felt like there was never a time where the fate of the world wasn’t on his shoulders, even before Misty Island. Everyone knew it would be him, that he was the one that would protect them one day, to be a pillar of hope. The stories his Uncle told of heroes in glimmering armor and triumphant ballads about their exploits, of the praises and loyalty that outlived them — it didn’t take much for it all to stick with him. Suddenly, the heroes in his stories started to resemble them, and he put his all into becoming just like them. Hours of training on the beach, of punching palm trees until his knuckles bled and testing the limits of his body with eco vents. He was the hero. That was all he ever knew.

Until now.

While his Uncle read him heroic adventures like scripture, Samos warned him of villains like omens. How power corrupted heroes until they were blinded by their own selfish gains. Visions clouded by vengeance and hatred, dripping off the heroes until it poisons everything they touched. That’s why Samos kept him occupied with chores around the villages. It was to humble him, to remind him that his first and only duty was to protect the people. The fucked up part was that Jak didn’t need to be reminded of it because he wanted to protect people. It’s why he saved Daxter as kids from a feral pack of lurker puppies, and why he didn’t hesitate for a second to help any of the villagers with whatever tasks they needed. He loved helping people. Did he like the feeling of being Sandover’s golden boy? Of course he did. He was fifteen — what young teenager didn’t crave the approval and praises from adults?

At least, he did. Right up until Haven.

No one believed in heroes in Haven, much less one in the package of a psycho escaped convict. To them, heroes and saviors died out long ago. To them, heroes and saviors didn’t exist because if they did, why would they let Baron Praxis rule? A leader that held the city in his iron fist, reminding them that all it took was one swift crunch to snuff them all out. It was in banners that advised them to obey, in broadcasts that cooed about the dangers of a world without his regime, in the insignias that shun proudly on his militia guards. Even without the propaganda, Jak doubts the citizens of Haven would see him as a hero. He was nothing like their beloved Mar. To them, he was just another one of Baron Praxis’ defactors. Another angry orphan running around the streets of Haven, a boogeyman waiting in the shadows and playing with the forbidden forces of dark eco. A devil that has come to reap their souls. A rabid crocadog that needed to be put down. There was some freedom in exile, however. He didn’t have to compare his actions to those who were stronger than him, didn’t have to force himself to resemble those who never knew the bite of having their own bodies turn against them. He could shed the label of a hero, a champion, a savior. He was no longer the hero he used to be. He died in a cold, concrete cell, bleeding out and subcoming to the eco that he was forced to channel, silent as a mouse. What was reborn in his wake was brought into the world with a scream and a vow.

So what’s it going to be? He thought to himself, The golden boy you used to be or the eco freak you have become?

“I want to contact my friends,” he told the woman, “Do you have a communicator around here?”

The tavern keeper jutted her chin out towards a hallway near the counter of food. He thanked her and shook Daxter awake. The ottsel fought him for a second, then sat up with a dramatic yawn that was far larger than Jak thought was warranted. Once Daxter was lucid enough, Jak pushed a mug of water towards him and told him he was going to try to reach Torn on the tavern’s communicator.

Well. It wasn’t a communicator. It took him asking the butcher, the baker, and the fucking candlestick maker — he can’t wait to leave — for help to dial the number for the Underground. It rang for a few moments before he heard Torn picking up, almost making Jak weep at the sound of a familiar voice. He thought Hell would have to freeze over before he would ever be relieved to be screamed at by his boss. “—is this? ….. —stricted li— …. Who—” Torn’s voice wavered in and out of the static, whatever words he was able to make out were distorted and off. He struggled to make out what Torn was saying, pressing the device tightly against his ear, but the attempt was futile. It sounded like he was muffled by white noise. Nevertheless, Jak had gotten through and he was going to try to communicate to the best of his ability.

“Torn, it’s Jak. We’re in a forest on the outskirts of Haven. My communicator is dead and my morph gun is broken, but the Kid is safe. Even Daxter and the crocadog and I know you don’t care about our statuses, but I need you to know I’m keeping him safe. We’re trying to get out as quickly as possible, and I can’t give you coordinates … I’m going to get us out of here, I promise. Stay low in the meantime. Don’t let the others know we’re lost, it’ll only cause more panic,” he waited to hear anything through the static. There were a couple of choked off mutters from Torn and another voice, but he couldn’t place it. Jak sighed. “We’ll try again soon. Over and out,”

Jak hung up the device back to how it was when he found it. The storm must make it impossible to get a signal through, and they’ve wandered so far from Haven, he doubts the rickety contraption could pick up anything within the mile. What was important was that Torn heard his voice at least. That should indicate that he’s alive for the most part. Jak pressed his forehead on the wall.

He felt the jitters creeping back into him. His hands shook, his stomach cramped, and he couldn’t shake the nausea. He felt so empty — hallowed out and gutted. Pressing a hand to his chest, he could feel his heartbeat thump out of his ribcage. He breathed in and massaged his sternum, running his fingertips along the difference in textures that he could keep under his shirt. The Kid was okay, that’s what was important. He was okay. They were okay. He can deal with everything else once Mar is safely back with Kor. He can do this.

Leaning back, he turned his head to find the tavern keeper in front of him. Her broom seemed glued to her hand, holding it like a staff while her other hand was a fist on her hip. She didn’t look too pleased with him. “Are you going to tell me who you are or not? I try not to discriminate, ya know, Lord knows the highway man is in here more times than not. So if yer worried about me sayin’ something, don’t,”

“You know this is harassment, right?” Jak hissed at her. He tried to walk past her, but she moved in front of him each time. She made it clear he wasn’t going anywhere. “Why do you care so much about who or what I am, anyways?”

The tavern keeper chuckled without a hint of amusement. “Look around ya. I’m the only person here runnin’ this tavern. I make it my business to know who's comin’ and whose goin’. So. Who are you?”

Jak snarled at her, coming to stand a hair’s length from her. She was shorter than him by a couple inches, yet her chest was puffed out and her look was severe. This was a woman who had to knock a couple heads to survive in the past, something Jak knew well himself. He wanted to push her aside and leave, putting his faith in knowing that Daxter and Mar would follow behind. Storm be damned, he wasn’t going to stick around while a bunch of strangers tried to shove labels down his throat. What did it matter? In the grand scheme of it all, when Havenites look back at the great coup wherein the House of Mar took back the throne with their boy king, he won’t even matter. He’ll fade into the shadows, disappear into the allies without a trace. With any luck, they’ll chalk him up as a bad nightmare — a terrible poltergeist who they successfully exorcized from the city before he took the entire place down with him. Daxter, Keira, and Samos would go back to Sandover and forget the last two years ever happened. They could tell the villagers Jak died heroically in battle or alone in a cell, he didn’t give a single fuck. There was no place for him back in the village, that much he knew.

Jak closed his eyes. He didn’t like this fantasy as much as the first one.

The tavern keeper didn’t wait for him to reply. “Here, lemme explain it to you in a way you might understand: Who we are is important. It gives us an identity, but it also gives us purpose. See that fella in the apron by the fireplace? That’s the toymaker. It’s what he does. It’s who he is. It’s his purpose. Everythin’ you need to know about him is laid out for you already. He’s the toymaker, he makes toys. When he’s in here, that’s all he has to be. We ain’t askin’ him to be anything different. Now take me. I’m the tavern keeper, I keep the tavern. This sumbitch goes up in flames, I’m still the tavern keeper. I’ll be remembered as such until the day I kick the bucket,” the tension seeped away from her shoulders, and the tavern keeper’s eyes softened as she looked the teen up and down. “You have this look in yer eyes. I’ve seen it before, and people who got that look … they don’t last long around these parts,”

“What look?” Jak croaked out. For a second, a moment, he forgot he could speak.

“The kinda look that means The Beast ain’t far behind,”

“If someone mentioned the fucking Beast around me one more time—”

“Hey, hey, hey! Watch yer language, kid. I ought to tan your hide for that,” she continued, “I’m tellin’ ya what I know. The Beast is real, as real as you or me. Trust me, I ain’t the sort that believes in fairytales. If I’m tellin’ ya that The Beast is real, I’m tellin’ ya because it’s comin’ for ya. Both of ya,”

Jak eyed her for a moment. She was weird, and off putting, but the tavern keeper looked more sane than the Wastelander had. She was concerned for their safety, but it wasn’t in the superficial and nefarious way that Hin displayed. The tavern keeper, for all her insistence, seemed to be a genuine ally in these woods.

It’s been a long time since someone expressed genuine concern for him.

Whatever the threat was, it had to be substantial enough for her to feel the need to warn him. It seemed like everyone in this place knew about The Beast, and from what he can tell, they were all scared shitless by it. It wouldn’t be the strangest thing to be out in these woods, not after the things they’ve encountered in the last few days. “What makes you say that?”

“You ain’t from around here, I gather. The Beast has been stalking these woods for years. It lurks in the woods lookin’ for kids like you lot — those who strayed away from home. Only it ain’t gonna let you get back. It’ll do anything, say anything — whatever it takes to make sure you stay long enough until your will spoils and you’re ripe for its takin’. I’ve seen it happen … more times than you know.” her eyes darkened, and her voice dropped to a harsh whisper, “Don’t give up. Don’t let that child out of your sight for even a moment. And whatever you do, child, don’t let it trick you with its lies,”

Jak nodded. It was more or less the same warning the Wastelander gave them on their first night. Perhaps his initial instinct was wrong and the tavern keeper was a couple of screws loose. “Okay. Thank you for that,” he said, stepping to the side only for her to block him again.

“Ah, ah, ah. Tit for tat, kid. I told you somethin’, now it’s your turn. Who are you?”

He could lie. Just say that he’s a hero, or a criminal. A savior, or a pariah. Neither felt correct, but he could just feign ignorance to get her off his back. He could, but he won’t. “I don’t know,” he whispered, “I used to be a hero in my old village. I spent my whole life being a hero, it was my calling. It was all I knew and it felt right. Then I … bad things happened, and I let it get to me. A hero doesn’t let shit like that get to him. A hero adapts and overcomes. They’re still good. I don’t feel … good. I didn’t adapt or overcome anything, I let it all just … fester inside. It feels like any day now I’m going to cough up all the rot and decay and puss and bile inside me until there’s nothing left. I haven’t felt alive since I’ve been free and I know I should be grateful … but sometimes … sometimes, when all that festering bubbles up, I wish I was still in that cell.

I wish I was still behind five inches of steel and three security checkpoints so I’d never hurt another person again. Everytime I close my eyes, I see their faces and I think ‘That should’ve been me. I deserved it more than them. Why did they die and I’m still here?’. I’ve prayed. I’ve prayed and begged and I’ve cursed those fucks in the sky and not one of them have had to balls to face me. They took everything away from me, and they won’t even look me in the eyes. Everyone that use to count on me thinks I’m a monster now—”

“And you’re a good judge of character? Ha! Look at you! People say you get angry and … change. Besides, the Jak I knew wouldn’t be working for a guy like Krew!”

“Great yakkow horns! What happened to you, Jak?!”

“— and I can’t even blame them! Who wants some … some animal running around the city terrorizing them? Everyone in the city thinks I’m better off dead. I’m too far gone to be a hero anymore, but … I can’t bring myself to be a villain either. I’m just … I’m nothing,”

The tavern keeper sighed, then put a hand on his shoulder. Her fingers squeezed his shoulder as if to get his attention. “It sounds like you’ve been dealt a pretty miserable hand in life, and if no one has told you this, then let me be the first: It ain’t your fault, kid. None of it. Spend enough time getting told yer a worm, you eventually start to believe it. Just do me a favor? Fuck ‘em. So what they think you’re no hero? They sound like they wouldn’t know their heads from their asses. ‘Sides, who said you ain’t a hero? Dollars to donuts, those heroes were more fucked in the head than you were. They just don’t write those parts down. I ain’t never heard of a hero tellin’ their own tale, that’s for sure,'' she paused, winking at him as she took her hand off his shoulder, “Except for now, of course. Don’t you argue with me, boy, listen to someone who knows a thing or two. Even if the entire world hates you, you got a little brother in here that looks at ya with stars in his eyes. It doesn’t matter if they don’t think you’re a hero, you’re already a hero to him. I’d say that’s worth more than all the gold in the world, wouldn’t you?”

Jak couldn’t help a small smile. He still wasn’t convinced completely — two years of getting told he’s a worm, Jak has learned to dig himself deep into the Earth where no one would ever dream of finding him. It was going to take more than one person’s testimony to clear the guilt and self-loathing, but he’d also be a liar if he didn’t admit that his chest did feel a little fuller.

Mar probably didn’t think much of him. He’s been passed around so many hands, Jak wouldn’t be surprised if the faces all blurred together and the voices all sounded like static. Despite this, however, Jak knew the kid trusted him more than anyone in Haven. It was an honor, he decided, to be beloved by Mar. To be loved by Daxter. He was still loved by Keira and Samos — even if they were still processing the extreme changes he had undergone. He never thought to think of it that way. It wasn’t the whole world he wanted to serve, it was the select few that made it all worth it. He looked over the tavern keeper’s shoulder to get a look at Mar. Ice ran down his spine and he shakily screamed the boy’s name into the tavern, silencing the music and merriment.

Mar was gone.

Jak left Mar in charge of crocadog — Highway Man — again. He woke him up before leaving just so Mar could have company. Mar didn’t mind the responsibility. He was a big boy. Papa always called him his little warrior. Mar thought it was because Papa didn’t like the idea of him growing up. Papa wanted Mar to stay little forever, which was dumb, because Mar wanted to be big enough to reach the petals of the cars so he can race like the other big kids.

Mar had just finished his meal when he heard a noise outside. The rain was still pounding, but Mar hadn’t heard a single boom since they arrived at the tavern. It sounded like singing. He leaped off the stool to go investigate, but the toymaker stopped him almost immediately. “Where do you think you’re going, Kiddo?” he asked, bending down to be at eye level with the boy, “Bored, huh? Well, I have just the thing to cheer you up!”

The old man reached into his pocket and pulled out tiny wooden versions of Mar and Jak. They were wonky — Jak’s hair was too short and Mar had one arm shorter than the other — but the child was immediately enamored by them. He held his hands out gingerly, thanking the man in sign as he cradled the two to his chest.

”Hello Mar!” they whispered, “Come play with us, Mar!”

Mar furrowed his eyebrows. The old man couldn’t hear them talking, and that was fine by him, but the singing was getting louder. As much as he wanted to sit back down and play, he had a duty to protect Highway Man. Whoever it was out there, they might know a way back to the city. He had to get back. Kor promised that when they opened the tomb, he’ll be able to go back to living with Papa in Spargus. The sooner they do that, the sooner he’ll be home. He was about to shoulder past the old man when another man holding a candle came along.

“Toymaker! I’m glad I’ve run into you, old chap! You see, I had a phenomenal idea the other night that I’d love to pick your brain about …” and Mar saw his opportunity.

He made a mad dash for the door, Highway Man right behind him. As long as he had Highway Man, he’ll be safe. Outside, the forest was dark and stretched far beyond what Mar could see, but there was a glow coming from within it. It was yellow and fuzzy, easily letting him see the tree trunks around it. There was someone there. The singing was definitely coming from the woods. It sounded like the nice woman they met yesterday with the black hat and pretty eyes. Mar liked her. Maybe it was her again.

Checking both ways before crossing the dirt road, Mar ran into the forest line toward the singing. Highway Man’s paws pitter pattered behind him, dragging up muck and rain water. Jak might be grumpy later that Mar got his new shoes dirty, but that was his fault. He should’ve let Mar be barefoot. Bare feet were easier to clean than shoes, everyone knew that. He chased the glow coming from the trees as it bobbed until Mar could make out the sound of chopping. Chop. Chop. Chop. Oh, no. It was the Wastelander again.

Mar bit back his disappointment at not seeing his funny friend again, though the Wastelander was probably a better find. He knew a lot about the forest, at least enough to make it all the way here from where they last saw him. He did say he would help them once his work was done. Mar decided it was best to approach him from the front, he didn’t want to scare him while he was holding an ax.

Mar! You scared me half to death, little man. Don’t sneak up on people with weapons, that’s how accidents happen.

He looked up at the tree the man was cutting and he froze. It was tall and not like the other trees. He’s seen enough trees by now to know the difference. This one was sickly, but strong. It bent unnaturally, like it fought hard not to sprout. That wasn’t what terrified him, though. It was the faces. It was covered in empty eyes and opened mouths with the same black stuff dripping out of it. Each face looked twisted in fear, begging someone to put it out of its misery. The Wastelander swung his ax at it, and the blade caught on one of the eye holes, ripping it to splinters when he tugged it back. Mar started to regret his decision.

“Halt!” the old man yelled, swinging his lantern around to face him. Mar tried to back up, but his foot hit a root and he fell backwards. His coat was dirty now too. The crocadog — Shoes — growled at the Wastelander, snarling and dripping spit down his teeth. Mar doesn’t know why all he can think about is how mad Jak is going to be at him. The Wastelander approached him, and Mar scrambled backwards to get away. “I told you to leave these woods! Don’t you know the Beast is upon you?!”

Shoes continued to bark loudly, mixing with the rain and the Wastelander’s shouting. Mar kept slipping in the mud, falling to his elbows and eventually curling up to protect himself. He should’ve never left the tavern without Jak. He should’ve never followed the man with the flower. He should’ve listened to Papa and stayed inside.

He just wanted to be like Mar.

The sounds of footsteps were the only warning he got before something leaped over him, then a grunt of pain coming from Wastelander as Mar heard, “GET AWAY FROM HIM!”

Mar peered up from under his arms to see Jak standing in front of him, struggling with the Wastelander to take his ax. The Wastelander lashed out, catching Jak in the nose with a wayward punch. He didn’t back down though. Quickly, Jak ran at the man and caught by the waist, both falling to the floor in a tangle of limbs for a second before Jak was on top of him, bringing his fist down on the man. A soft paw touched his arm and Mar jumped, making out the shape of Shoes. “Let’s get out of here!” the dolls cried from his pocket. They sounded serious. Mar bit his lip to stop it from quivering. “C’mon, let’s get out of here!”

Mar forced himself to take off running, though Shoes didn’t follow. He remained behind them, growling and barking at the fight that broke out between the Wastelander and Jak. Eventually, Shoes must’ve realized he wasn’t going to be much help by standing around while Jak rolled in the mud with the old man, and the crocadog lunged to latch onto the man’s pant leg. But Shoes was little, and his mouth wasn’t big enough to do any real damage. The Wastelander flailed under Jak trying to throw him off, kicking Shoes in the process. Mar gasped, rushing to his best friend’s aide. He heard the dolls begin to argue about it, but a sharp intake from Jak was all the reassurance he needed to run to his side.

The Wastelander managed to get a hand free and caught Jak in the ribs with the back of the ax. Mar watched as the teen faltered, allowing the older man to kick him off with a boot to the stomach. Mar has seen Jak take on people much larger than him, with and without the gun. It was strange seeing him go down so easily, and it scared Mar. What if something was wrong with Jak? Was he sick? Last time Mar was sick, he felt sleepy and lazy. He didn’t even have the energy to play with his army men.

Shoes tried again to rush at the Wastelander, and this time succeeded at digging his sharp teeth into the man’s ear. He howled, struggling to pull the crocadog off him. Shoes distracted him long enough for Jak to kick the lantern out of the man’s hands. The glass shattered instantly. Oil and flames spilled out of the canister, spreading quickly along the forest floor and cast them all in complete darkness. It crawled up the horrific tree instantly. The heat of the flames warmed his cheeks.

Mar reached out to where he heard Shoes panting, feeling soft fur beneath his hands. He hugged the animal close to him, squinting to find Jak in the dark. Shoes growled, his entire body vibrating from the force of it and Mar looked up in time to see branches moving above them. Two, shimmering white eyes stared down at them from among the brush. It was coming for them, and Mar couldn’t scream. It locked up in his throat. He wanted to say something, anything. It suddenly rushed at them.

Mar squeezed his eyes shut as Shoes started snapping his mouth at the shadow. Thankfully, a pair of strong arms wrapped around them just before it reached both of them. Jak’s breathing was shallow and hoarse, his heart beating loudly in Mar’s ear as he held the boy and crocadog tight, running as fast as he could to get them out of the woods. The tavern’s light glowed behind them as they ran off into the night. Mar cracked an eye open, a pair of white ones staring back at him from the emptiness of the forest.

The singing had started again.

Chapter Text

“Well, this place is certainly snazzy,” Daxter spun around the tiled floor, smiling at his own reflection staring back at him from the shiny marble. The place was huge, standing out like a sore thumb in the middle of a field and swamplands that Daxter doesn’t even remember seeing until they realized they were walking on cobblestones and not dirt. The rain never relented on their trek and everyone in their party was dripping wet. Seeing this fucking palace in the distance felt like a miracle. They weren’t going to waste the opportunity.

The gates were golden and embellished, thankfully enough that allowed Jak to climb the gates using the twisted leaves and vines as footsteps. All the while Daxter stayed behind with the Kid’s hand caught around his in a vise. He doubts the Kid will make a run for it again, though they couldn’t be sure considering how the last time went. Soon enough, the gates clicked open and Jak resumed responsibility over the Kid, picking him like a sack of potatoes.

Now that they were inside, Daxter was bewitched by the absolute luxury this place was exuding. All carved sconces and gold accents that made him want to weep with envy. Why would anyone build something so magnificent and leave it abandoned in the middle of the forest like this? Everything was tended to, even down to the curtains being completely dust free. Seriously, who had the time to dust the curtains?

“At least it's a roof,” Jak sighed, though the dripping sound coming from somewhere in the entrance hall didn’t really help his case. It seemed like the only flaw in an otherwise flawless mansion. It looked freakishly old, older than anything they’ve encountered thus far in this place. Daxter almost wept when he peered into the next room and found a grand fireplace with couches and a soft rug waiting for them. They were calling out to him like a siren, beckoning him with the promise of the best rest in his entire little life.

Daxter nodded in agreement. “You and I have squatted in worst. Remember that time we slept in that ditch? Oh, oh, and that one particularly lovely pipe in the Pumping Station? Look at us now. Moving on up in the world of class,”

“Yeah, we really made it,”

The Kid tugged at Jak’s hand, pointing at the darker parts of the house. Oh, absolutely not. “Oh, no you don’t! You’re grounded, you little terror. I don’t need you somehow stumbling into a nest of metalhead eggs next, my heart hasn’t recovered from the last time you got loose!”

It was like a weird secret talent. Every time Daxter looked away for half a second, the Kid was getting himself into bigger trouble than the last. There’s only so much Daxter could do when the Kid was taller than he was, honestly. Samos and Kor just loved to pawn the Kid off on the first person they saw, and Daxter was starting to see why.

While Jak fumbled with the stones to ignite the fireplace, Daxter sat the child in front of him and stared. He wasn’t going to give him the slip this time. He was well-rested and focused, there was no way that kid was going to go anywhere near a puddle with an exposed wire or something. The Kid didn’t look too happy with the development, mirroring Daxter’s crossed arms and scowling down at him. He kicked his feet wildly, and if the ottsel didn’t know any better, he’d say the Kid was trying to knock him down. Nice try. Daxter was a veteran-ed Jak Babysitter. A card carrying member of the one man army that dedicated itself to dragging the blonde idiot back from any and all danger. Anything the Kid could pull, Daxter has seen every single iteration of it. He still hasn’t completely forgiven Jak for when he chucked a handful of sand in his face and darted off toward the yellow fin poking out of the water. When Samos found out, he made them both scrub his floors for a week straight because why didn’t you stop him, Daxter?

Call it some fucked up kind of maternal instict, Daxter took it upon himself to make sure the hero of Sandover didn’t go too far. He can’t be out doing hero stuff if he’s six feet under, now can he? If anything, Daxter was the real hero around here. Though he had to hand it to him, Jak did wise up in the two years they haven’t seen each other. He didn’t run quite as fast into danger as he usually did. That’s not to say that Jak still wouldn’t try to go hand to hand with a metalhead seven times his size, but at least this time he was wearing steel toed boots. That's an improvement if you asked him.

The fire roared to life behind him, but he didn’t turn around to look. Jak was walking around somewhere behind him. Even without looking at him, Daxter could feel him just itching to go and explore the place. He didn’t protest though when the teen sat down heavily on the sofa, shedding his soaked cloak and taking off his goggles. Green tendrils immediately fell forward around his face. If Daxter squinted — which he won’t because that’s the exact thing the Kid is waiting for — Jak would look exactly like the painting hanging above the fireplace.

It was of a woman sitting in a study, a book open in her lap but her gaze boring holes into the view. She looked bored and annoyed. It was as if someone had interrupted her reading and snapped a picture of her. Everything about her oozed sophistication and class, every single bow and frill of her dress was perfect. Even through a painting, you can tell she was adorned in the finest silks and velvets. She would’ve been perfect if not for the way her hair hung around her temples and cheeks, curling around her jaw and drawing attention to plump lips set in a thin line. It was both gorgeous and eerie to look at, especially with the fireplace’s glow illuminating her dark face until it gave off its own ghostly illumination, casting everything around her in shadows.

And that was on Daxter’s very limited exposure to fine art during his years in Haven.

The Kid sneezed loudly. “Ha! I win! You blinked first!” Daxter cheered. It earned him a hard kick to the stomach from the Kid, but he managed to dodge it quickly enough. “Hey! Ja-ak! The Kid is touching me!”

Am not!

“Are too!”

“Children, behave,” Jak grumbled softly. Now that they had a proper lightsource, Daxter caught on to why Jak hadn’t said anything since they evaded the Wastelander. His body was slumped against one of the arm rests, tucking himself into the corner of the sofa and dropping his head back on the back of it. His eyes were sunken in, two pools of blue standing out against dark circles. Even his skin looked paperthin. Pale and ashen.

“You okay, pal? You’re looking a little rough there,” Daxter waited for a reply, but Jak just shrugged a shoulder at him.

Daxter wasn’t stupid, despite the amount of times his foot ends up in his mouth. He’s a jester, not an imbecile. It didn’t take a genius either to see what was happening. For months now, Daxter has been observing Jak with a closer lens than he had two years ago. There wasn’t much to do riding around a shoulder, but it did give him an almost direct point of view of his best friend. Try as he might, Jak can’t hide things from Daxter. At least not for very long. Things like injuries from touching live rounds from his morph gun too soon or annoyance radiating off him when Torn chewed him out after a mission were hard to mask from Daxter. It’s hard to hide your emotions from the guy who had a PhD in Jak-isms, and he can tell Jak wasn’t letting on exactly how he felt. It was more than just getting lost in the forest. Far more than that.

The Kid was starting to nod off. He was horizontal on the couch, a foot resting on Jak’s knee while his other leg was hanging off the seat. Chin tucked into his chest and his beloved sewer mutt next to him, the Kid fought it off as much as he could before the day's events caught up with him. Daxter’s shoulders relaxed the moment the Kid started to softly snore. “Phew! I thought we were gonna have to sing him a lullaby or something. Remember when we had to do that to you, Jak? You’re lucky I’m a great singer or else you’d never … Jak?”

The blonde was slumped over and snoring along with the Kid, a hand placed on his ankle. That was good enough security for Daxter, especially when the child’s foot spasmed and Jak’s fingers instinctively twitched. He stretched as he stood up, reaching for the ceiling until his spine popped and breathed a sigh of satisfaction. Now all he’s got to do is make sure none of them wake up for at least an hour. The rain was still pouring outside, and the treeline was far enough that Daxter would be able to clock anything coming at them with enough time to beat them off. Speaking of …

He scaled his friend and undid the clock around his shoulders. With careful movements, he pushed at Jak’s shoulder until he got the idea and shifted in his sleep to comfortably rest on his left side. The morph gun was in its usual sheath behind Jak’s back, buckled in around the trigger guard to keep it in place. It was clean and pristine, protected under the cloak from the rain and mud. He unclipped it carefully. In the aftermath of his time in prison, Jak had evolved from a heavy sleeper who could sleep through a Lurker attack to a light sleeper that would rouse the minute the air around him shifted. Part of it, Daxter thought, was probably from being on the run and having his guard up all the time in case they needed to bolt from metalheads and Krimzon Guards. The other part, Daxter knew, was definitely from wanting to be ready for when his cell door was unlocked so he’d have a fighting chance. He never told Daxter in so many words about that, but again, he has a PhD in Jak-isms. He can see them a mile away.

It was a testament to how exhausted he was when Jak didn’t so much as twitch a muscle when the morph gun came free from the holster. Daxter jumped down with the gun held to his chest and walked back to the fire. He sat with his back to the fireplace, using the limited light to take the gun apart — Thank you, Tessy-poo — and started figuring out why it didn’t shoot a couple days ago. Every so often he’d glance up to check on the sleeping trio. Every other minute though, Daxter would look over his shoulder at the portrait of the woman who looked down at him, her expression calculating, as if deciding when to strike and scare the piss out of him.

Jak tethered on the edge. He was high, high up. It was higher than he’d ever dare to go. The Sentinels would have to do it for now. The palm trees in the village only went so high, and Samos would’ve chewed him out if he ever tried to get on the roof of his hut. He couldn’t help it, though. It called to him like a siren, it rattled his bones and bounced in his head. There had to be more than the village. There was a whole world outside the cliff faces and past the horizon, he knew there was. His Uncle told him all about the different lands he’s seen, the faces that shifted and changed day by day with no two ever alike, the exotic animals that looked straight out of a picture book. Somewhere beyond it might be his home.

He wasn’t stupid. Samos and his Uncle needed to coordinate their stories better. Over the years, Jak has heard them all: His parents died when he was just a baby, he was given to the green sage to hone his incredible powers, the Precursors blessed them all with a hero born of the sand and sea, he was adopted by his Uncle while on an expedition, he was found wandering alone … every time he asked, he never got a straightforward answer. He loved his Uncle dearly, but Jak felt the tug of the unknown tug at him.

He had a vague idea of what home meant. He’d seen flashes in his dreams. There were thunderstorms so violent it shook the ground under him. It was having the wind whip in your face as you ran faster than even blue eco allowed. It was safe. Not in the boring, nothing ever happens sort of way like Sandover, but in the way that Jak imagined Keira felt when Samos hugged her when she had a nightmare about Lurker sharks. His heart ached to think of what home would be like if he ever went back.

Would it yawn open to him? Would it remember him after ten years of absentia? Would it feel like his chest was about to burst with happiness and acceptance? What about his parents? Did they think about him? Long for him the same way he longed for them? Would he be able to pinpoint the exact features on their face that he saw on his own when he leaned over the fountain in the middle of town? Would they even want to see him?

Jak tethered on the edge, but instead of looking over the horizon, he looked down. In the sandy shore, Daxter waved his arms at him wildly. He was shouting up at him, a smile split across his face. Jak had broken his arm a month ago, and it was the first day Samos gave him a clean bill of health to play after four weeks of rigorous green eco treatments. No one was more excited about his arm healing than Daxter, who immediately declared they were going to have a beach day to make up for lost time. Keira begged them to let her come along. Daxter put up a half-hearted argument that it was boys only, but eventually agreed to let her come along, grumbling how he was stuck babysitting both of them the whole way to the beach. Jak didn’t mind if Keira came along. She was funny and could hold her own while rough housing. They didn’t have to hold their punches when it came to her, unlike the other children who passed through Sandover once in a while.

Both of them were calling his name. Chanting it like a rite as he swayed on the edge of the ledge. He could feel moss and salt under his feet. He wasn’t afraid to jump into the water below. He wasn’t afraid of anything, really.

He reeled backwards, going and going until his heel felt the drop off of the last step behind him. Without a second thought, he ran as fast as he could to the ledge and pushed off. For a moment he was flying, gliding in the air and if he thought hard enough, he could pretend he was leaping across the entire ocean in one jump alone.

Daxter and Keira cheered and screamed out jumbled “I got you!”s as he stopped flying and started to fall. Except, when he looked down, the ocean was gone. He could still hear his best friends, but they were lost in the void under him. His heart pounded, then stilled as he realized what was lurking in the void. Tendrils of violet and magenta danced above the surface, the smell of bitter almonds and rust hitting him immediately as he got closer. He didn’t even have the time to scream before he plummeted deep into an abyss, swallowing him whole as if he never existed at all.

Jak sat up before he was even fully awake. The dream clung to him still, though he could feel it dispersing on its own when he tried to remember what it was that made him break out into a cold sweat. He tried shifting back and forth for a most comfortable position, but his body was already awake and ready to go.

The fireplace was still on, and Mar was asleep next to him on his side of the couch. The child had his thumb in his mouth, holding onto the crocadog like it was a large, scally teddy bear. On the rug in front of the fireplace, Jak found Daxter using his morph gun as a pillow and sucking his own thumb as well. He suppressed a chuckle as he stood up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. With the overcast clouds and unrelenting rain, he couldn’t tell how long he or Mar had been asleep. The logs on the fire were still being eaten away by the fire, so he doesn’t think it was long.

The mansion creaked against the wind outside, and when Jak looked through the open doors into the next door, he found that it was just as lavish and adorned as the foyer was. He searched his brain for a comparison, only coming up with describing the place as grand as the Westside hotel in Haven that Daxter has told him about. Despite a thin layer of dust, the house looked lived in, just like the old grist mill had.

Glancing back at the sleeping trio, Jak thought it wouldn’t hurt if he wandered around a little. His body wasn’t going to let him sleep anymore than he already got once he was awake, so might as well explore a little. He ventured past the parlor into the next room.

Every room almost looked like the repeat of the one before, only with different furniture and the barest hints of function. Besides sitting places, bookshelves, fireplaces, and statue heads, Jak didn’t spot any diversity. There did seem to be a bit of the history of the owner sprinkled throughout. There were paintings that depicted hunters with dogs rushing into the forest, others had said dogs circle large creatures that Jak had never seen before. He’d come across one or two of the creatures stuffed and standing in corners. Jak scoffed at the idea. He never liked hunters. His Uncle used to tell him about brutes who would travel to the furthest reaches of the planet just to kill the animals that lived there and for what? Trophies? Acolytes? Pride? It never sat well with him. If he was going to squat in the home of a hunter, he might as well take some things that would help them on their journey back to Haven.

It felt like hours before he hit a dead end of the home, walled off with a locked room that refused to open. He was going to have to turn back. Retracing his steps, Jak could see the glow of the fire from the room where he started off in and a little bit of Mar’s green hair poking out of his cap. He didn’t wander too far from them, and being able to see that the kid was still staying put relieved him. He never thought he’d ever reach an age where he’d understand Samos’ strict and protective nature, yet here he was. The trek back was as uneventful as the first, still passing by the stuffed animals that lurked in the corner and brushing his fingers along the embossed swirls and flowers that lined the walls. He passed the room with a short glance at the crew still sawing logs and reached the foyer to find that he had completely missed the grand staircase at the entrance. It was huge, and held every bit of awe as the rest of the house. At the top of the stairs, there was a portrait of a woman and a man, though the man’s painting looked to have been ripped around where his head would be. Only the woman’s face remained, stone-faced and watching the door.

Spooky.

Jak tested out the first step, taking each one as slowly as he could to test that it could hold his weight. When it did, he made his way up the stairs and rounded the corner to find a hall lined with doors. A part of his brain warned him against trying to look inside them, though it was quickly over powered by the part that makes the stupid decisions when it comes to exploring.

Just as his hand reached for the first doorknob, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Something moved, just at the end of the corridor. Jak snapped his head toward the movement, but found nothing other than flapping curtains. He ignored it, turned the knob and entered the room. The door groaned as it opened, loud and croaking in the emptiness of the house. The room looked to be a sort of hobby room with an easel and sketches pinned up on the walls, all in charcoal and smudged pastels. Pages upon pages were spewn across the floor and there was an overturned crate splattered in paint. It looked almost like the Sculptor's home — if it were hit by a massive hurricane.

What caught his eye, however, was the canvas shattered on the floor. It was shrouded with linen that had gone yellow with age and the stench of humid and mold was strong enough to reach him from the other end of the room. A strike of lightning illuminated the room in blinding white light, and Jak caught a glimpse of something metallic under the linen. He moved forward.

It was embedded in the canvas, struck straight through a thick blob of red paint. It was shiny enough to reflect the lightning, though the closer Jak got, the murkier the objects looked. It was heavily tarnished and dotted with rust, and when the teen went to pull it free, it felt like sandpaper. He tugged on it gently, though it didn’t giveaway immediately. Whatever it was, it was stabbed through the fabric and straight into the wooden leg of the easel behind it. A flash of lightning. A face in the object.

Jak forced it out, and holding it up in front of him, his heart nearly stopped frozen in his chest. His stomach went hollow. This was impossible. His distorted reflection stared back at him, severed in half by a brick that had chipped long, long ago. He swallowed thickly, the burn of Hin’s poison returning in a sour bile. The canvas, now free and sporting a gash, made a suckling noise in the darkness around him. The linen muted the sound, but Jak watched in horror as blood seeped out. It wept like an open wound, blossoming in vein-like branches until it saturated the entire canvas. The linen was next, soaked beyond repair as the blood continued to drip and slide and pool at the base of the easel. Distantly, Jak tried to ration with himself. He must’ve nicked an animal that was hiding behind the frame, he thought. The utensil was sharp and jagged, the sharpened point could’ve easily sliced a kangarat open. There had to be an explanation. He was so sick of being confused and lost, there had to be a logical explanation for the gallons of blood that. Please, there just had to be.

“It’s your fault,”

Jak slapped the back of his neck, rubbing away the sensation of breath. He twisted around to look behind him, but only found the open doorway and an empty hallway. He twisted back around, and was met with the same sight that greeted him when he first walked in. The canvas and linen were pristine and white, and the pages on the ground were untouched by the red that had begun to inch toward it. He ripped away the linen, throwing it to the side with more force than necessary, and the canvas followed suit. The unmarked, clean, smooth canvas.

The teen blinked. It was happening again.

His hand tightened to a fist, and there was nothing there. The broken spoon was gone. There were still more rooms to explore.

The process continued. Bedroom, sitting room, office, bedroom, play room, bedroom, bedroom. That is, until he reached the last door on the right side of the hall.

On the bed in the room, Jak could make out the silhouette of a woman. Her back was towards him, and she stood in front of the window that stretched high towards the ceiling.. The rain slammed against the glass like pebbles, the sound echoing off the walls in the darkness. He couldn’t make out much of her other than she was wearing scarlet red and cradling something in her arms. Jak didn’t feel any sense of urgency. He didn’t feel feverish with the need to escape, the dread of something he didn’t understand curling in his gut. He just felt stuck — standing at the door with his hand on the doorknob, unable and unwilling to move. The room felt … comforting? He knew he should be saying something. An apology for barging into her home, a snide remark, begging to let them stay just until the kid woke up, something.

The woman turned her head to the side, and he could see her profile when a distant flash of lightning rattled the room. A flat nose, plump lips, and tendrils of hair around her temples. Ah. It was her. He should’ve known. The flashes of red he’s been seeing, the eyes that watch him trek through the woods. He knew her. He’s known her since he was fifteen, a pained heap on the floor, breathing through the fire in his veins and quivering from the muscle contractions that seized through him. She first started off as just movement form the corner of his eye, then she made her first appearance as a reflection off a scalpel. He fully saw her standing behind Erol, blurry around the edges and out of place in the sterile environment. He saw her at night, standing at the foot of his cot while he sobbed into his hands. He begged her for help more times than he could count, only getting a blank expression in return as the injector powered up.

She was the first of many, many hallucinations. A figment of a broken mind trying to find comfort in a place where only horror and pain lived. He didn’t know what triggered her appearance, but he knew it wasn’t good if he was seeing her so clearly. He closed the door slowly, leaving his imagination to her musings.

He continued through the rest of the rooms, then started heading to the opposite wing of the house. The woman in red made herself seen only two more times: hiding in the end of the hall and standing in the corner of a piano room. She wasn’t the worst hallucination he’d had. Though her presence left him confused and light headed, the woman in red didn’t do much in terms of tormenting him like the others loved to do. A hallucination of Daxter once left him a sobbing mess with a chest that ached more than the rounds of dark eco. A hallucination of Keira once stood and laughed the entire time Erol took his frustrations out on him, her wicked smile and tear streaked cheeks appearing in flashes timed by the Commander’s fist connecting with his face. A hallucination of Samos berated him, moaning about the lost potential and an entire life of training wasted on a dying child. In terms of mental distresses, the woman in red really was more of a weird decoration in a room. He hadn’t seen her in eons.

There was only one hallucination that really brought him to his knees. A door behind him creaked open, and he could hear thumping coming from within the room. It wasn’t awfully loud, a faucet that must’ve had a tricky handle that make it near impossible to full shut off. He took a few steps forward, but the door beckoned him again when it opened wider. Eventually, Jak’s curiosity had gotten the better of him and he pulled the door back further to look inside.

Standing in front of a grand mirror, Jak found onyx eyes staring back at him in the exact same way as his own. His own reflection was gone, replaced by a visage that he was plagued by every time he looked at a mirror. The monster in the mirror smiled wide, all fangs and teeth that were too pearly white for a mouth that has tasted more blood than anything ever should. It felt evil seeing it wearing the same cloak as Jak, holding a candle — where did Jak get a candle? — up to the glass in a parody of the teenager’s own pose. The creature was motionless, calm. It was still as it watched its prey, calculating the precise moment to strike for the jugular and take it down with its teeth deep in its prey’s neck. A metalhead or crocadog would give a swift bite to break a creature’s neck, granting it mercy in its final moment. This predator, however, didn’t know a thing about mercy. It was born in the death of innocence and hope, it was weaned on dark eco and suffering, and it grew stronger with every insult, every punch, every bolt from a baton, every nightmare. It only knew to kill and maim, but it loved to gnaw on the bones of its meal.

Jak just happened to be the most delicious.

The door behind him shut with a boom, and he was now alone in the dark with the monster. He tried to hold still, mimicking the monster in hopes of … what exactly? That it’ll be swift? That it won’t see him? No, it saw everything he did. No matter what corner of his mind that Jak tried to shove it into, the monster always found a way to squirm out when he least expected it. He was just a kangarat caught in a glue trap, and he desperately wanted to gnaw his foot off to get away from the hungry feline lurking in the pantry.

The monster leaned forward, cocked its head to the side and never, ever, blinked. When it spoke, it sounded like that of a dead man. It croaked and shattered, sucking in air as if choking to death, but not phased at the possibility of impending doom. “Nice of you to join us,” it said.

The flame in Jak’s hand flickered wildly. His hand shook as it curled blunt fingers into the wax, hoping the sensation of it under his fingernails would keep him here. Jak felt the room around him slipping away, his mind tugging at the last of his resolve as he fought to stay here, stay in the now. He wasn’t there anymore. Daxter got him out six months ago. It wasn’t a hallucination, it wasn’t a dream, it wasn’t a trick — it was Daxter. Flesh and bone. He wasn’t there anymore. Daxter got him out six months ago. It wasn’t a hallucination, it wasn’t a dream, it wasn’t a trick — it was Daxter. Flesh and bone. He wasn’t there anymore. “You’re not real,” Jak managed to get out, breath now coming out in gasps and pants.

“No?”

The creature blew out Jak’s candle from behind the glass, and as the darkness took over, two clawed hands wrapped around his head and pulled him forward. His head felt like it was about to burst, and he struggled against the hands that held him, trying to pull them out. They released him abruptly, leaving him alone in the dark. He couldn’t even see his hand in front of him, and despite the fear of touching the monster, he thrusted his hands forward for something, anything to grab hold of. Where the mirror should’ve been was now just empty air. It was too late to regain balance and Jak was falling forward.

When he made contact with the ground, his hands came back tacky and wet. The room got instantly colder. Not the kind of cold that permeated the house from the cold rain outside, no, this cold was unique. It was the kind of cold that gripped your bones and made it hard to breathe, the temperature of someplace that never saw a ray of sunshine. It was industrial, metallic, almost chemically cold. It was sterile, kept that way to preserve the precious test fluids to keep it from spoiling too soon. Jak had been well acquainted with this kind of cold.

He scrambled to stand up, slipping in the damp stone flooring. He couldn’t see. There wasn’t even the sickly green light that came from the bars on the door. It was disorienting, being in the dark like this. He didn’t even know which way was up, only that he needed to get on his feet and get the hell out of there.

His back ended up contacting the back wall of the cell, smacking it on the stone and brick. He pulled away with a hiss, a hand flying to his head. He didn’t even hit it that hard, yet when he felt around behind his head, the hand came away warm and sticky.

“Welcome back, Kid,”

Jak knew that voice.

A crackle of purple lightning, and the owner of that voice was crouched in front of him.A surge of blue eco had the electricity coming to life around him. Bash always had a flair for the dramatic. She couldn’t enter a room without having the entire prison block know that she was back, throwing her hands up high and declaring that she lived to see another day. He always liked her, even if she had a pension for ignoring him whenever they were examined together. The others tolerated her, too preoccupied with their own impending doom to spare a moment of attention for her, but she always got her final moment of glory.

“Aw, you got cute!” she laughed, “I always liked blondes,” Bash reached out to touch a blonde curl, but the room blinked and a man appeared in the corner. He snarled at Bash, hairy lips curled and arms crossed over his chest.

“He’s no damn blonde. He’s just been out in the sun. He got out!” he scoffed, and started pacing the alcove near the door, “Didn’t rot in here like the rest of us!”

There was movement from the opposite corner, and Anttie propped her chin on her knees as she watched Brig. She frowned. “You’re scaring him, you brute. ‘S not his fault you shot a civilian and ended up here,”

“You’re one to talk, Anttie,” a face emerged from the darkness under the bed, red hair pooling around it like water, “What was it you did again? Oh, right, you took a lead pipe to your foreman’s skull,”

“Fuck you, Dreia,”

Bash rolled her eyes. Jak held his breath. Her fingers tapped his nose, leaving behind a dot of blood that he hastily wiped away. She wasn’t real, none of them were real. They were just memories, that’s all. Stubborn memories that refused to remain in the past, and his shitty brain loved to go digging up those old skeletons, because that’s what they were. They were skeletons. Remains of those he once knew, now buried somewhere that still burned his throat with bile to think about.

“You’re not here,” he growled at her, jutting his chin up, “You’re not real,”

“And who’s fault is that?” Brig snapped, pointing an accusatory finger at the teen. “You could’ve saved us! Seventy-five of us, and you could’ve saved each and every one of us if you weren’t selfish!”

“Brig! Enough! You were already too old for the experiments, you know that!”

“And what about you? Hm? What about Dreia!? Both of you were fit as fiddles!”

Anttie deflated, hanging her head as she suddenly found the ground in front of her fascinating. Dreia shook her head, hand still gripping the edge of the mattress as she remained still mostly under the cot. Eventually, she shrugged, “Brig’s got you there, princess,”

“Fuck you, Dreia!”

“Would you all quit squabbling?” Bash huffed in annoyance, slithering her body closer to Jak. The teen flinched backwards, this time managing to avoid the hole in the brick wall behind him. He considered kicking her, but in his experience, the hallucinations didn’t react to physical assaults. Usually, Daxter would help cut the visions short, but the ottsel was nowhere to be found. It was just Jak, standing before the jury of his own peers. “Brig is right. Look at you. You’re alive and free, and you still have the nerve to be unhappy. Fucking ingrate pup,”

“That’s not fair!”

“Go choke on your own vomit, Anttie, defending him won’t make you any less dead!” the woman growled. Her hand reached between the two of them, picking up the broken spoon from somewhere on the ground. The tip was sharp against his jaw, pressing into it with just the lightest amount of pressure. Jak swallowed thickly. He looked back at Anttie, now laying on the ground with her hands stretched out on both sides. Her prison clothes were stained with dirt and blood, and the air around them grew acidic. Foam dipped out from between her lips, sliding down her chin and landing on the floor in a steady stream. Milky eyes stared back at him, black veins pulsating under her pale skin as her lifeless body laid as nothing more than a facsimile of what used to be a person. She never stopped looking at him. The entire time she laid, gasping and sobbing as she tried to suck in air and drowning in her own sick, Anttie’s wide eyes pleaded at him for help. The eco never agreed with her, and the doctors all said that it was a miracle she lasted six months as it is. It was inevitable, they said, but Jak watched as the young woman struggled to live, fighting her own collapsing lungs to survive, and he knew that it was only inevitable because they tipped the scales of miracle and punishment in their own favor. Anttie’s death was due to negligence, left on the chair to die, knowing full well she was too weak to think straight. She didn’t mean to kill her factory foreman. She was just tired of working for scraps, and when he laid his hand on the small of her back, all that anger bubbled out of her and she killed him with the very baton they used on them countless times to improve productivity. She didn’t deserve to die like this for a mistake.

Jak bit back a sob. Anttie remained still, but her lips moved one last time to ask, “Did you even try to find my brother?” Even if he did find him, it wasn’t going to matter. The child was young, and an orphan, and Haven never did any favors for them. Jak didn’t need to hunt down someone he knew didn’t survive long without their caretaker. The teen shook his head, and Anttie died again.

Brig bent down to laugh in the dead girl’s face, chortling and chuckling in the same manner he was prone to do in the late hours of the night. It terrified Jak then, and it terrified him now. “I … I didn’t know. I’m sorry, I didn’t … I didn’t … mean to channel the eco,” he whispered, feeling the bite of the spoon, “Even if I told you, unless you were—”

“You should’ve said something!”

“If you were a channeler, you would’ve done it whether you wanted to or not!” Jak roared back at Brig.

“You know damn well that’s not what I’m talking about!” Jak gasped when the older man’s neck bent to the side with an eerie SNAP. The bedsheets coiled around his throat like snakes. They ruled it a suicide, but Jak was awake that night. His eyes traced the cracks of the wall in front of him as he heard the guards enter Brig’s cell, and he tried to conjure up the lines of poetry his Uncle used to read him as blow after blow after blow was landed. Brig was the biggest among them, but his bulk was no match for the steel and force of the guards. It was almost too easy, if he thought about it. Brig was a nuisance, constantly shouting slurs and insults towards the guards as they passed. Anttie once told Jak that he didn’t always used to be so volatile, but the dark eco was a devilish substance, and Brig was no match to ward off the insanity that crept up on him. He’d rant and rave, preaching from the gospel of madness as Dreia and Bash screamed at him to be silent, and Jak never liked hearing the hatred the man poured into each and every syllable. He didn’t like Brig, but he didn’t want to hear the man get beaten to death by his own comrades, his own coworkers who once saw him akin to a brother. Long drunken nights after grueling shifts together ended with Brig hanging from the rafters, left there to thud against the door of his cell for hours until Erol found him the next morning. They didn’t even bat an eye.

Brig’s body was pulled upwards, then dropped down again, the bedsheets now taut. His face, black and blue, went slack. “You could've said something,” then he gave a final raspy gasp, silencing forever.

Bash didn’t spare the older man a glance. She was too engrossed in watching the way Jak shook from having to keep his head still, straining his neck upwards to avoid the metal tip. Distantly, he thought about pulling out his knife from his boot and stabbing the woman in the thigh, but he wasn’t going to be able to grab it in time. Bash would plunge the spoon into his carotid artery without a second thought.

Dreia and Bash remained, both sets of eyes trained on him. “You were supposed to be a hero,” Bash spat, digging her other hand into the shell of his ear with a painful pinch. He was stuck between either leaning into the pain in his ear or the jagged edges of the spoon. They weren’t supposed to be able to hurt him. “We thought you were special. We thought you were going to get us out of there, but you left us to rot. In more ways than one,”

“You were so full of light,” Dreia whispered from under the cot, her voice fading into clicks and mutters. Her pale face nearly glowed in the surrounding dark, retreating into her makeshift fort. “We trusted you,”

“And look where that got us,”

Jak screamed as Bash pulled the knife away and slashed at her face. The blood shot out at him and coated his hands from where he tried to shield his eyes from the vision. He didn’t want to remember this. He had buried them all so deep, he was sure it would take millenia for them to manage to crawl out. He didn’t want to remember the bone-chilling night he woke up—

Jak came into consciousness slowly. The eco rounds were starting to get a little easier, but not by much. The substance still marinated within him, seeping into his tendons and viscera and gripping his organs tight enough that Jak was sure someone was squeezing his insides for fun. The sounds that woke him up were annoying at first, and he tried to roll over to his stomach in an attempt to go back to sleep. It was the first night he was able to sleep for more than fifteen minutes in three weeks. The nightmares had gotten visceral at that point, and when he spotted the top of Bash’s head from the small window on the door, he thought it was just another bad dream. Her pink hair was a bright pop of color in an otherwise bland and desaturated environment, and the child-like part of his brain that still clung to its innocence reacted positively to it. Like a moth to a flame, the teenager had walked towards the door.

He rubbed his eyes as he approached, wondering how Bash had gotten away with wandering freely about the prison without a guard posted by her side. It was late — or at least, he thought it was late. There wasn’t any natural light in the prison, and the only way to keep track was by the repetition of guards on duty. He peeked behind Bash’s head. There weren’t any guards he could see, but the window allowed for only a limited amount of visage.

The teen yawned as he tip-toed himself high enough to be within eyeline of the window and delivered one of the worst screams of his life. It sounded inhuman, and if it wasn’t for the horror show in front of him, he would’ve been certain that it wasn’t even coming from him.

Bash stood a few feet from his door, sawing away at her cheeks. She smiled at him, shoulders shaking with hysterical laughter as her smile widened and widened with each cut. The spoon that came with their meals had been sharpened to a point, cut diagonally and serrated enough to cut through flesh and tissue when applied the right amount of force.

The eco treatments had started to get to Bash lately, but they always figured she could come out of it alright. Losing Anttie and Brig had been a blow to them all, but Bash had proudly chalked it up as both an unfortunate incident and a personal attack that took their fellow prisoners from them. Dreia had tried to get her friend to process the loss, but Bash insisted that it wasn’t effecting her. Anttie died because her body was too lithe and weak to withstand the eco’s manipulations, and Brig died because he was an annoying son of a bitch who made one too many enemies before being discharged from the guard. What did they have to worry about? The weak had already been weeded out.

But slowly, as the days turned to weeks, Bash had started seeing things. She insisted they were real, but whenever Jak and Dreia looked, there was never anything there. She started to become agitated, restless as she spent hours muttering to herself and carving into the walls of her cells. The chipping of brick and stone had become a new lullaby to Jak. Not including the times she was taken for experimentation, Bash never stopped writing on the walls.
Now, Jak realized too late that Bash was losing her sanity to the chaotic eco. His memories of Sandover and his friends kept his mind more or less in place, focusing on the hope that someday he would be reunited on Sentinel Beach with his loved ones. Yet for someone like Bash, who grew up pickpocketing and selling black market items to the highest bidder, it would be so easy to succumb to the musings of dark eco.

She was watching him with unseeing eyes, and when he pressed his face against the bars to call for help, he immediately regretted the decision. Dreia laid on the injection chair, her arms skewed and hanging off the built- in arm rests, her face sliced from ear to ear in a bloody grin. Her stomach was a mess of pinned back flaps and he looked away before his eyes could travel down further. Two guards laid on the ground behind Bash.

The squelching noises stopped, and Bash stilled. There were several beats before she dragged her eyes up to him, watching him from under her eyelashes. The spoon was inches away from her earlobe. Guards swarmed the infection room like flies to honey, shouting and gagged orders at Bash to step away from the door. Guns whined as they powered up, overlapping orders mixing into a plethora of noises, but Bash only had eyes for Jak. She winked at him, letting go of the handle with the top still firmly implanted in her cheek. With an agonizing slow turn, Bash complied with the Guard’s orders, and faced the crowd that surrounded her. They all gasped in horror, some losing their grip on their guns and lunch as Bash opened her mouth in a smile that was all teeth and no cheek.

Leave it to Bash to be the center of attention. —

— The lights cut out, and Jak felt warm blood fall down the curve of his neck. In his hand, he held the spoon to his own jugular, pressing the sharpened end deep against the flesh until it wept with a thin line of blood. The teen gasped, throwing the spoon against the opposite wall.. He didn’t know where the four bodies went, but he wasn’t going to stick around to find out if they were still there when the lights came back on.

When they did a few seconds after, Jak blinked a couple times to find that the cell was empty — save for a bulky mass obscuring the door in front of him. Jak cursed as the monster wearing his face smiled, his face only inches away from Jak’s. The teen bared his teeth at the creature. It cooed, “Is this real? It must be, if you’re so afraid of it,”

“I’m not scared of you!” Jak hissed, trying to shove the monster back, but even the thought made him dizzy and lethargic. The monster chuckled, though it resembled more of a growling hum. Like a metalpede, scittering and purring around its next victim.

“I didn’t say you were. Scared and afraid are two very different beasts. Scared is when you miss your footing climbing a cliff, afraid … Well, why am I telling you this? You’ve been afraid my whole life,” the monster backed away, the lights flicked, and he reappeared in the corner near the door. Damn it. He was still too close for Jak to make a run for it. “Do you feel it now? That fear in your stomach? I do,”

“What are you afraid of?”

The monster studied Jak for a second. “I’m always afraid. It’s all that I am, all that you made me,”

“I didn’t make you,” Jak said, his voice bouncing off the walls in an echo, “Praxis made you, and when I kill him—”

“You’ll what? Finish what he started?”

”And dispose of this ….thing … tonight!”

Jak pursed his lips.

“I’m you, stupid. I know what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours,” the lights flicked, and the demon was crouching before him, one long talon tapping Jak’s temple. The teen moved his head out of reach, avoiding looking directly at the monster. “You can’t hide anything from me. I know you better than you know yourself. We’re the same person,”

“I’m nothing like you,”

“Then why won’t you look at me? If I’m just a hallucination, what are you afraid of?” Defiant wasn’t a word that was often used to describe Jak. He was a good kid, almost damn near annoyingly sweet. Defiant, however, was exactly the word that Jak used to describe himself. He turned his head to look at his other form. Putting all his strength in his arms, he shoved the monster away from him as hard as he could. The creature didn’t budge. “Tsk. You’re so easy to rile up. We’ll have to work on that,”

“Just leave me alone,” Jak grit out, his arms now jelly at his sides, “It’s bad enough you trapped me in here, I don’t need to hear whatever speech you’ve got,”

“I trapped you? Oh, you still don’t get it, do you?” The lights faded out, and when they came back on, the beast had his hand around Jak’s throat. “You made me. It wasn’t Gol, it wasn’t Erol, and it sure as shit wasn’t Praxis. It was you. I came to be because you needed me. Everything you keep locked away, well guess what? That doesn’t make it go away, it just festers until you couldn’t keep it contained anymore,” Jak couldn’t breathe. It’s never been this bad. His hallucinations couldn’t hurt him physically, they weren’t real. “Look at me, Jak,”

Jak opened his eyes — when had he closed them? — and really looked. Past the darkness, past the pale skin, past the fangs, past it all. His vision was blacking out, but in between the dark spots and fuzzy edges, Jak saw him. He saw blue, angry eyes, and rounded cheeks. Paled skin from sickness, lack of sun, and malnutrition. Wild, sun-bleached hair that stuck up in weird places no matter how many times he’s tried to get it to behave. He saw a boy who just witnessed the death of four inmates. He was a boy who had his innocence beat out of him. It was that hero — the prodigy — broken down and baring the child underneath. Stripped of his humanity and adoration, left with nothing more than the scars and bruises of battle. The boy didn’t let up, and Jak’s sight blinked away to reveal what that boy had become.

A monster.

“Is it clicking yet? Or do I have to spell it out for you?” When Jak didn’t reply, the creature snarled. “You can call me all the names you want, but at the end of the day, I’m here to protect you. All that I am, or will ever be, is a safe corner for you to tuck yourself into when things get rough. I do that for you. I’ve been doing it for years. The least you can do is not act like I’m your enemy,”

Shoving him backwards, the man stood up. Jak heaved in air, gasping and coughing as he rubbed the bruises around his neck. He pressed his forehead to the ground, hoping it would get him to breathe normally as his body adjusted to the airflow coming back online. He looked up at the man from behind loose strands of hair. “I didn’t ask you to do that,” he voice came out muffled and tight, but he continued, louder, “I didn’t … I didn’t ask you to do anything!”

“Oh, but you did, sunshine! All those prayers were answered by me, Jak. You and I both know you wouldn’t have survived in there without me. They were going to eat you alive if I didn’t save our neck!”

“I can fend for myself!”

“Like how you fended off that crazy bitch in the cottage!? Or that ax-wielding lunatic!? YOU were still clinging to a fairytale! Precursors, Jak, get it through your thick skull! You weren’t going to get out of them in one piece. You did what you had to do to survive, and I took up that responsibility!”

“I don’t want to be you!” Jak bellowed. He slammed his fist into the ground, ignoring the jolt of pain that ran up his arm. Good. He knew pain. He could handle pain. “Daxter got me out. I don’t need you anymore, okay? You can go now. Just … leave,”

The monster shook his head. “It doesn’t work like that, pal. Even if it did, you know I can’t do that. Like it or not, I live inside you now. The sooner you come to grips with that, the better,”

His other self sighed deeply, moving towards the door. For a sick second, Jak thought he was going to walk out and leave him there alone, but the man just sat down heavily with his back to the door. He stretched out his legs and folded his hands in his lap, and then watched as Jak deflated against his own wall. Two halves of the same coin. Two versions of the same fucked-up teenager. One was what remained of him, and the other was what was gained. Jak put his head in his hands, trying desperately to fold himself into the smallest ball he could be. If he succeeded, he could shrink down into infinity. A metalsnake eating its own tail until there was nothing left. He leaned forward, and when his forehead touched the ground, he realized it was wood under his skin.

Jak looked up and the cell was gone. The other side was gone also. He found himself in a bedroom, a vanity pushed up along a giant window with perfumes and makeup scattered on top. Watching his reflection, his gaze darted around the image projected onto him. Green hair, bleached tips, blue eyes, tanned skin. There was something behind him, and he knew that if he looked over his shoulder, it wouldn’t be there. But it will always be there, lurking just around the bend. Never leaving, a faithful constant that he can’t ignore forever.

Forever was a long time, however, and Jak allowed himself to ignore it for today.

Standing on shaking legs, the teen rushed out of the room and headed downstairs. He had enough of the house. This house chewed him long after the meat and flavor had dissipated, smacking its lips as it devoured him completely. This house — alive and breathing, with groans and bones — that thrived off his misery and pain and forced him to confront the deepest traumas that seasoned him to its liking. Jak could feel it gnawing at his legs, and if he pulled up his sleeves, he would find bite marks etched into his skin.

Ever since they got lost in this stupid forest, Jak’s had only one bad encounter after the other. He was sick of it. If it wasn’t Hin with her poisonous tongue or the Wastelander with his paranoid ramblings, it was a goddamned carnivorous house with its ghosts. Once the kid woke up, they were getting the hell out of there. They would leave the house to decay in the woods, to starve until it was nothing but pillars and ash and teeth and memories. He wanted it to eat itself from the inside out, starting with that fucking mirror.
Jak swallowed the bitter bile in his throat and forced himself to keep even steps as he made his way down the stairs. Just had to put one foot in front of the other. Slip away while the monster slept.

The fireplace was still going when he got back, crackling loudly in the giant room, but the warmth it produced was welcomed. It almost felt like nothing he did could chase away the chill. He rounded the sofa, stopping short of the armrest.

The woman in red sat in the spot he occupied earlier. With one finger, she combed back the hair that curled around Mar’s eye, petting his cheek with a knuckle as she did so. This was the first time he’s seen her do something other than standing out of reach. She leaned over the boy, touching him like she was afraid he would shatter if she applied the barest amount of pressure on him. Jak was too exhausted from fighting his other hallucinations to do much of anything. He was too exhausted, period. He’s never been this exhausted in his entire life, and all he wanted to do was lay down somewhere and sleep for another three hundred years.

He’s had enough of ghosts.

She looked up from the boy as he entered. “You’re the only one that doesn’t talk,” Jak said, “Why?”

The woman stared at him for a long while, then lifted her hand away from the child. Her eyes were wet, high cheekbones glistening in the flickering light of the fire. With painstakingly slow and jerky movements, her fingers moved around her mouth and chest. How can I speak, she signed, if you don't remember what my voice sounds like?

“Jak?”

The voice startled him, and Jak snapped his head to the source. Daxter was sitting up from where he was sleeping when he left him earlier, stretching his arms over his head and wiggling his feet as he shook the sleep off of him. He shot a glance over to the woman, but she was gone. The boys were alone once more.

“Who are you talking to?” Daxter asked, an ear flickering slightly when Jak didn’t reply. “I was having the loveliest dream of me and Tess — wipe that look off your face, you pervert, it was PG-13 — when I noticed you weren’t causing an earthquake with your loudass snoring. What gives? Where did you go?”

“Is it too late for me, Dax?” Jak blurted out, “Am I just … doomed to be like this forever?”

“Like what? You’re kinda scaring me, pal,”

Scared. Good. Jak knew scared. He could handle scared. “Like … this. Feeling this shitty, all the time. Do you think it’ll ever go away, or am I just stuck like this?”

“Whooaaky,” Daxter started, patting the spot next to him in invitation. Jak hesitated, but accepted the invite and sat down next to his best friend. “Let’s unpack that, shall we? Just let me get my Serious Daxter face on. Now. What the hell are you talking about?”

“I tried to pretend that the Baron and Erol made me into this angry, vengeful thing, but I know that’s not true. These feelings, this heavy feeling in my chest was there before we even went through the Rift, Dax. Some days are easier to ignore than others, but lately it’s been getting harder to push through it,”

Daxter was quiet for a moment. Jak bit his lip. Was this the part where Daxter told him he was nuts? Maybe he was contemplating the decision to bust Jak out of prison, weighing the pros and cons with the latter being the heaviest. The voice in his head — not Praxis, Erol, Gol, Maia, Samos, or even his alter ego — told him that this was okay. Daxter had the right to call it quits, and Jak shouldn’t be surprised when he did. No one wanted to be around someone who lives in the negative space of existence, phasing in and out of reality like a poltergeist just waiting to ensnare someone else in their misery. Daxter deserved better than this kind of existence.

“I think you’re depressed,” Daxter finally said, and Jak raised an eyebrow. “C’mon, dude, I’ve known you since you looked like that anklebiter over there. You haven’t been the same since we found the Rift. The second you looked at it … I don’t know. It was like watching a flood gate open,” Daxter looked up at Jak, and for a moment the teen could see his best friend as a human again. He thought about that a lot in prison. The inner ramblings of a broken mind, grasping at any excuse as to why his friend hadn’t come to save him yet. Some were so morbid, Jak remembered counting the bricks on the cell walls over and over again until the image of his dead friend passed. His favorite, however, was the idea that Daxter figured out a way to turn back into a human and was living a good life without being second fiddle to Jak. Not that he thought of Daxter that was at all, in fact, Jak was sometimes jealous of how easily it was for his best friend to make friends and pull a chuckle out of even the biggest hard asses Haven had to offer. Socializing and charm was second nature to him, a goofy appeal that made your day brighter just from how absurd the joke was. Jak could picture his friend, two years older than the knobby kneed teenager that chewed on his thumbnail the entire way to Misty Island. Being pale in Sandover was an oddity, especially since most of the villagers worked outside the home and spent long days out in the sun until they were all more or less a decent shade of brown. Jak was naturally darker than everyone in the village, and Daxter used to complain how it wasn’t fair that Jak didn’t burn to a scarlet hue the second he stepped outside. In Haven however, Daxter would’ve been right at home among the Havenites who limited outdoor exposure as much as possible. He would be walking the streets in the most colorful threads he could find, red hair slicked back to give him an air of coolness. He’d wink at the women who held his gaze long enough, and win them over completely with slight bucked teeth that Keira once admitted to being kind of adorable in a boy next door kind of way. Jak would lay in his cot at night — or it could’ve been day. The prison didn’t get much natural sun and he never cared to learn the shift rotation of the guards — and picture seeing a Krimzon Guard with slight buck teeth hissing, “Psst! It’s me! We’re getting the hell out of here, buddy,”.

Jak sighed, pulled his knees to his chest, and then rested his chin on them. He stared into the cackling fire. The wood barely looked charred. He could hear someone in the other rooms humming. “Do you think I’ll be able to get rid of it?” Jak asked, his voice sounding small and nonexistent compared to Daxter’s, “It goes away, right? It’s just some … teenage angst bullshit?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think it’ll ever go away. It’s just something that lives with you forever,”

“So what you’re saying is that this is it? I’m just stuck like this forever, and you’re going to get tired of my shit one day, and leave because you and I both know you deserve better than the corpse of your best friend and—”

“Oh, Precursors, no!” Daxter said, though it was jovial. Jak can’t imagine how any part of this is jovial. Daxter held his finger up when the taller of the two tried to argue. “Don't get me wrong, buddy, I love you like a brother. I won't lie to you, you know? Do I think you've changed since Sandover? Absolutely! But that's growin' up. You were never going to stay that way. Keira and Samos ... you know they love you, but they don't get you like I do. I've been with your scrawny ass from day one,” Nudging his arm with a fuzzy shoulder, Daxter gave him a mischievous grin. The same grin Jak used to throw his way when he wanted to do something that he knew his best friend would protest, a cocky bravado with the promise that nothing bad was going to happen if they participated in Jak’s bad ideas. He saw his best friend, standing in the glow of the fire with fur that matched the same hue almost perfectly. A shiny, warm beacon in the maelstrom of black and purple that mucked up Jak’s mind until he couldn’t even see through it. He realized that every time Jak was lost, Daxter was always there to guide him back. Like a lighthouse in the mist, signaling a shore to escape the crashing waves that would tear a ship to sunder. Daxter playfully punched Jak’s arm, and said in a soft tone, “Despite everything, you're still you. I’m not going anywhere, pal. Womb to tomb and all that crap,”

Jak wanted to believe him, but the floor was falling out from under him, and the teen couldn’t ignore the abyss any longer.

He had to keep walking.

The Slums were hard to navigate, but he had to keep moving forward. He wasn’t going to be able to get up once he went down, he knew that for sure, so he had to keep walking. His feet ached and his legs threatened to give out on him, but he knew he was close to his destination.

It wasn’t hard to find what you were looking for in this city. For a place that considered privacy and secrecy to be a priority, it sure did a crap job at enforcing its own principles.

It’s fine. He’ll be fine. He can see the door from the corner as he turns, shuffling along the rough ground with pained winces. He was so exhausted. He had just woken up, and he was more tired than he ever felt in his entire life. A breeze — Oh, how the gentle wind, beckons through the trees, as autumn colors fall — swept past him, obscuring his vision as long strands of hair covered his face. He wasn't use to this kind of cold. He'd grown so accustomed to being warmer than those around him, he never considered just how cold it really was. Looking down at his arm, he shivered as goosebumps littered the expanse of his flesh.

The last few steps were a tumble, but he made it. It took nearly two hours of walking through the city in almost sub-zero temperatures, but he had finally made it with enough strength left over to pound on the metal door. He didn’t care that he was smearing mud and blood on the insignia, he was dying here.

The doors parted on their own almost immediately, and he lost the last of his strength as a pair of soft boots with fur trims appeared in front of him. The owner of the boots — smelling of whiskey and bubblegum, an unfortunate mixture but one that made his chest burst with affection — screamed as his head thudded to the ground. Licking his lips, he uttered her name the best he could as his throat protested against speaking. His vision was blacking out now, but he couldn’t stop the smile stretching on his face as wide blue eyes and blonde curls came into view. She was shouting something, landing on her knees beside him. Tears welled in both their eyes as her hand slapped over her mouth, and Tess leaned forward until her nose was mere inches from his own. Just a small nap, he told himself, just a little shuteye and he’ll get help.

”Daxter?! Is that you?! Daxter, if you’re here … where’s Jak?!”

Everything went fuzzy after that.

Chapter Text

Torn’s mother once told him that there is good in everyone, no matter their past or present. It was their future that counted. His mother was also an alcoholic who loved to pass out in the living room with a lit cigarette hanging from her fingers, leaving him to wrangle his siblings and scrap by on pocket change. So he usually took her words of advice with a grain of salt.

Despite his best efforts, however, whatever philosophies he had about the goodwill of man didn’t quite die once he was made Commander. His days were spent wrangling rogue guards who spewed off Praxis’ propaganda and ill-wishing to the House of Mar. Torn joined the guard because for an eighteen year old growing up in the Slums, it was either that or joining the ranks of Krew. He didn’t have loyalties to the King or the royal family, couldn’t give a lesser fuck of the politics happening in the Palace as long as he was employed and as far from his mother as possible. So he picked the Guard. He got tattoos on his face and hands, a permanent reminder of who he was for the rest of his life. He trained, he climbed the ranks, and he was a damn good Commander.

That is, until they lost Old Town to the metalheads and rather than sacrificing his men to what he knew would be a lost cause, he retreated. He chose his men over fighting. He quit a month after that, and only lived to tell the tale because a couple of friends in the Guard managed to convince Praxis that Torn wouldn’t have been a threat. So he guessed that maybe having a subconscious set of optimism in his fellow man did turn out to be a good move after all.

That being said though, some things just ran in the family whether he liked it or not. His little sister Kimi had an addiction to crushing pills into her organic smoothies and his little brother Jinx inherited their mother’s love for reckless endangerment. Torn, however, makes it a point of pride that his alcohol intake was to a very bare minimum and only when shit hits the fan.

Today the walls were covered in shit.

Torn took a swig of the amber liquid. They lost a couple of agents out in Haven Forest on a transport mission. The Shadow had cultivated a few crops in the forest, a free source of nutrition that could get their members fed without anyone asking questions about why people were buying food in bulk. He sent some of the older agents out to do the job, convinced that it was just an easy run that would allow them to stretch their legs without breaking any hips in the process. Instead, the whole district was on red alert and crawling with KG, all of whom took instant notice to the cargo zoomer and opened fire without so much as a warning. He was on the communicator when it happened, could do nothing as he listened to their screams, pleas for help, the sound of blasters piercing through bodies. He could only listen in horror as his agents went down. One of them had a wife and kids in the Underground. Another was a member’s only sister and family member left.

Torn groaned into his glass. Today was already off to a shitty start.

The compound was quiet for the first time in weeks, the only sounds reaching his desk were that of the KG radio in the corner rattling off different reports.

“Sector is clear,”

“10-4, over,”

“This is Griz to Piltover, come in Piltover,”

“This is Piltover, over,”

“Fine piece of ass over in the Bazaar. She’s got a friend. Want me to slip her your number?”

“That’s not all Piltover is gonna slip her,”

“Mar Memorial Stadium is clear,”

“10-4, over,”

He grimaced and thought about turning the radio off, but it’s the only way he can keep tabs on Jak’s escort job. They were supposed to have dropped off the Kid a couple hours ago. Onin had asked them to see the child, something about wanting to feel his presence to confirm his lineage to the House of Mar. There was something else that Pecker was hiding on the transmission, his voice tight and nervous as he relayed the message, but far be it from Torn to question the motives of the Soothsayer. Still, he wasn’t Commander of the Krimzon Guard for nothing, so he figured that sending Jak in to escort the Kid would yield better results in case it wasn’t up to snub. He should’ve asked more questions, though to be perfectly fair, he was just as lost as anyone else.

Between keeping the Sums running, the Underground operable, and dealing with a teenager with severe authority issues, he didn’t have time to micromanage everything going on. It already didn’t sit right with him that they were dumping all their hopes and faith onto the shoulders of a four year old. If he got more involved in the Kid’s day-to-day life, he’d probably eat his own gun.

Maybe Jinx wasn’t the only one that inherited the reckless endangerment gene.

That reminded him. He needed to call his brother. There were some rumblings from some of the Underground agents about spotting Jinx with Jak leaving the sewers together. What the fuck was Jak doing being anywhere near Jinx? Last he heard about his brother, the blonde was bragging about getting a solid job doing the legwork for a very wealthy client. “Better than joining the Guard, and better pay too. Want me to put in a good word for you? Or you too good for bad business types, huh? By the way. Did you know Kimi had another kid? Precursors, one more brat and she’ll be the spitting image of Ma,” He loved his brother, but he had no right dragging Jak into any shady shit he’s up to.

It’s not that Torn is particularly protective over the kid, nor does he think he has any right to be. There were dozens of teenagers who joined the Underground, bright eyed and bushy tailed and elated whenever Torn sent them out to vandalize the propaganda stations throughout the city. Jak was hardly the youngest member running around these parts — technically, that title belonged to the Kid. Jak, however, happened to be the only one with an addiction and a prison branding on his wrist. Torn was honestly a bit offended that Jak and his little fuzzball friend thought that he was stupid enough to not put two and two together. The reports of a pale demon terrorizing the Guard for months just happened to coinside with the teen’s arrival to the Underground and he was just to chalk it up as a crazy coincidence? You don’t survive long in the Slums if you aren’t constantly keeping your ear on the ground. He tried to give them the benefit of doubt, ignoring the way Jak came back from the Pumping Station with pupils blown and fidgeting until Torn sent his ass back out into the wild. He pretended not to see the prison branding on Jak’s wrist when he took his gloves and boxing wraps off to rub salve on a nasty gash. He kept his head down when Jak went on his triads about needing a way into the Palace to have a friendly chat with Praxis.

Still, he didn’t have to be sweet on the teenager to want him to stay far, far away from Krew’s dealings. All the kid had to do was bring a fucking bag of eco ore to the slimeball, not ask the fucker for employment.

Torn sighed and poured himself more alcohol.

When the door slid open, he immediately perked up. He deflated when it was just Tess, skipping down the steps with her pink journal in hand and a wide smile spread across her face. She stopped in front of his desk and wrinkled her nose at the bottle, shooting him a look that looked all too much like the look Jak gave the Kid whenever he tried reaching for the rounds of eco ammo. Torn started her right in the eye as he took a gulp. “What is it, Tess? I’m a little busy at the moment,”

“Yeah, I can see that,” she shook her head, “You know it’s barely noon, right?”

“I’ll make sure to alert the townsfolk of the time,”

Tess rolled her eyes and tossed the pink journal on top of the mess of maps and reports on his desk. It was fuzzy and covered in glitter, cheaply made no doubt and sold at one of the merchant stalls at the Port for about an orb or two. He raised an eyebrow and pointed at it. “What’s this?”

“Intel,” Tess said, searching the bunker for the collapsable chair.

“... My wife is such a bitch. She doesn’t respect me or my job. Maybe I oughta—”

She shut off the scanner.

“I was listening to that,”

“You’ll live,” Once she found the chair, Torn had already flipped through the multiple drawings of her and a strong heroic man with hearts and unicorns and found the page with today’s date.

Krew’s muscle man is sent to arrange a drop off of rare artifacts found in the Wasteland. Loan Lurkershark by the name of Cicero might be in bed with one of the Krimzon Guards as an informant (Haha!). Krew put all his money on the odds of Jak losing the Class One racing competition after having a meeting with Erol and a PR representative of the Baron. Metalheads have been spotted near the walls and in the sewers, though their behavior is strange. Muscle man returned and is asking questions of the Underground.

Cicero might be a problem down the road if he sends any fresh faces for Krew’s drop offs. The man has a knack for getting information out of newbies, especially if they’re the eager type that love to publicly display their loyalties to the resistance. Torn knew Cicero’s boyfriend from the Guard, so that’s who his informant will most likely be. He made a mental note to pay them a visit. As for the racing competition, Torn figured this was more of a way for Erol to feed his ego than anything. The guy always loved a way to shove his masculine prowess into everyone’s faces.

Out of all the intel, only one part seemed to make his palms itch. “What do you know about Krew’s muscle man?”

“Not much. Big ol’ Wastelander, started working for Krew about two years back. He’s pretty quiet, mostly keeps to himself. Can’t pinpoint which part of the city he’s from, though,”

“Where else could he live, Tess? Wastelanders are tough bastards but nothing lives outside the walls,” Torn leaned back in his seat. Tess shrugged.

“I’m just saying he’s not the talkative type,”

“Daxter never shuts up when he’s in here. I’d love an operative that knows when to shut up,” Tess visibly prickled at the mention of Daxter, and Torn wasn’t going to comment on it. If he got her going now, he’d no doubt either get put in a sleeper hold or held hostage for hours as she gushed about the ottsel. “What questions was he asking?”

Tess leaned forward, shooting a glance over to the door that led to the rest of the compound. He shook his head, picking up his glass to swirl the alcohol inside it. She caught his drift, but still spoke softly when she said, “He wanted to know where to find us,”

“Tess, be straight with me. Was your cover blown?”

“I don’t think so. It didn’t sound like he knew for sure I knew where the Underground was. Just in case, I threw in some loyalist BS to get him off my scent,”

“What did he ask specifically?”

“He said the Underground might have something he’s ‘looking for’,” She used air quotes with her fingers, “I told him to go pound sand … in a nice way,”

Torn rubbed his chin. A Wastelander asking about the Underground. He can’t say he wouldn’t be a great asset to them, especially if he knows the ins and outs of Krew’s operations. The business arrangement they have with Krew was fragile at best, their only saving grace being that Krew wants the Baron gone so he can continue his illegal dealings without the ruler’s paranoid Krimzon Guard raids that happen more and more often these days. If it wasn’t for the few friends he still maintained in the KG he was sure they would’ve found them out long ago. If the Wastelander wanted to join, however, it could mean having both manpower and information on their side.

“See if you can unhurt his feelings on that. It might be worth a talk with the guy, afterall,” Tess eyed him suspiciously. “I’m not drunk, Tess, this shit is like mother’s milk to me,”

“I love it when you get poetic,” she muttered flatly, kicking her feet and looking around the bunk. “I’ll call him later and arrange for him to pay us a visit,” She glanced at every bunk, twirling a blonde curl with her finger innocuously. Every bed was avoided until there was nowhere else to look, and the teen was forced to acknowledge the bunk that Jak and Daxter had decided to take up residence in. Jak’s hoverboard peeked at them from under the frame. “Where’s the boys?”

“On an errand,”

“Oh. Nothing too dangerous, I hope,” she raised her chin at him, batting her eyelashes the same way Kimi would when trying to convince her older brother to let her have friends over. It used to work like a charm, plucking at his strings like a harp from how meticulously tactful she was at convincing him to do what she wanted. In Tess, however, nothing was ever as simple. No, Tess grew up on the streets of Haven slinging miracle ointment made of milk and glub oil from the time she could walk, the sole provider for a father who lost his legs and wife to the Fall of Dead Town. When she blinked up at you with eyes meant to sell you on the word of a six year old covered in grime, it was a threat. “After all, Jak just got done healing up his … what was it again? Shattered elbow? From the last mission you sent him on?”

“It was just a dislocated shoulder,” Torn muttered into his drink, “Not my fault the idiot waited until it healed wrong to tell me,”

“Torn …”

He sighed. “Look, he’s the best guy I got. We lost five more agents today, Tess. The Baron is taking them out faster than we can put them in. The intel I’ve been getting isn’t looking good and the war is still in that bastard’s favor. I’m doing the best I can with what I’ve got. I promise you, though, this mission was the easiest I could give him. I think he almost swung at me for giving him anything that didn’t involve shooting through a wall of Krimzon Guards,”

Tess didn’t look convinced, but her shoulders softened and she folded her arms across her chest.
“Do you mind if I hang around here for a while?”

“Sure, I guess,” Torn sighed again. He downed the last of his drink and ignored the burn in his throat in doing so. “Can’t see why you would want to though. Don’t you have a friend you can hang out with far, far away from here?”

That seemed to have triggered something in Tess. She instantly threw her hands up. He flinched at the moment, knowing he fucked up instantly. How did his life end up revolving around teenagers? He thought he was past all the drama and teenage hysterics once Kimi moved out.

“She's always too busy! It’s like, okay, I get that you have a project you’ve been working on for years, but sometimes I just need someone to talk to! All she ever wants to do is talk about boring Mar mythology and Precursor artifacts … It’s a snore fest! The only thing I managed to pry out of her is that I think she has a crush on Jak, but I was like, ‘Ew, he’s blonde.’ Like to each their own, I’m not judging, but c’mon. She can totally do better than him! I told her that and she got all mad at me. Like, sorry you have crap taste in guys, but I’m not going to be fake and —”

“Okay, okay, okay, yes, you can stay. But only until Jak and Daxter get back from their mission, okay?” Torn hissed, waving at her with his hand. She smiled at him, pulling her journal back from where he left it on the desk. Fucking teenagers. “She sounds like a jerk,”

Tess rolled her eyes. “She’s not. I think she’s just stressed, I just … wish she’d listen to what I have to say, you know? Isn’t that what having a friend is for? To have a conversation?”

Torn poured himself another glass. Then they sat in silence for a couple minutes before Torn asked, “So what's the deal with you and Daxter?”

Jak and Daxter never showed up.

Torn thought this would be it, this is going to be the heart attack that finally claims him and he’ll wake up in Hell. There’s been no intel, no rumors, not even a fucking word about where they have gone. One moment Jak was hefting a giggling kid under his arm, the next they were gone without so much as a trace. Torn has been calling his Communicator for days, leaving everything from death threats to sweet pleas on his voicemail until it filled up and won’t accept another message. He has the city crawling with agents looking for them, and he’s run out of options. Torn has seen the kid stumble into the bunker bruised and bleeding, pupils blown wide with flecks of purple clinging to hir irises and delirious with a concussion or two. If Jak hasn’t been back yet, then he isn't coming back.

The Underground was too close to give up over the death of two teens. They needed to find the kid now. They can mourn Jak and Daxter later.

What were the chances of the Kid still being alive with the bodies? Torn knew the Baron had every prison chipped and branded. Jak was a smart kid, and judging by the Baron’s propaganda messages, he can bet the teenager has a new scar over his branding. Skin sliced right through the Baron’s crest, straight across over the right eye. So, the idea of tracking Jak’s body was out, even on the slim chance that the Kid was still lingering near the murder site. Because if there was anything that would stop Jak from protecting the kid, it had to be murder.

“What about the comm?” Tess asked frantically, standing near the desk with a finger in her mouth. Her teeth had gnawed away at the manicure she had just gotten, now leaving blunt and jagged nails. She was bundled up for the cold, switching her crop tops and shorts for trousers and sweaters. “Can’t you track Jak’s comm?”

Torn shook his head. “All the electronics that come through the Underground are checked for trackers. The glories of paranoia,”

“There has to be something you can do!” Kor snapped from the corner, pacing back and forth and nearly whittling a gouged line on the ground. “That child is essential to the plan, we must get him back!”

“Really?! And here I thought this meeting was about what color outfit makes my eyes pop!” Torn growled back, slamming a fist down on the table.

“It’s orange,” Tess muttered, though Torn could tell her mind was somewhere else. The last week was filled with many visits from the young woman. While the first few days were spent pacing around the bunker, grief and worry rolling off of her in waves that even penetrated Torn’s carefully curated barrier of indifference, Tess had found a way to channel all her feelings about Jak and Daxter’s whereabouts into productivity. Torn knew it was getting borderline obsessive when he was the one begging her to go to bed, that the maps and leads will all be there in the morning, that she was no good to anyone if she dropped dead. Still, the teen only nodded when prompted and continued to agonize over reports and transcripts.

“Shadow,” Torn sighed, pulling his hands back to fold his arms across his chest, “Is there a way you can … I don’t know, do some of that talky-feely shit with a weed and ask if they’ve seen him?”

The Shadow — meditating in the corner, oblivious to the conversation — shook his head. “The trees have not seen Jak, nor have the rocks or butterflies,” Tess let out a frustrated scoff, turning her back toward Torn and Kor to breathe through it. “It doesn’t mean they’re dead. It’s strange. The trees tell me that they haven’t seen them, but …”

“But what?”

“They’re lying,” The Shadow said, opening his eyes with furrowed brows. “They’re scared of something. I just don’t know what,”

“Well, find out!” Kor shrieked again, “They couldn’t have just disappeared!”

“You’re not the only one worried about the kid!” The Shadow snapped back, coming down from his low levitation to march over to Kor. “You have no idea the faith that rests on that child’s shoulders! He is a crucial part in the Precursors’ plan! You were the one that was in charge of his well being, how could you have let him out of your sight for even a moment?”

“How dare you! You are not aware of the sacrifices I have made for that boy!”

“Can you please stop fighting?!” Shrinking back under the death glares thrown her way, Tess’ bottom lip quivered and Torn can make out the tears gathering up in her eyes. “This isn’t going to help to find them!”

The men in the room stilled. Torn nodded in agreement. All arguing was going to do was waste valuable time — time they couldn’t afford to trifle with. They were racing against the clock here, and without a clear idea of where Jak and Daxter were, they had no idea just how much sand was left in the hourglass for the Kid. For all they knew, he could be holed up in a pipe somewhere being mothered by a deranged metalhead or some nature shit Torn has no doubt seen on TV before. The Kid needed to be found — dead or alive. He opened his mouth to throw out another idea, but his communicator popped up with a shrill ring that rivaled Tess’ screech moments before. It crackled, static and swooshing filling the bunker as everyone in the room immediately quieted. “Who is this? This is a restricted line, who gave you this number?”

“T— .. Jak. We— .. a forest— … of Haven. My co—nicator is … and —rph gun is … but the Kid is safe. Even Dax— ..… —dog and I know … —our statuses, but I need you to know …—ing us safe. We’re— …….. and I can’t—rdinates … I’m ……….. I promise. St— ……—time. Don’t …. lost, it’ll ….—nic,”

The audio was choppy and only came through in snippets, and whatever they could hear was muffled. It was like someone was trying to communicate with them from underwater. It didn’t take long for Torn to realize who it was speaking through the communicator. “Jak? Jak! Is that you?”

“Jak, my boy! Tell us where you are, we’ll come get you!”

“... try again …. —and out,” then the line went dead.

“Jak?! Jak, come in! Damn it!” Torn grabbed his glass off the table and threw it at the wall, watching the shards fall to the ground in chunks. He knew the second-hand communicators weren’t the finest around, but he’d never received a transmission that bad before. Where the fuck could they be that made it so hard to understand them? They’ve never had an issue, not in every nook and cranny of this city.

“What did he say about Daxter?” Tess asked, the sound unsettling him more than the odd call. Her eyes wide as they darted from Torn’s face and the pocket where the communicator had disappeared to. Though haggard and fearful, Tess still managed to find the spark of hope.

The Shadow rubbed his chin with one hand, the other folded behind him. He was deep in thought, no doubt trying to figure out what it was he said the plants were lying to him about. And call Torn crazy, but didn’t Jak mention a forest? As if reading his mind, the Shadow made eye contact with Torn and nodded. “They must be somewhere in Haven Forest,” he said with absolute finality, “The trees lied,”

“We can chop them down and use them for kindling later. Right now, we need to get them out of there,”

Kor raised his staff. “I’ll go retrieve them. The two of you are far too recognizable in public, the Krimzon Guard will no doubt stop you before you can reach the forest,”

He was right. Torn’s tattoos were too hard to cover up, and the Shadow has been on wanted posters all over the city after Jak and Daxter broke him out of prison. Kor might be their only option to send out on rescue mission — the only one with high enough clearance to know about the Kid, anyway. Judging by the defiant glint in the Shadow’s eyes, however, Torn was inclined to disagree with that option. Something about Kor was starting to rub him the wrong way, and he was glad he wasn’t the only one seeing it. Besides, he was too old to fight off whatever danger Jak and Daxter got themselves into. Tess shook her head. Before Torn could stop her, the teen was already grabbing her coat and shrugging it on..

“No, I’ll go,” she said harshly, marching towards the entrance of the bunker, “I can hold my own with a gun and the KG don’t know who I am,”

“The hell you are!” Torn caught her by the arm, applied enough pressure to stop her in her tracks. Tess leveled him with a look that could’ve melted him on the spot if she had any say in it. “I’m not sending you out there with metalheads, Tess. It’s too dangerous, I don’t allow it,”

“But—!”

“No buts! You’re not going out there, end of discussion,”

Tess’s jaw clenched, and she ripped her arm out of the older man’s grip. He was powerless to stop her, he realized, and didn’t make another move to restrain her further. If there was one thing Torn had learned from raising his siblings, it was that a teenage girl will not be stopped from doing what they were already hellbent on doing.

“I can take care of myself,” she growled, pointing at him with a finger that was akin to a knife in severity, “They are my friends, Torn. I love them more than I’ve ever loved anything and I will be damned if I don’t at least bring them home. I think you can agree that they deserve that bit of kindness, don’t you?”

Torn stiffened, then sighed. Goddamn teenage girls. The fucking lot of them. “You better know what the fuck you’re doing, Tess,”

She didn’t reply. He knew she wouldn’t. She spun around and made for the door, digging through her purse for what was no doubt the keys to the zoomer parked out front. The doors opened with a hiss and shut behind her, separating him from her with a harsh slam that made him wince.

Turning his attention back to the old men, Torn pinched his nose. “Alright. Let’s think about this for a minute. Jak said the Kid was alive, so we can—” Whatever else Torn was going to say died in his throat the second a bloodcurdling scream echoed in the bunker. It was muffled through the steel doors, but it managed to wiggle through the slight gap and fill the room.

“Was that …?” The Shadow started, but Torn was already halfway through the room with his pistol in hand. The doors parted for him instantly, a gust of cold wind smacking him in the face the second he stepped foot past the threshold. Winter was arriving faster than anticipated, the fall having only visited through Haven as a pit stop before it was usurped by the harsh warnings of a freezing winter ahead of them. Mentally, Torn made a note to start rationing for the winter months ahead. It was going to be a brutal one, and in the Slums, any extreme weather was certain death.

At the top of the stairs, the ex-guard was greeted by the backside of Tess’ body standing stock still under the archway. Her purse was spilled onto the floor and a stray lip gloss tube was rolling down the steps with deafening thuds as it passed him. Torn clenched his jaw. Whatever was out there, it couldn’t have been good. His mind raced with the possibilities of what lay beyond the bunker, out in the street in full view of anyone who would accidentally stumble into the alleyway after making one too many wrong turns. He expected to find a firing squad, a metalhead, a deranged Erol, a charred agent, anything that the deepest, messed up parts of his mind could conjure up that would justify such a visceral reaction from the girl.

What he didn’t expect to find, however, was a naked man laying at Tess’ feet. The first word Torn would use to describe him was lanky. All long limbs that undoubtedly made for an awkward gait. He was taller than he ought to be if the thinness of his body was any indicator, stretched out like taffy and left to wander the Earth. He could make out his spine and ribs from where he was standing, all wrapped in taunt pale skin dotted with orange-brown freckles that dusted his entire body. Seriously, Torn felt like he was looking at a pin cushion for an ink pen. His face was obscured by strands of fiery orange locks, the hair long enough to reach the middle of his back had it not been spewn about. Using his boot, Torn gave the man’s shoulder a light nudge. He hoped for Tess’ sake the man was alive. They had enough problems as it is without people showing up at their doorstep already dead.

Thank the Precursors for small miracles, the man was alive. He stirred onto his back, his hair falling away from his face to reveal more freckles and stubble all over his chin and jaw. He was young, probably no older than Tess herself. His chest and throat showed no signs of injury, nothing to rouse suspicion as Torn made quick work to access the man before them. Either this was some drunkard that stumbled into the wrong place, or the guy was just insanely too tired to care where he dropped as long as it was solid. Torn bent down, curiosity getting the better of him as he used the nozzle of the pistol to move the hair completely off his face. Two blue eyes blinked open just as the tendrils slipped down his cheeks, scaring Torn as he stumbled backwards and narrowly fired a shot. The man wasn’t looking at him, though, instead training his gaze solely on Tess.

“H-hey there, s-s-sweetcheeks,” he croaked, and Torn was really going to have to start cutting down on his alcohol intake because there was no way in any conceivable reality, in any fantasy, in any dream, memory, wish, timeline, story that this man, laying in the dirt was actually—

“Daxter?!” Tess cried out, dropping to her knees quickly. ““Is that you?!” Torn’s mouth remained agape. This couldn’t be possible, could it? She had to be mistaken. Daxter was an orange furry pain in the ass rodent that was small enough to ride around Jak’s boney shoulder and slip into the crevices that proved useful for the more tactical missions. He was loud, he was annoying, but above all else, Daxter was fucking smart. Jak — despite being the more seasoned of the two by life experience alone — was naïve. Torn told them to jump, Jak would bend his knees, and Daxter would ask why. The narrow-scope of Jak’s world view allowed only information regarding the Baron and subsequent government to filter through. It was Daxter who asked the important questions — things that should be asked by anyone who cared about their own wellbeing. He’d ask about the dangers and risks of completing a mission of that magnitude, and mournfully shook his head when the teen by his side would light up with excitement.

It seemed that all Daxter wanted to do was look after his brother in arms. It was the kind of loyalty that Torn had hoped to have found in the guard as a rookie. It made it easier to send Jak out in the field, confident that Daxter would keep him from doing anything that would land the boy inside the belly of a beast.

But if Daxter was here …

“Daxter,” Tess said shakily, her hands hovering the man’s head as if she didn’t know whether to touch him or push him away. “Daxter, if you’re here … where’s Jak?!”

Blue eyes fluttered, rolling back in his head as if his soul was taken suddenly to somewhere beyond. All the tension and rigidness seeped out of him, leaving him limp on the ground. Dusty pink lips parted to showcase slightly bucked teeth, slightly longer than the others in a neat row, and the sight of something so ordinarily abnormal snapped Torn into action.

The ex-Commander tucked his gun back into his holster and joined Tess by the man’s side. He smacked a frigid cheek a couple of times, only amounting to conjuring up a blossom color back into them. He was as cold as the dead. Torn cursed. “Help me get him up,” he barked at the girl next to him, positioning himself better to lift the unconscious visitor’s arm over his shoulder. Tess remained still, a tear swiping away her makeup in one long sweep down her cheek. Contempt and disbelief marred her features. The anger from the past week finally having reached its crescendo and instead of exploding into a fiery rage, Tess sat in an alleyway with runs in dirt and rips in her pants and the teenage girl waged war on the Precursors and Torn with a single twitch between her brows. The older man shuddered under her gaze, and he forced himself to look away. “Now, Tess,” she didn’t move a muscle. “What are you waiting for? Help me get him inside!”

“You promised me they were safe,” no emotion penetrated her tone, but it only took one look at her to know that Tess was considering re-enacting every violent sin in Precursor history. “You told me it was the easiest job you could give them,”

“You can’t seriously be blaming me for this!”

“Who then?!” she shrieked, “Because from where I’m standing, you sent them out on a mission that Jak wasn’t ready for and now he and the Kid are missing and Daxter … God, he’s turning blue, oh god,”

“Tess, I’m more than willing to chew glass for this, but I can’t fix this until we get him— Samos! Samos, we’ve got company — inside so that that blowhard can help us, got it?” She blinked, he took it as acknowledgement. “C’mon, he’s heavier than he looks,”

When Daxter awoke, he didn’t know it. The senses that came back to him were disorganized and muddled, only snippets of his consciousness fighting through the thick haze of bitter almonds and aching teeth. The first of his senses that he managed to squeeze comprehension out of was his hearing. Someone was delivering a sermon to his right, a voice strong with confidence that still rang painfully in his head as the noises were suddenly morphing into words he could understand. Heal. Bless. Patron. Beseech. Humble. Touch.

Touch. Someone was touching him. Not the owner of the voice, no, it was too far from him to be touching him. These were slender fingers and a wide palm. It was calluses that never quite healed, but the cream the owner lathered onto them always left them softer than they ought to me. He remembers, vaguely, cursing the Heaven’s for giving him paws that could never feel the grooves and lines of her hands. Her hands were warm and slightly sweaty and Daxter wanted nothing more than to feel her touch for eternity.

The rest of his senses came back to him in unison — a practicing orchestra finally harmonizing to produce a melody.

He turned his head in the general direction of the warmth in his hand, forcing himself to open his eyes to see who was the one offering him such a loving touch. He saw an angel before him, surrounded by doom and gloom and metal and fluorescence, her halo the radiance that she produced naturally without even a second thought. He felt his face stretch as he smiled, squeezing the hand in his. “Hey,” he whispered, regretting it as the word sliced through his dry throat and made him cough before he could even finish speaking. Around him, several gasps and demands for water rang out until a bowl was being pressed to his lips. Someone held the back of his head as he drank.

“You got it,” the angel mumbled, “There you go. Easy, easy,”

“What happened?” Daxter asked, breathing the words more than speaking it, but he was already feeling pressure build up behind his head from laying down too long. He propped himself up on his elbows and winced as his stomach burned.

“We were going to ask you the same question,” a new voice said, drawing the young man’s attention to the foot of the bed where Torn stood. His jaw was tight and his eyes looked sunken, and Daxter bit back the insult that lit up in his brain like a lightbulb. Leave it to him to still manage to find a way to get under someone’s skin while knocking at Death’s door. Later, he told himself. “We found you passed out outside. Naked, might I add,”
“You mightn’t,” Daxter frowned, rolling his eyes. “Newsflash, Bandit, I’m always naked,”

“Well, I think that’s a felony, now,” Torn shot back. Before Daxter could argue, a photo of a man was being shoved in his face. The guy wasn’t half bad looking, definitely a looker if Daxter was being honest. Definitely needed a good haircut, ginger hair draped over the man’s shoulders like cobwebs. A little too thin with hollow cheeks and a straight nose. Eyelashes that were so light, they looked almost non-existent against porcelain skin. Couldn’t hurt the guy to look into some cream to minimize those freckles, good Heavens, those were a lot of freckles. Daxter wrinkled his nose, then paused. He furrowed his eyebrows, and the picture mimicked him. The teen snatched the photo out of Torn’s hand, holding it closer and he realized it wasn’t a snapshot of a random man at all, it was a mirror reflecting himself.

Human.

“What the everloving fuck?” he breathed. Childhood still clung to his features, the same way Jak’s own fifteen year old face was superimposed over that of a young man, but in Daxter’s case, he could see the passage of time march further. He was older than Jak, of course he’d look older, but he never thought he’d actually see it. He touched his cheek gingerly, pushing and rubbing the skin there. Actual skin. It prickled his fingertips, stubble peeking out from around his mouth and jaw, and he couldn’t see anything else past the tears threatening to fall on his new face. Not a snout, not fur, not whiskers — an actual, human face. He had to tell Jak. It took them two years, but they finally did it. “Wh … where’s Jak? Did he do this?”

“Dax, baby,” Tess started sheepishly, laying a hand on his shoulder. He looked down, shocked to see that he was wearing a charcoal tunic that clung awkwardly on him. It only took a second to process that it must’ve been Torn’s own shirt, and he elected to not think about it further. Instead, he focused on looking at Tess for the first time. Being two feet tall with the head the size of a powercell, he only really saw her from odd and awkward angles that borderlines on fish eye. Now. Well, now Daxter gets to see her just as she was always meant to be seen and he couldn’t stop the smile inching wider on his face. Tess didn’t seem to notice, too occupied with fiddling with a stray thread at his collar. “We were hoping you’d know,”

The smile dropped. “They weren’t with me?” he asked, though he knew the answer even before Tess shook her head.

“We received a transmission right before you showed up. It was choppy, but from what we managed to make out from it, Jak told us he and the Kid were alive and with you. Now you’re telling us you weren’t with them this whole time?” Torn’s voice verged on suspicion, and Daxter wanted to wrap his perfectly normal hands around his throat and throttle him for even considering the possibility.

“He wasn’t there when I woke up. The minute I came to, I headed straight here,”

“You guys have been missing for a week,” Tess continued, “We thought you were … Dax, what happened on that mission?”

“I …” He was angry. Unbelievably angry. How dare he? How dare he, after all this time? Didn’t he know Daxter would lay his life down for him? Doesn’t he realize that this brotherhood forged in love and suffering was stronger than anything on this planet? How could he do this to him? Why would he do this? “We came to pick up the Kid and get our mission orders to take him to Onin, then there was this white light, and the next thing I know, I’m waking up in my birthday suit in the Bazaar. I don’t … everything is still … fuzzy,”

“Daxter, my boy,” Samos — the young one, still holding an effigy of Patron Kaliope — piped up, taking small steps toward his bedside, “I beg you, think. We found you half dead outside from hypothermia. If Jak is still out there …”

Daxter swallowed thickly. He didn’t want to think about that. Jak hated the cold, more so now than ever. He said it reminded him of bad things, the memories always lingering just out of reach for him to remember completely but always close enough to nip at his ankles whenever the summer died to usher in the fall. He promised himself that as long as he was alive, Jak would never so much as feel a chill if he had any say in it.

He closed his eyes and concentrated. He replayed the events like a movie — they came to pick up the Kid, they got into the zoomer, and then what? What came next? What was the next scene, what came after this? He raked his brain, trying in vain to visualize what he knew. He knew he was angry at Jak. What kind of anger? Was he hurt? Betrayed? Worried? No, no, he wasn’t angry, he was hysterical with frustration. He was frustrated. Jak wasn’t listening to him, but not in a normal mischievous way … no, Jak was ignoring his pleas. What was he pleading about? To slow the zoomer? Almost. To … to drive the zoomer? No. No, he wanted the zoomer to do something and Jak wasn’t listening. He—

“I need to keep him safe, Dax!”

“Jak went rogue,” Daxter breathed. That was the word. Rogue. The absence of obedience, but not only a lack of it, but a complete abandonment. The details were fuzzy, but they were starting to lay out before him. “He … he’s a good kid, Torn. He’d never hurt the Kid, I swear. He’s a good kid, it’s just …” Daxter bit his lip. Jak would kill him if he found out. Hell, he’s not completely convinced that Jak even knew that Daxter knew. That’s the thing about always riding around on your best friend’s shoulder — you see the side of them that they themselves didn’t even know existed. Torn raised his eyebrow.

“It’s just what?”

Daxter swallowed again. He sighed, and prayed to the Precursors Jak would forgive him. “Jak’s been through a lot and the dark eco … it doesn’t make things any easier. He’s not crazy, okay? He just gets confused. When you’ve been through half the shit Jak’s been through, you don’t exactly come out of it untouched. He … hears things, sometimes. Voices. People talking to him. He doesn’t even notice it sometimes. Other times …”

Tess tightened her hold on his hand, rubbing the back of it with her other hand and nodded at him. “It’s okay. We’re not here to judge him, we just want to help,”

Daxter nodded back, but he didn’t really register anything Tess was saying. He took a deep breath. “Jak has these hallucinations. It doesn’t happen all the time. Everything is all jumbled up in the ol’ noggin right now, but I remember him being adamant on keeping the Kid safe. I think … I think that’s what happened. He saw something that only he could see and it spooked him. He’s a good kid. He just wants to protect the Kid is all,”

Torn stared hard at a spot on the bed frame, eyes narrowed in the light of the overhead bulb. His hand came up to his mouth, and he sniffed. “You’re telling us what exactly? That Jak thinks you’re with him right now?”

“No, he doesn’t think it,” Daxter interjected, cutting off whatever Torn might’ve added at the end of his statement. “They’re real to him. To him, there’s someone physically there and when you’re running on little sleep and adrenaline, yeah, you’d have a hard time determining what’s real and what isn’t,” He didn’t have the heart to mention when Jak was convinced Erol was standing behind a pillar in the Mountain Temple. Torn didn’t need to know how his friend startled so badly, he tripped backwards and landed hard on his ass. Tess would sleep better at night never knowing how his friend — his friend who was so strong, who had endured a lethal amount of torture that would’ve brought a grown man to his knees, who still retained the boyish smiles and pension for mischief — cowarded at the sight of the man, scrambling backwards and too terrified to form a cohesive sentence other than chocked off whines. Daxter himself had to shake his head to get rid of the tinny voice that whispered, “What is he doing here?” while cradling his gun, the muzzle pressed against his jaw while staring wide eyed at the nothingness before them.

It made Daxter cursed Patron Micte and all the Precursors above for not allowing him to descend the same way Jak was, for forcing his friend to venture into that labyrinth alone save for the hair thin string that threatened the snap at any moment.

The teen tried to summon back his memory again. It felt illusive, slipping through his fingers like smoke every time he tried to grasp it. He could see flashes of Jak tucked the Kid under his arm, the shiny coat of the zoomer they “borrowed”, and … and then what? What happened after they got into the zoomer? Daxter took up his permanent spot on the center console and kept his eyes peeled for patrol guards and he chatted in Jak’s ear in the hopes of getting that nose-exhale of a laugh out of him and he pressed his paw against the Kid’s sternum when the zoomer braked suddenly and he drew his eyes to the sky while his heart ached for the fluffy clouds of their childhood, but for the life of him, he couldn’t recall how he ended up alone and human. There had to be something he was missing. It was like seeing the remains of writing in the sand after a wave swept by it — you can see that there were etchings, but the water had eroded it almost completely.

Daxter looked down at his hands in his lap, realizing that he had begun to pick at his nail beds. Leave it to him to have a proper body for a day and immediately messing it up. He let his idle hands move on their own, examining the lines in his hands and the shape of his fingers. His wrists were a crossroads of blue veins, and he traced one all the way up his thumb, using the nail of his other hand for a more precise path. He stopped when he felt something cakey under his nail.

It was dark and flakey, and when he pulled his skin downward, he realized whatever it was had stained his skin. He rubbed at it a couple times, watching it disappear with every swipe and as the beam of light coming off of the bulb over the desk shunned on it, Daxter could make out the slight tinge of red. Blood. He pulled up the hem of the tunic to find his stomach wrapped in rough gauze, though it was pristine and faintly green at the center of it. Daxter turned to Tess. “Was I hurt?”

Tess pursed her lips. “You had a gigantic bruise. It looks like you must’ve been hit pretty hard by something,”—

— “You’re under arrest, by decree of his majesty the Baron!” the guard barked, reaching a gloved hand over to force the wheel away from Jak’s grasp. The teen protested wildly, elbowing the guard backwards while trying to regain control of the zoomer. Daxter had fumbled the gun from the impact, and when he went to shoot at the guard closest to Jak, it only clicked.

“You’ve got to be kidding me! Now, of all times!” he groaned, flipping the gun in his hands to use as a club. It was useless against the hard Precursor metal of the KG armor, only managed to scuff the chest plate before the driver reached over. In one swift motion, the guard defended his partner by forcing the gun backwards. The butt cracked into Daxter’s nose and mouth, and the lights went out immediately after.—
— “Get him through the airlock and wait for me. I’ll hold them off,”

“Jak, don’t be a martyr. Those are thirty of the Baron’s finest, and you look like a steaming pile of yakkow crap—”

“Dax, just do it!”—

— “JAK, LOOK OUT!” —

— “You’ve done your part. Now it’s time for Jak to save himself,”—

— Daxter gasped hard. The last pieces slotted into place, and Daxter breathed a sigh of relief as he remembered what it was that he was forgetting. Precursors, how could he have forgotten? The stress and fear were hardly easy to forget. Emotions like that marinated in someone for years and years, and for some reason Daxter’s brain decided to purge it all completely and nearly took the memory of his best friend’s disappearance with it.

He caught the light reflecting off of the effigy, Patron Kaliope’s glass eyes sparkling. That little forest brat. “I know where Jak is,” he said suddenly, all heads in the room snapping toward him. He ignored them all, opting to throw the blankets off of him and standing up with only the barest amount of aching coming from his midsection. He had to pause at the edge of the bed, doubled over as the room swam around him, staring at the ground between his bare feet. Sweat was beading on his brow and Daxter had to breathe through the wave of nausea that hit him.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa! You’re in no condition to be moving right now!” Tess barred his way with her arm, standing up from her chair to tower over the teen. Daxter grimaced, though trying to stand up at the moment felt like having to decide between swallowing glass or hugging an angry metalhead.

“I’ll be fine! Trust me, I’ve been through worse than this,” he started, but someone decided to tilt the Earth just as he spoke and he landed heavily on the bed.

“You aren’t going anywhere. Last thing I need are two teenagers flirting with death. It’ll reflect badly on the organization,” Torn chimed in, leaning against the bunk opposite to Daxter’s. “You’re staying where I can see you,”

“We need to go get Jak! He could be injured or worse!”

“Oh, we’ll go get Jak, alright, but you’re. Staying. Here. That’s an order,” Torn growled out the last part, shooting daggers at him. Daxter didn’t know whether to punch him or kiss him. While he wanted to be the one to go retrieve his best friend, he also knew he would end up needing to be rescued as well at some point. His body felt strange and gelatinous and his head was threatening to split open. “Just tell us where Jak is and … Tess will go get him. She was on her way to hunt you guys down when you showed up, so thanks for saving us time there,” Torn turned his attention on the blonde, and Daxter felt Tess’ hand tighten around his. Holy crap, was she strong. “You, on the other hand, are not going out there alone. Daxter went out there and got turned into a goblin, I can’t risk you ending up the same way,”
“A goblin!”

“I told you I can take care of myself,” Tess grumbled, and Torn pinched the bridge of his nose. If Daxter squinted, he could make out two round red marks from what he can assume was a previous pinching that occurred.

“So can Jak and look where that got us,” Torn deflated after a moment, and when he opened his eyes, Daxter felt a pang of guilt at how bloodshot they were. They all looked frazzled. He didn’t think they all cared this much about their wellbeing, especially not when there was so much grief and death around them all at all times. He had figured they were too numb, too desensitized to seeing teens disappear and never return, that they would’ve immediately moved on to the next promising candidate. Daxter started biting his nail, then caught himself and removed his finger from his mouth. He should probably wash his hands of the blood.

Oh shit. Jak’s blood.

“Tess,” he said sternly, “Jak and the Kid are in Haven Forest. I don’t know where exactly, but I do know that he’s hurt and probably not in the best shape to protect both him and the tot. He won’t come with you easily, not when he’s hurt. It’s going to be like trying to coax a crocadog out of a corner. You’re going to need back-up,”

“Not you too …”

“Baby, are you kidding me?” Daxter snorted, “I know you can hold your own. I’m not stupid, I know you’re capable. But you’re going to need help dragging Jak back. He’s slippery and someone needs to be there to rangle him in case it hits the fan,”

“There’s no one else who can come with me,” Tess’s jaw clenched, but she didn’t argue further. Kor, Tess, the Shadow, and himself were out of the question. “What about Samos?” Daxter asked. The Shadow opened his mouth, but he was already waving him off. “The other one. The one that’s already a Sage. Maybe he can do some woo-woo crap and sense his life force or whatever the hell it is he’s good for,”

The Shadow shook his head. “Not likely. He’s too busy being vague about why he’s here in the first place. He won’t agree to something he thinks will impede what happens later on,” he threw his hands up, “Why did I grow up to be the world’s oldest stick up a yakkow’s ass, I’ll never know,”

It went on like this for hours. Each of them naming names and getting rejected almost immediately. The biggest issue was who they could trust when it came to the Kid. Not a lot of people in the Underground knew about the child and his role in the organization, something they’d like to keep close to the vest as much as possible. If word got out that the Kid was lost somewhere in Haven Forest, the place would be littered with KG cruisers before any of them got wise. No, it had to be someone who would’ve immediately blab to the nearest tipline, and could handle a situation if it went pear-shaped, someone like ….

“What about the Wastelander?”

Sig knelt down, pressing two fingers into the cakey dirt. Metalhead tracks. A decent size, though nothing really impressive. The footprint was old, however, no younger than at least four days. If Jak was here, he prayed to the Precursors that this fellow didn’t get its hands on them before they got there.

Getting the call that the Underground’s first mission for him being a rescue misson was odd enough. It felt like a jab to the throat when he arrived at the bunker to find out it was Jak who needed the rescuing. He winced at the thought of the colorful words he called the teen after getting stood up a week prior, cursing himself for being gullible enough to wait a couple of hours only to realize the kid wasn’t going to show. For a moment, he’d forgotten all about trying to use the trip as a means to extract information, and ended up treating it as a genuine excursion to show Jak something he knew he’d like. Damas thought Sig was becoming a soft touch in his years in Haven.

Maybe because Sig was a soft touch.

He waved his flashlight over the rocks and trees. They sent him out here a full week after the kid went missing, yet they somehow expected him to find him alive and well. They told him they had a phone call from him telling them he was in the forest, but Sig was starting to feel like he was set up on some kind of hazing tradition. Any minute now, he expected Jak to pop out from some unholy hiding place and scare the absolute crap out of him. It sounded like the sort of thing teenagers would love to do, especially the kind of little shits that Jak and Daxter were.

The footsteps reminded him, however, that this was an actual rescue mission that was assigned to him. The blonde from the bar — “My name is Tess, thank you very much.” — followed close behind, a modified morph gun in hand with The Teethrattler proudly etched into the barrel. It was a strange juxtaposition seeing someone with glittery pink lipgloss holding a gun that Sig believed might be powerful enough to put Peacemaker to shame. Rule one of the Wasteland: Never underestimate someone based on their looks. He thinks that’s why the gruff man in the Underground bunker hissed at her to be careful and listen to the adults on this, sounding all too much like how a father would reprimand their child. It made him wonder, but he reached the conclusion that Tess was far too old to be his daughter.

In the end, Tess was allowed to come provided she kept a tracker on her gun at all times just in case. She skipped out of the bunker with a vindicated smile and the Teethrattler slung over her shoulder. She reminded him so much of Athea his heart ached.

“Find anything?” Tess asked, peering over his shoulder at the tracks.

“Nothing useful,” Sig sighed.

It was Tess’ turn to sigh. She lifted her gun and clicked on a switch. A light beam emitted from near the scope, illuminating everything within six feet of them. Combined with his handheld, the forest in front of them glowed like a nightlight. Sweeping it across the landscape, Tess moved forward with all the stealth of a spy approaching a target.

“Can I ask you something?” Sig asked, falling in step with her as they both took different sides. He saw her shrugging from the corner of his eye.

“You just did,”

“Har-har. Be real with me, then. Why is the Underground so concerned with finding Jak anyway? Seems like a lot of effort for a pair of kids,” when the teen didn’t answer, Sig pressed on with a sly smile, “Oh, I get it. You have a thing for Jak, is that it?”

“Gross!” she shrieked, gagging dramatically. “He’s blonde! And he’s not even that cute! I’ve seen what his idea of hygiene is. Trust me, you don’t want to know,”

“Alright, alright,” Sig laughed, rounding the corner of a boulder. Nothing. “So Daxter, huh?”

“If I had an orb for how many times someone’s asked me that this month … It's totally normal! He used to be a human. Keira, Daxter, and Jak told me so. You know what is weird? People treating him like he’s just a glorified rat! He’s so much more than that!” she huffed angrily, stomping away from Sig. She only made it a couple feet before returning, crossing her arms across her chest with a dignified scowl. “And not that it’s any of your business, but Daxter and I are doing great now more than ever. I can’t go into a lot of detail, but let’s just say gingers are infinitely better than blondes,”

“I believe you,” Sig hummed. That was a relief to him. He had to admit, it was a little weird that Jak would be spending so much time around a talking fuzzball, but knowing that he was actually hanging around his human-friend-turned-ottsel was much better. It was a sign of loyalty, in Sig’s eyes. Striking with your best friend through thick and thin, there to support each other even in the darkest of hours. “Still doesn’t answer why the Underground is so hell-bent on getting some kid back,”

Tess shrugged, pretending to fire a shot at an invisible enemy. “Beats me. All Torn said was that they were carrying some precious cargo, and that it was in the best interest of the organization to find it before it fell into the wrong hands,”

“So like a weapon?”

“Something like that, I guess. I don’t ask too many questions. It helps if everyone just sees a dumb blonde. Mind ducking real quick?” Sig barely registered the sweet command, but once the teen lifted that baby up to peer through the scope, he hit the floor faster than a kangarat running from a leaper lizard.

And man, was she not lying about it being a Teethrattler. The boom was all shock wave, hitting the metalhead with a blast that made his jaw ache and his bones quake. The bite came a second later, burning a circle into the metalhead’s chest like acid as it squealed and died. Tess lowered the gun, pressing a testing finger to the hot nozzle until it wasn’t fiery red anymore and she could inspect it better.

“Hm. The cooldown is a little slow, and the Vulcan Fury mod bullets didn’t do as much damage as I hoped. I’ll have to recalibrate that. It’s good for a one off like that guy, but if Jak is gonna be using this to protect my sweet Daxter, it’s gotta be perfect,”

“You made that?”

“Sure did. You think Jak just happens to wonder upon all those sick mods? Please, if it was up to him, Jak would still be channeling yellow eco to fight off big bads like a cartoon,”

“For someone who hates blondes, you sure do talk about him a lot,”

“Oh my god, stop!” Tess groaned, and Sig threw his head back to laugh. He dreaded taking another rookie with him on a job, but Tess was proving to not only be a great extra set of eyes, but a great companion to boot. If she wasn’t careful, Sig might try enlisting her as a Wastelander. They could use her keen eye for guns, especially if she was bringing this kind of attention and care to the craft. Sig readjusted his gun, smirking to himself when Tess eyed it hungirly. “Can I see that?”

“Only if I could play with the Teethrattler,”

“Awesome!”

Chapter Text

Back in Sandover, food was really all the villagers had. The village was small, a population that used to once range in the hundreds had eventually trickled down to the handful that remained after multiple tsunamis that battered the island long before Daxter, Jak, and Keira were born. With barely any livestock or merchantiles to barter, the unofficial love language of the coastal town became food. Specifically fish and vegetation. One of Jak’s more fond memories was being eleven years old and learning from the Fisherman how to slice the meat of the fish up into chunks, his voice gruff but his hands gentle as he handled the preparation with more care than the wide eyed child had ever seen. Their feasts were colorful and plentiful, laid out on banana leaves and eaten by grateful hands. Jak and Daxter’s favorites were always the more heavy handed fish dishes, and to them, the more raw the fish, the better. Keira, on the other hand, favored the more vegetated options. Her plates were piled on with stuffed leaves, crispy seaweed, fruits, and roots, scrunching her nose up at them whenever a steaming unagi was placed in front of her. She once let it slip that she didn’t care much for eating anything that had a pulse. The amount of times Daxter had chased after her with a fish eye after that, cooing that it would make her smarter were too many to count. Although, they did catch her throwing in the raw chunks of meat into her rice bowl on a couple occasions.

The biggest disappointment about Haven City, to him, was the utter lack of anything as fresh as the food in Sandover. The city was heavily polluted, most of the livestock and vegetation were kept far from the mouths of people who needed it and only really served as status symbols to the more wealthy citizens. The first thing they ate after escaping the prison was a bowl of stew that made them sick immediately after, throwing up murky broth and gray yakkow meat. The food grown within the walls were flavorless and misshapen, and Daxter claimed it was due to the pesticides mixed into the sprinkler system. He said he’d been around enough poison to know the smell anywhere. Acidic and dense and it clogged in one’s lungs like tar.

So when they came across a grove of apples, the two teens couldn’t resist the temptation.

The sun was starting to rise high in the sky, and Jak and Daxter straddled branches to collect the red fruit hanging from them. “Hey, Kiddo! Head’s up!” Daxter exclaimed, shaking a branch so violently that it knocked three apples to the general direction the Kid was. He looked up just in time to catch one of the apples, though the other two went directly into the maw of the crocadog. “Of course,” the ottsel deflated, sagging against the branch. “We do all the work, and the mutt reaps the rewards,” Jak didn’t reply. “So, do you want to talk about it?”

“I have no idea what you mean,”

“Oh, sure you don’t. Far be it from me to know when my best friend of one, two,” he rattled them off on his fingers, “three …. six … ten years, is in a mood. Silly me,” he plucked off more apples, though this time he chose to hold onto them. Jak rolled his eyes at him, dropping down the apple he was holding right into Mar’s outstretched hands. The child flinched as he saw it approach rapidly, but he stood his ground and ended up cheering for himself when he caught it.

“Again, I don’t know what you’re talking about,”

“All I’m saying is that you’ve been really quiet since we left the house. You looked all spooked. What’s the matter? Did you see a ghost?”

Jak dug his nail into an apple, leaving a crescent moon shape in the red skin. He didn’t know what he saw, honestly. The house was old and decrepit, not nearly as well-manicured as the teen had originally thought when he stepped foot inside. It was when the woman in red vanished that Jak finally saw the layers of grime and curse words carved into every inch of the home. The windows were shattered, end tables toppled, and the wallpaper was peeling off the walls in long stripes. The house, in order to gain his trust, had gossied itself up to look appealing to the cold group. It lured them in, smiling through bloodied teeth as its next meal willingly submitted themselves to it.

They were lucky to have escaped intact. Jak didn’t wait for daybreak, he just picked up the child and crocadog and ran out as fast as he could go, ignoring the faces in the windows that looked out at him as he took off for whatever path looked the most well traveled. He ignored the wailing of the woman in red, shushing Mar in his arms in a misguided attempt to quail his own frazzled nerves.

Jak sighed, moving his leg to sit more comfortably on the branch. The apple in his hand was shiny and heavy, its deep red inviting him to take a bite out of it. He did, slotting his teeth over the indents he made, then wiped off the juices that dripped down his chin. “I saw my own shadow and got spooked,” Jak started, “It’s stupid. Out of everything we’ve been through here, I guess my mind decided to play some tricks on me, is all,”

“Aw, is that what’s eating you? You had a wittle fright? Precursors, Jak, I thought someone was dying,”

Jak pressed his lips together at that. It was a new habit of his. It was like now that Jak can voice his thoughts, he unconsciously had to prevent anything from slipping out. “It’s not just about that, Dax. It’s the Kid I’m worried about,”

Daxter peered down from his perch. The Kid was tearing into the apple, wiggling his shoulders and hips as he chewed whatever piece he had in his mouth. “He looks fine to me,” he snorted, dropping down another apple. The Kid was quick again, snatching the apple out of the air before the crocadog got to it. Now armed with two apples, the Kid looked entirely blissed out. Who knew the last time the kid had something fresh to eat? Anything to eat, period? He deserved this detour, even if for all they knew they were walking in the opposite direction. “I bet he thinks this is part of the mission,”

“It’s not though,” Jak hissed, digging his thumbs into the bite he took from the apple. It came apart instantly, now two halves. The feeling felt all to familiar, muscle memory that lingered from the voice in his head who only quieted whenever Jak obeyed its wishes. Now Daxter should start worrying. “He’s just a kid. Remember when we were his age?”

“Vaguely. You were kinda ugly back then, I tried not looking at you for too long,” Daxter joked. Jak shot him a look, but he couldn’t be too mad. He barely remembered what he looked like as a kid, the only evidence he ever was one was encased somewhere in the ruins of the Sculptor’s home. Crude circles and dots drawn on using paint made from berries and insects and the Sculptor’s own rendition in charcoal. His Uncle once sat with Jak for a drawing, though it was when he was much older, and the explorer kept it tucked into his vest pocket whenever he traveled. ”In case I get a touch of ocean madness and forget who I am,” he winked.

Jak missed him more with each passing day.

“We didn’t have guys with guns chasing after us, and we sure as hell didn’t have the entire weight of a city on our shoulders,” the blonde sighed, now deciding to peel the skin off the apples in thin strips, “He doesn’t need the extra stress of being lost in the woods with no food, no shelter, and a chaperon who jumps at any sound. Hell, he’s safer within the city’s walls at this point,”

“Okay, you’re being a little dramatic there, big guy. For starters, he’s literally eating better food out here than he was getting in Haven, that’s for sure. Remember that bottle of yakkow milk we found sitting on Torn’s desk? It was basically alive. As far as he’s concerned, he’s having the time of his life! Look at him! I don’t know about you, but I haven’t seen him this down to Earth since we’ve met him,”

The best part is; Daxter isn’t even lying. Usually it takes a while for him to come up with positive spins on their situation, often having to reach far into his bag of jokes to lighten the mood, but this time everything he listed off was the whole truth. The kid carried himself like, well, a kid. Whenever he sat in meetings with them, the Kid would sit still and listen, occasionally cracking a funny face at the proceedings and arguments that broke out. Kor, Samos, and Torn only saw what Mar could stand for in all this shit, but none of them actually cared about him. No one really took the time to sit him down and have a proper play session or read him bedtime stories. Since they’ve been in the forest, all Mar’s done is goof off. Sure, he did manage to get the attention of a possessed wolf, and yes, both Jak and Daxter did lose two years off their lives from the sheer terror that ran through them when the monster crashed through the door, but kids will be kids. Jak and Daxter got into a lot of shit at that age too. It’s a miracle Sandover was still standing after Jak decided he needed a whumpbee for his insect collection on his ninth birthday.

He never did get that whumpbee.

“I guess you’re right,” Jak sighed again, taking a gracious bite out of the smaller of the halves. When he was done chewing, he continued, “We still need to find that town. It’s already morning and I promised Torn I’d keep in touch,”

“I wouldn’t want to be near Torn right now, that’s for sure,” Daxter said. He stiffened, a wide smile stretching across his furry face as Jak realized what was about to happen. It built up in the ottsel like gas, his primal need to unleash it getting a hold of him. It leapt off him in waves, and all Jak could do was groan as Daxter’s need to be the most annoying person in the entire forest came bubbling out of him “We should call Kei-r-a first. Let Kei-r-a know her big, strong, handsome hero is safe,”

Jak choked on next bite, and Daxter allowed himself a second to bask in the glow. Precursors bless him, he really did have a knack for being a nuisance. The teen pounded his own chest, hacking up the bite and spitting it out in the other teen’s general direction. He smirked when the ottsel squawked, narrowly avoiding the piece of chewed up apple from sticking to his fur. “You sound jealous, Dax. Wish Tess made you a cloak to keep you warm too?”

“Hey, at least I’ve kissed a girl. When was the last time you and Keira kissed again? Oh, that’s right. Ya haven’t. Leave the shit talking to the big boys, alright, buddy?”

“You interrupted us!”

“I did no such thing!”

“You did too!”

“Lies and slander against my good name! After all I’ve done for you!”

“You jumped in be-”

“I can’t believe I’m best friends with a liar. Seek help for your pathological lying, Jakkey, it’s unbecoming of you,”

Daxter made a mental note to file for assault charges when Jak made a grab for him, both tumbling out of the tree and taking down an entire bustle of apples with them. Despite the fall — which, by the way, ouch — they actually did end up making a lot of progress when Daxter got brained by a wooden sign. It must’ve been nailed to the tree’s trunk, and they hadn’t noticed it when they initially climbed it in the first place. Pottsfield. 1 mile.

The forest eventually gave way to a path flanked by an open field. On either side of them were pumpkins of every size, tangled up in their own vines and soaking into the noon sun. The only thing separating the path from the fields were old planks of wood that had all but mostly collapsed. It’s what allowed the crocadog to hop over them and chase off birds that had come to peck off the more ripened pumpkins. Compared to the cold front yesterday, today had a bit more warmth. It wasn’t a huge difference, and Jak still kept his arms under his cloak, but it did feel nice to have the sun kissing his face.

“There goes that crazy crocadog again,” Daxter commented from Jak’s shoulder. The teen chuckled in turn, though the sentiment triggered something for him. Nothing terrible, but he felt like he’d heard it before. He tried holding onto the deja vu, but it slipped out of his grasp almost instantaneously. Just as he remembered it, the memory was gone. He shook his head, and chalked it up to exhaustion.

They made it another ten feet over the hill and below them, the first sign of civilization they’ve seen in almost two days rested at the bottom of the hill. Once more, the buildings were unusual for Haven City architecture, but at this point Jak couldn’t care less. They looked taken care of, meaning the townshend wasn’t abandoned like the mansion was. That’s all they really needed. “Finally!” Daxter cried out, tugging on Jak’s hair as he hopped up and down and wagged a pointer finger, “Civilization! Let’s go, giddy up!”

The crocadog leapt in the air, barking and wagging his tail as the town came into view. Mar giggled somewhere next to Jak, pressing a hand against his mouth as if to stifle the noise. Jak found himself doing the same, the two of them looking like two sides of the same coin. The crocadog was ahead of them, thumping his heavy tail in the dirt to beckon the child to follow. The Kid looked up at him and signed, Race.

Jak didn’t need to be asked twice. Pushing the kid’s hat down over his eyes, Jak took off toward the town, leaving Mar scrambling to push his hat up. The crocadog joined in as well, running after the teen and trying to nip at his ankles to slow him down long enough for the child to catch up. He had to hand it to him, the kid was fast when he wanted to be, but his little legs were no match for Jak’s longer ones. One stride for him amounted to about three for Mar, though it didn’t stop him from giving it his all. Daxter languished in the race, treating Jak’s goggles like reigns as he shouted “Hiyah!” right into the teenager’s ear. By the time they reached the first building in town, Jak was laughing alongside his best friend as they slowed down to a jogging speed, letting the kid overtake them and claim the victory for himself. It felt like Sandover again, only this time it wasn’t just Keira letting them win. He wondered if this is what she saw when she faked a muscle cramp and let Jak pass her, throwing up his hands and grinning wide thinking he was the fastest runner in the entire world. Mar certainly looked like he was thinking the same, jumping up and down and hugging the crocadog.

“Alright, alright, you win,” Jak panted, patting the child’s back, “You’re too fast for me,”

Mar beamed, signing, Old.

Little shit, Jak thought, his cheeks hurting from smiling so much. His facial muscles were protesting against the motion. He dipped a finger in his mouth and shoved it into the kid’s ear for only a second, passing him by as the child rubbed his ear with an indignant scowl.

Unlike the roof of the mill homestead, these were colored with bright blue and red paint. It felt more inviting here. If not for a little quiet.

The group set about the pathways on their own. Mar and crocadog climbed over boxes of produce to look into windows, and Jak and Daxter searched out anywhere that might have a communicator. By the third empty home, the teen started to wonder if maybe the town was abandoned after all. If it was, it had to have been very recently. The houses that had their doors agape were clean and tidy, no signs of a sudden exit nor any signs of dust. Where the grist mill room had a sense of being frozen in a random time of day, the homes in Pottsfield had flowers hung to dry and polished floors. Jak shuddered as he caught a whiff of something earthy and medicinal, his stomach churning at the memory of the bittersweet tonic. Daxter called out into one of the homes.

“Looks like no one’s home,” he said to Jak, knocking on the door frame for good measure. “Annnd I’m not seeing any communicators in this place,” Jak pinched between his eyes, shaking his head. He was about to comment when the sound of music started to flood the dirt road. Both teens snapped their heads up, holding their breath as they look around for the source. Holding open the door, Mar waved them over to a large barn a hair’s away from the central hub of the town. The music got louder the closer they got, voices and laughter mixing into the sound by the time Jak was peeing in. His eyes widened.

The entire barn was full of pumpkins. Except, they weren’t like the pumpkins they saw on their way in. They moved on their own with limbs made of straw. Some were gathered in different areas participating in different activities — shucking corn, carving excess dough from pies, playing violins — and the rest were dancing around an effigy of sorts. Jak couldn’t see it from his vantage point, but it was big enough to almost touch the ceiling of the building. What unsettled Jak the most, however, was the faces carved into the pumpkin heads. Dark, hollow, and expressionless eyes moved about the room, red painted lips pulled into constant smiles, and some even went as far as having round noses smack dab in the middle of their faces. Hell, even straw hair was involved in the overall ensemble of the pumpkin people. The scariest aspect about the vegetable party was that the voices and laughter were coming from the pumpkins.

He leaned back, a hand on Mar’s chest, and he pushed them both backwards. Daxter pulled Jak’s hair impatiently, “Hel-lo? Earth to big guy, what did you see?”

“It … It’s pumpkins,” Jak squeaked, his voice cracking slightly. He cleared his throat. “Like, alive pumpkins,”

“Oh, Precursors, he’s finally snapped,” Daxter moaned. He jumped down to peek through the barn doors, muttering about sanity and responsibility. Jak rubbed his eyes, wondering if this was another one of his hallucinations taking inspiration from the pumpkin patch on their way in and conflating it with that of the tavern’s patrons a few days ago. It didn’t fit the criteria for a hallucination, but he didn’t really have a criteria to compare it to to begin with. It took only a matter of moments for Daxter to turn around completely, walking back between Jak’s legs, eyes wide and stiff. “No, thank you. C’mon, guys, there’s nothing for us here,”

Jak was about to agree, but he suddenly became hyper aware of how cold his hand was and closed his eyes. “Dax,” he sighed, “Where’s the kid?”

Sure enough, Mar was rushing inside the barn after the crocadog, dodging the dancing pumpkins with surprising agility. He didn’t even seem the slightest bit concerned about the moving pumpkins. The pumpkins, in turn, merely brushed him off with just a glance and then resumed whatever it was they were doing. Jak waited for the kid to look up from the crocadog, but when he did manage to catch his eye, Mar giggled and disappeared in the sea of straw bodies.

Jak cursed, thudding his forehead against the old wood, then slid into the barn without a second thought. He’s been through killer plants, giant purple beasts, metalheads of all shapes and sizes, men in armor that towered over him —

— He lost his grip as a red zoomer crashed into him, sending them flying into a building. All around him was gunfire and screaming. He punched the nearest body to him, hoping it would daze them long enough to take control back. It didn’t work, though, and he saw stars swim across his vision paired with an ache in his temple —

— He tried staying awake, even when a plethora of gloved hands grabbed at him, pulling him around like a puppet. He couldn’t see out of one eye, and the other was unfocused. Where’s Daxter? Keira? Samos? Why wasn’t anyone helping him? Jak weakly tried to put a leg under him, but a bolt of electricity on his spine seized him immediately —

— and monsters beyond anyone’s wildest dreams. The teen could handle pumpkins. Strolling around the barn, it became apparent that the attendees were here for a festival for some time. What looked like simply running around a maypole turned out to be a more intricate dance, sectioned with clapping and fancy footwork. The music was lively and upbeat, adding to the overall joyous ambience of the celebration. In his inspection of the decor, Jak felt himself bump into a solid body behind him. Everything in his being told him to prepare for a fight, but when he turned to face the enemy, he was face to face with a pumpkin with straw pigtails.

“Oh! Pardon me, there,” she said, “I apologize. I get so caught up in my head sometimes, you’d swear it was empty,”

Her voice came out slightly echoed and muffled. Like she was speaking through a mask. Jak furrowed his brows, and stated, “You’re wearing costumes,”

The pumpkin woman giggled. “Of course! Pumpkins can’t move on their own, now, can they?” She leaned a little closer to Jak, and the air shifted from friendly to suspicious. “Say, aren’t you a little too … early?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean … it doesn’t seem like you’re ready to join us just yet,”

Jak frowned, and in that exact moment, the Kid came whizzing past him. He shot an arm out, grabbed the Kid around his midsection, and tucked him close to his side. Jak chose to ignore the tiny nails digging into the exposed fingers under his glove. “Join you?” he shook his head, “We’re just passing through. My … brother and I are looking for a communicator,”

The woman grew somber then, leaning in close like what she was going to tell him was something too taboo for any prying ears to hear. “Folks don’t tend to ‘pass through’ Pottsfield,”

“We’re not like regular folks, I guess,”

Leaning back, she perked back up. “It’s just that it’s so nice here, no one tends to want to leave,” she giggled again. She caught the attention of another pumpkin man nearby, who wasted no time interjecting himself into the conversation. He strode up to them with purpose, his pumpkin head wrinkled and way past its prime. With a horn thrusted against the side of his head, the man spoke in a harsh tone.

“What’s that? Leave? Did you say ‘leave’?” he demanded, “Who wants to leave Pottsfield?!”

As if he screamed a string of profanity, the word triggered everyone in the barn to halt. The music cut abruptly with an ear piercing whistle, and the dancers remained motionless as they all faced the newcomers. Jak squeezed Mar closer. The crocadog was nowhere to be seen, and Jak could spot a tuft of bright orange attempting to blend into the decor of the festival. Daxter looked poised and ready, holding a pumpkin in hand while remaining perfectly still to not draw attention to the discrepancy in color. All around them, hushed whispers rose in the air. Words like “leave” and “Pottsfield” and “nice” were thrown about like confetti. The doors to the barn closed with a whining creak, casting the room into almost complete darkness. There went the only exit, blocked off by two large pumpkin people.

“We don’t want any trouble,” Jak said calmly, “We’re just trying to make out way home, that’s all,”

“He’s not supposed to be here,” a voice rang out in the crowd.

“He’s here to steal our crops!”

“... to ruin our party!”

Swallowing thickly, Jak ignored the bead of sweat falling down his cheek. Leave it to him to make even people who didn’t live in Haven City fear and hate him. He’s used to the animosity by now, forcing himself to be okay with the dirty looks he got when recognized in public. The citizens of Haven were all too aware of the reputation of the escaped prisoner loose in the streets of the city, maiming and killing anyone who got in his way. Rumors about him spread like a news cycle in continuation, ranging from theories about him being grown in a lab to a spy for the metalhead armies, all iterations of him meant to bring down the peaceful way of life the Baron has provided them. He was the enemy. The Baron told them so.

“Now, hold on, everybody,” a voice chuckled.

The maypole — or at least, Jak had thought it was a maypole — leaned down from the darkness of the ceiling, detaching its hands from the streamers that lined the wooden supports of the barn. Its head, to no surprise, was also a pumpkin. What set it apart, however, was its size compared to the rest. There was no question the being was the leader, a booming, calm voice rising above the rest that demanded attention. “Let’s not jump to any conclusions,” it leaned down, bending in the middle. While the other pumpkin masks had hollowed out eyes and mouths, this one didn’t. The orifices were painted on, the only exception being that the mouth was cut into the pumpkin, but not in a way that went deep enough to penetrate the outer reem. Yet, it spoke clearly.

“Enoch!” the older pumpkin from before called out, gesturing to Jak and Mar, “What shall we do with them?”

The being inhaled sharply. “Let’s see now. How did you boys end up in this little town of ours?” Two ribboned arms came together, a mockery of comforting body language that didn’t fool the teen for a second.

“The Wastelander sent us this way,” Jak said, backing up slightly, “We’re just looking for a way to tell our friends in Haven City that we’re safe. He told us you could help us with that,”

“Haven City?” the being asked, chuckling again, “What city is more of a Haven than Pottsfield?”

“Look— Enoch, was it? We’ll leave, just call off your goons,”

“Oh, you’ll do no such thing,” Enoch said, “Now, let me get this straight,” the being’s voice was soothing, and reminded Jak of Sig’s own baritone voice, always amused by anything the teen had to say, “You come to our town, you interrupt our private engagement, you disrespect my friends … and now you want to leave?”

“That’s the plan, yeah,” Jak growled. He was starting to get sick of people around here asking him questions. He never thought he’d long for the straight-forward and blunt speaking people of Haven, yet right now he wish someone would just tell him to go fuck himself or something at this point.

“This one is trying to escape!” a voice piped up, and Jak didn’t even need to turn around to know the crocadog was being held up by the tail, swinging and snapping its teeth at the pumpkin person holding him. Jak closed his eyes and breathed, practicing some BS exercise Samos tried shoving down his throat a week ago to calm his nerves and reevaluate the situation. It did not work.

“Children,” Enoch started, “It saddens me to see that you do not wish to stay here with us, particularly because I simply have to punish your transgression,” more ribbons sprouted from the being like tendrils, dawning on Jak that it wasn’t ribbons but long, thick vines that both made up its stem-like body and appendages. Mar squeaked from how close Jak was squeezing him against his hip. Enoch sang his decree, voice dripping with excitement, “So by the order of the Pottsfield Chamber of Commerce …” then he spoke normally again, “I find you guilty of trespassing, disrupting the peace,” he inched closer, his voice dropping more octaves the closer he got to the duo. By the time he was face to face with Jak, Enoch’s voice was grave and hushed, sounding awfully to much like the Baron’s did when he’d list his frustration with the scientists conducting his precious Dark Warrior Program, “and murder,”

“MURDER?!” Daxter screeched from the back of the barn. Mar looked up at Jak with wide eyes, but a determined set in his jaw. One of his hands moved upward, while the other in the form of a pointer finger moved sharply downward. A small chin jutted out toward the being before him. Kill him.

Enoch chuckled yet again, “Oh, no, not murder,” he laughed, “I’m just having a laugh. But, for those other crimes, I sentence you … to a couple hours manual labor,”

Daxter released himself from the grip the pumpkin person had on him, scurrying off to reclaim his spot on Jak’s shoulder. His paws slipped a little on the cloak, wobbling as he tried to regain his balance. “That’s it? Just a couple hours breaking rocks in the prison yard?” the ottsel squinted, “No funny business?”

“Now, wipe that forlorn look off your face. I assure you, we here in Pottsfield keep our word,” Enoch mused, gesturing to the crowd around them, “Now, run along. You’ll lose daylight if you continue to dilly-dally, and there is much to do,” Then as soon as the celebration was halted abruptly, it started up again. As if nothing ever happened.

–
The pumpkin people ended up putting large, iron shackles around all their ankles — even on the crocadog, for some reason — and sent them off to the corn fields to harvest. Jak tried for the first hour of their “punishment” to break the metal with the butt of his morph gun, smashing it down on the clasp that kept it locked, but had no such luck. Those assigned to watch them didn’t say anything the entire time, merely standing off to the side and watching the group carry on the tasks at hand. Thankfully, the balls affixed to the shackles weren’t heavy enough to hinder their work.

Daxter, of all people, seemed to be taking it with stride. He teamed up with the Kid in shucking the corn, plucking the buds off the stalk and dropping it into the basket so that all the child had to do was pull the leaves away from the vegetables and separate them. Jak knew he should be helping them, but everytime he got up to do a task, his mind felt weird. It was like static was ringing in his ears, and his mouth felt like it was filled with cotton. He’d pull the ball along, yet it felt much heavier than it was supposed to be. He can’t do it. The corn stalks all around him felt like they were closing in, staring down at him like they were waiting for something to happen. Something should be happening by now —

— “It’s been months, why hasn’t something happened by now?” a voice asked above him. Jak learned long ago to not bother to look up at them. The overhead lamp was blinding, he wouldn’t be able to even see past silhouettes. It was best to keep his eyes closed.

“Maybe they got the wrong kid,” another voice commented. Older, gruffer, female. “He’s the only one to survive this far, I’ll give him that. Maybe if we up the dosage …?”

No. Nononono. The last one hurt far worse than anything they’ve done before. His body was exhausted. He could only channel so much before his heart would eventually give out. Jak learned the hard way with blue eco, the adrenaline and cackle of electricity that allowed him to push his body physically always left lingering twitches and aches. It felt like his lungs never got enough oxygen.

He fucked up. A whine slipped through his pressed lips. “Shit. Is he awake?”

“What? That’s impossible!”

“Holy fuck, Quen! He can’t be awake for this!”

“How is this my fault!? They promised he’d be knocked out for hours!”

“Shit, shit, shit! He’s freaking out! Hold him down while I finish up in here! And for the love of the Precursors, get an anesthesiologist that won’t have a patient wake up during the middle of a fucking vivisection!” —

“Hey, Jak?” The blonde blinked, and found himself next to Daxter. Under him was soft earth, and around him the wind rustled the corn husks around them. The pumpkin people were discussing something a distance away, laughing. He looked down and saw Daxter’s hand on his knee. “You okay? You looked like you were somewhere else for a minute there,”

Jak felt something near his hand. It was a tin of warm liquid. A cinnamon stick and slice of apple floating around, and he focused on that until his breathing even out. “I’m fine,” he muttered, “I just don’t like having this thing on me,”

Daxter picked his much smaller ball up. “Tell me about it! I’ve tripped over this thing three times now! I’m going to file a complaint with the Pottsfield Chamber of Commerce,” the last part was sung mockingly like how Enoch sounded, an eye roll accompanying the melody, “The Kid was getting worried about you. Asked me to see if you were doing okay since you, ya know, haven’t shucked one measly corn,”

“He did?” Jak spotted Mar dragging his basket of corn over to the pumpkin people. It was full, no doubt too heavy for his stature to carry, so he elected to pull it along after him with the aide of the crocadog headbutting the basket. Their jailers beamed when he presented it, straw covered hands patting his back and handing him a teacup of something. Mar looked at it, sniffed it, then downed the entire thing without a second moment’s thought. His upper lip came away lined with chocolate.

“Ye-ah, he did. We need another basket’s worth of corn if you so generously will help us,” Daxter said, waving at the empty basket next to him. “Drink your drink first, though. Apparently it’s better to drink it when its piping hot,”

“What is it?”

“Scarecrows claim it’s the best apple cider in Pottsfield,” he explained, gabbing a thumb over to the group of them watching them. In a hushed tone, he added, “If you ask me, I think that Wastelander sent us here to be bored to death by this Pottsfield shit. Every other word is Pottsfield this, Pottsfield that …”

Jak swirled the drink. Flashes of Hin’s cabin came to mind, the putrid taste of his own bile mixed with the tonic sparking back like a phantom pain. He tried holding the cup closer to the sunlight, seeking out anything that might be amiss in the honey colored liquid. It was freckled with brown that moved like a flock of birds, and although there was berries bobbing toward the surface, they were a pinkish-red instead of black. He held the rim to his nose and took a deep breath, preparing himself for the possibility of smelling the bitter almonds that Hin’s drink possessed.

It smelt like apples and spice. It smelt like fall, and the leaves, and the whisper of winter. He took a long sip and ended up finishing the cider completely. It pooled in his stomach and warmed him up, like sitting in the sun on the shores of Sandover. He set the tin cup down, dusting off his hands, then pushed himself up with Daxter on his shoulder. The repetitive motion of plucking corn, pulling the leaves off, and dropping them into the basket quieted whatever was going on in his head. He felt at peace in Pottsfield, finally allowed his guard down for the first time since entering the forest. The land was still, yet it bursted with the promise of life as the pumpkin people completed their menial tasks alongside Jak and the kid. He couldn’t be furthest from Haven in general, and it comforted him even more knowing that there was something beyond the dank depression of the industrial city. It was easy to forget that there was anything more outside of Haven’s walls, that there had been things to exist before it all. There used to be jungles and volcanic pits, snowy mountain scapes and rainy swamps. Now, there was a never-ending forest and a field of corn and pumpkins as long as the eye could see.

Before he knew it, the basket was filled up with corn. The ground was littered with husks and leaves, and Mar wasted no time to play among it all. With his free foot, he kicked up the leaves and watched the crocadog bite at it. He piled them all into a heap and pointed at it, clapping for the crocadog to jump into the debris. Leave it to the Kid to find fun in the dullest of environments.

Once the pumpkin people were satisfied, they marched them over to a pumpkin patch closer to the main hub of the town. It was a square enclosed area, teaming with the orange bulbous fruit nestled within thick vines in various degrees of green and brown. There were sparse pumpkin people moving around, frittering over the crops and gardens that seemed to fill in the gaps between the buildings. Everyone has bundles of vegetation hanging off shoulders and arms, moving about it all methodically yet giddily all the same.

One of the pumpkin wardens handed Jak a pair of garden shears, motioning at the more bountiful of the rows. “Just go about cutting the stems off ripe pumpkins, if you please. Jebediah, William, and I will take care of the rest,”

“You’re helping us?” Jak didn't mean it to come out sounding suspicious. In fact, he didn’t mean to voice it out loud at all. The thought slipped out easily and without a second thought, and he felt oddly naked about the question. The pumpkin person stood still, no doubt furrowing his brows underneath the mask.

“Of course we are. Harvesting is a community job, don’t you know? Everyone participates, “ he motioned to the other citizens going about their chores, waving at one or two as they passed by. Jak spotted gords and potatoes. Sandover wasn’t exactly the place to find vegetables like those. In fact, he doesn’t recall vegetables at all. Sure, there were carrots and other root vegetables, but nothing like the round vegetation that seemed so prominent in this new land. It felt … nice. Learning and observing. There wasn’t time for that in Haven. He’s been to the bazaar so many times now, yet he couldn’t tell you what was being sold in the stands. It all just looked like the idea of produce — one that was half formed and rejected.

“The harvest is a big deal here, huh?” Jak asked, bending down to start snipping at the stems with the shears. They were slightly rusted, but sharp. Obviously well cared for.

“Oh, yeah! It’s the most important time of the year,” he said, rolling the pumpkin that Jak just snipped over to the side where Jebediah and William were waiting to roll it away. “We really make it a big to-do around these parts. It brings us together, reminds us that we need each other to make something so important happen,” he abruptly stopped, then brought a straw covered hand up to his brow, “Well, look who it is! Hello, Emma!”

A pumpkin woman — Emma — strolled up to the wooden fence enclosing the patch, standing in front of the Warden with a cloth covered basket pressed to her hip. Her mask had carved out eyelashes, but her mouth was missing the red paint that the other pumpkins with straw dresses had. Even if he couldn’t see her face from behind her mask, Jak could feel her smile from where he was crouching near another pumpkin. “Good afternoon, Thomas! Just the man I wanted to see,”

“Oh, I hope it wasn’t too much trouble tracking me down! What with the harvest and all, I can’t tell whether I’m coming or going,”

“Well, then I won’t hold you up for long. I just came by to bring you and the children some lunch, if it’s alright,”

The pumpkin warden — Thomas — nodded giddily, outstretching his hands to receive cloth covered bundles Emma was handing him. He thanked her for the food, tucking it off to the side and he bent down to hand her one of the smaller pumpkins that had come undone on its own. “Here, for little Joshua. It’ll be his first harvest, yes?”

“How sweet of you to remember!” Emma said, taking it in one hand and laying it on top of the other vegetables. “I’ll make sure to give this to him the moment I see him. He’ll be … Oh! Child!”

It took Jak a moment to realize she was calling out to him. If it wasn’t for Thomas stepping aside, he wouldn’t have even noticed. He frowned at the nomicur, then approached cautiously to the fence while Thomas took a step back. Usually in Haven, being called over was never a good sign. Either someone was hurt or they wanted to stall him long enough for a patrolling Krimzon Guard to show up. There was a sizable bounty on his head, after all, and living in Haven meant doing what it took to survive. Emma didn’t scream when he stood in front of her, though, and she sure as hell didn’t dart her eyes around them while putting up a front of needing help. No, Emma dug her hand into the pocket of her apron, pressing a pastry into his palm with her straw covered hand still resting over it “This is for you and your brother as a thank you for helping with the harvest,” when she pulled away, Jak saw that she had given him a muffin the top of which was bigger than his palm. He sniffed it and came to the conclusion that it was sweet. “It’s the last blueberries of the season. That precious brother of yours is around the same age as my little Joshua and he loves them to bits! I figured you boys would want some too,”

“Uh … thank you,” he said, then patted his pockets. He had nothing to give her. “I’m sorry, I don’t have anything to give you,” he extended the muffin back to her.

“Don’t be silly!” she laughed, pushing it back to him, “You’re helping us with the harvest, you’re partially one of us! It’s my way of saying thank you for everything you and your friends are doing for us. Now, no more of this nonsense. Enjoy it! And Thomas, I hope to see you later at the feast!” she shouted the tail end of her statement, waving them off as she headed down the road.

“My love to you and yours, Emma, bye-bye now,” Thomas called after her, then to Jak said, “You’re mighty lucky. Emma is the best baker in town,”

“Why did she thank me?” Jak asked, turning the neatly packaged pastry in his hand. The cloth had a pattern on it, and the edges were frayed from jagged cutting. Emma must’ve made the packaging herselfl. “Does she know this is our punishment?”

Thomas shook his head at him. “Of course. Enoch is the leader of Pottsfield, it’s hard to miss when he gives out the rare penance. I reckon she wanted to make sure you lot were looked after,”

Over on the other side of the patch, Daxter had emerged from the foliage with rotted pumpkins. He was telling Mar about holes in the leaves and the craters on the rind of the vegetable, pointing them out for the child to inspect. Even from here, Jak could hear him rattle off the kinds of insects that would do this to the garden. Jak would have to ask Daxter for a repeat of the lesson, now curious himself about the garden fauna out here. The kid didn’t look all the interested, more preoccupied with watching the critters scurry around the top. The crocadog happily munched away at the rejects, holding a chunk of pumpkin between his paws.

“It’s different where we’re from,” Jak confessed. It sort of slipped out, and once it was out, there was no way of getting it back in. “I’ve broken my back for people who hate me with every fiber of their being. I try to help, but it feels like no matter what I do, it’s never enough for them. They expect you to help them, to be useful to society, but the minute you need the favor returned, they act as if you’re a leech. The funny thing is that I still do it, over and over and over. It’s like … if I just try harder, do more, take it all on … maybe they’ll finally …”

“Finally what?”

“... maybe they’ll finally be nice to me,” and there it was. That’s what it was. That’s what he missed the most about home. The villagers of Sandover didn’t have much, but they were rich in their generosity and kindness. It was no skin off their back to teach an orphan to read Precursor text, or to share their bounty as long as Jak helped gather it. Everyone always looked so content with their simple life, satisfied with just being near enough to the shore that they could taste the salt in the breeze. He swallowed the lump in his throat, twitching his nose to starve off the eventual sniffle. “I have friends who like me, I know that, but I also don’t know that. Sometimes I wonder if they only like me because they like the things I do for them,”

Thomas nodded along, humming when appropriate. He rubbed where his chin would be, then laid a straw hand on his shoulder. Jak jerked away instinctively. The hand on his shoulder evolved into a slight dusting of dirt from his back which Thomas transitioned smoothly. “Gee, kiddo, that does sound like a mighty burden to bare for someone so young. I’m sorry you have to go through that. If it’s any consolation, criminal or not, you deserve kindness,”

Jak didn’t say anything else to that, just tore off a piece of the muffin and popped it into his mouth. It was moist and rich, coated in icing that made his teeth hurt a little, and damned if it wasn’t the best thing he’s had in a while. He waved Mar over, placing it into his small hands, and signed, share. The child held up his thumb and two fingers, then bent the fingers to meet the outstretched thumb. No. Jak sighed and patted Mar’s back, sending him back to Daxter and the crocadog. The indignant squawk of Daxter declaring injustice reached him moments later, but by then, Jak was back to snipping the pumpkins free. Snip. Snip. Snip.

Their last task of the day turned out to be the most physical of the three. The sun was started to drop low in the sky, bathing the field in an otherworldly orange tint. Thomas, Jebediah, and William guided them over a freshly plowed field, and stopped them short of the line that formed a barrier between the corn and the field. They each handed Jak and Mar shovels. Then they were instructed to dig.

The kid made quicker work of it than Jak thought, treating the soil like a sandbox. Jak would be impressed if he had an ounce of energy left in him. The sun was lower now, and it started to make him warm and sleepy. When was the last time he slept for more than fifteen minutes? He couldn’t remember. It took Daxter a couple times to nudge him back awake after catching his eyes dropping. After a couple hours, his friend decided to pipe up. “What do you think these holes are for?” the ottsel asked, carrying his ball and chain close to his abdomen.

“Who knows,” Jak replied. He grunted and lifted another shovel full of dirt, hoisting it over the side. The hole was only about waist deep, and when he looked over to the kid, he could only see the tips of his ears as he worked. “You okay, Kid?”

A small thumb shot up. Then a fucking skull was thrown out of the hole.

Daxter screamed at the sight, scurrying behind Jak and peering over his shoulder. “What the fuck is that?! Are we digging up graves?!” he gasped loudly, “Are we digging our own graves?! Am I going to have to share mine with you?!”

Jak lifted them out of the hole quickly, ignoring Daxter’s pleas to not go near the remains. The kid stood in the hole nonchalantly. As if there wasn’t an entire pearly white skeleton laying inside the hole next to him. The teen plucked Mar up by his arm and pulled him out, holding him to his side as he moved away from the remains. They were cleaned without any tissue or cracks, so that ruled out any foul play. The second the child was out of the hole, the bones started to vibrate and shake. They convulsed, kicking up a fine dust of dirt that bellowed out of the hole. The bones creaked and cracked as they reconnected without the need for long decomposed sinew and muscle. It crawled out of the grave lazily, taking its time to emerge just as the wardens took notice. Instead of horror, however, the three dissolved into cheering and clapping.

“Well done, boys!” Thomas laughed. In his arms, he held a large pumpkin with carved out eyes and a mouth. He passed by Jak and Mar, holding it out towards the skeleton.

“Wait, Thomas, don’t!” Jak called, fully ready to throw himself at the reanimated corpse to protect the Warden. His next protest died in his throat as Thomas handed the pumpkin to the skeleton — who has since reconnected its skull back onto its body — and affixed it downward. The skeleton stood with the pumpkin shoved over its head, twisting it until empty eyesockets lined up with the carved out ones. Then it clicked. “Holy shit,” something collided into him on his side, and another skeleton pulled itself out of the grave that Jak had just dug.

Out of the cornfields came the citizens of Pottsfiled with Enoch in tow, chittering and laughing as they ignored the group and headed straight for the two skeletons.

“Welcome back, Joshua!”

“He looks exactly the same,”

“This one's for you, Edward!”

“Oh, it’s so good to see you!”

Daxter took a little longer to catch up to where Jak was, and when he did, he sounded gutted and exhausted, “They’re skeletons. This whole time … we’ve been hanging around … a bunch of skeletons,”

The girl from earlier in the barn passed by just then, her arms full of leaves and straw as she brushed past. She stopped and faced them, giggling as she remarked, “Why, of course. Pumpkins can’t move on their own, now, can they?” she shrugged one shoulder, which Jak interpreted as being her version of a wink. She left to join the rest of the citizens, all of whom were frittering and dancing along with their new pals. The joyous laughter and well-wishes echoed across the field, the tuning of instruments sharp enough to cut through the cornfield. The celebration fell into an easy and seamless jubilant exchange, all the citizens of Pottsfield rejoicing and gathered around their leader. They spun in circles holding hands under the watch of Enoch, the being overseeing them like a benevolent God.

“What a wonderful harvest,” he said happily, looking among his denizens with all the same affection as a mother. He leaned down slightly. “And what about you?”

Jak and Daxter both swallowed thickly. Daxter took a step forward on Jak’s shoulder. “W-what about us, oh Great Pumpkin?” he asked, and the collective could practically feel the facepalm without even moving an inch.

“Are you sure you want to leave?” Enoch sounded gravelly serious, arms stretched out wide as if to offer his people to them. “We would love nothing more than to have you,”

Jak shook his head slowly, mimicked by the child at his side. Daxter, however, shook his head harder than necessary. Enoch gave a great sigh, then said, “Oh well. You’ll join us some day,” as he turned towards the town once more, dragging his massive body along the rows upon rows of sodded fields. The pumpkins— skeletons— corpses— townsfolk all followed suit, the music playing loudly for all to hear as they celebrated the homecoming of their friends and family. Thomas laughed somewhere near Jak, extending a strawed hand to him. Jak took it tentatively, and shook.

“See you soon, kiddo. Thank you again,”

And then they were left alone, standing in the field as the music faded into the chirping of birds and skittering of crepuscular fauna echoed through the forest. Dusk was upon them, and they were no closer to home than they were at dawn.

Chapter Text

The rain returned with a vengeance the moment they left the boundaries of Pottsfield. Daxter groaned about it, going as far as kicking anything in his path as they gathered up their things and made their way to the other path that led out of the town. The only issue was that the town seemed to have existed in a large clearing in the middle of the woods, flanked by trees and branches all around it. They weren’t thrilled to be back in the forest, but Jak was just glad to put the town behind him. When he looked back, it had disappeared beyond the hills and trees.

Mar looked happy enough to be back in the woods, his hair curled from the rain water and bounced as he ran circles around him and Daxter. He hopped in puddles, slid in mud, and shook his head like a crocadog, but at least he was happy. Daxter, on the other hand, was far from it.

“Why did we agree to this stupid mission?” he whined, leaning against Jak’s head as if it physically pained him to stay upright. “We could’ve been hanging out at the Hip Hop having drinks with my sweetie pie, Tessy-wessy,”

Jak rolled his eyes. Leave it to Daxter to lament about missing alcohol and women of all things.

“We’re heroes, not babysitters! I’ve gone toe to toe against hundreds, thousands of metalheads. You, less, but still! They should be worshiping us in that place but noooo, we’re doing a hand-off with a baby strapped to our chests. I told you we should’ve unionized!” The ottsel sat down heavily on the pauldron, his tail a heavy weight against Jak’s back to keep his balance, “Do you even know where we’re going? We’ve been walking for days, marathon man,”
The teen shrugged. He’s gotten better at talking since Sandover, even going as far as voicing his own opinions on matters that usually were overlooked regarding his own autonomy. The truth of the matter is that Jak has never been a big talker. Why would he? No one listened anyway, and after he met Daxter, his friend took up the role of speaking for both of them. It was a relief to him. No one to ask him questions or pry into his personal lift because they all directed it at his friend. All Jak had to do was look vaguely interested in the conversation. It wasn’t that he couldn’t physically talk if he wanted to. He could still vocally express himself through yelps and grunts whenever a Lurker managed to land a blow. It was like the words got caught in his throat, and if he tried to force them out, all that would come out would be a series of noises.

Besides, the events at the mansion still clung to him like a second skin, making him feel unclean and rattled even after his heart to heart with Daxter. He didn’t sleep for the rest of the night, afraid that he’d wake up in that cell with a hallucination that would actually start causing more harm than the woman in red or his alter ego ever could. He was running on fumes even before setting foot in Pottsfiled, and what’s worse is that it's starting to take a toll on him.

“Do you at least have a plan on how to get out of here?” Daxter asked, crossing his arms in what Jak can immediately read as annoyance. Jak nodded, though judging from the way his friend’s eyebrow raised at him, he doesn’t think Daxter buys it. “So what’s the plan then? Because I gotta admit, buddy, you chose a helluva time to go mute on me and you’re not—”

“Dax, I have a plan, okay?” Jak snapped, “If you don’t trust me, you can find your own way out of here,”

“Okay, okay, geez. Don’t bite my head off,” Daxter jumped down from his shoulder, walking alongside the child who started flagging behind them. Jak doesn’t have time to wait for Mar to catch up to them. He should’ve conserved his energy instead of running around all the time, now Jak was probably going to have to carry him the rest of the way and he really didn’t feel like having yet another person using him as a pack mule. The rain bled through his cloak and was now making the fabric cold and damp on his skin, sending a chill down his spine. He sneezed, then sniffled.

His cold was getting worse. It didn’t help that everyone around him was so hellbent on him discussing his feelings and thoughts and ideas and plans. He just needed to absorb some eco and he’ll be fine. The dark eco, when absorbed and in its more raw form, had become almost like a soothing salve on his battered body. It took away the aches and cleared the fog in his head, making it easier to concentrate and react faster than he would’ve otherwise. It kept him going, and that’s what he needed now more than anything. Without it, he can feel past wounds start to dredge up, pulling and tightening his muscles into slight convulsions that make it hard to focus on the task at hand. Hell, if he had some eco left over, he’d probably have found his way out days ago.

Taking a step forward, Jak heard the tree before he actually saw it. The kid ran past him just as the crackling started, oblivious to his surroundings. Jak barely had the time to grab the child’s bicep and pull him back just as the tree fell only a few feet from them. The thunderous roar when the tree landed shook the ground under them, sending vibrations through Jak’s aching bones. Mar gasped. “This is why you don’t run ahead of us,” Jak growled at the child, “Have you seriously not learned this by now? Just stay put,”

The child looked up at him, eyes wide and eyebrows high on his forehead. He looked petrified. Jak secretly was glad that the kid was finally getting it through his thick skull that his constant running was going to get him killed. You’d think he’d’ve learned that lesson by now, considering all the shit he’s run into recently. A bolt of tension ran through his head and Jak hissed.

“Ease up on the kid, Jak,” Daxter said somewhere near him. It came out passive and light, though Jak knew that Daxter was annoyed. Nevertheless, the teen still held the kid in hand. When the ottsel realized Jak wasn’t going to let go, he rolled his eyes and went to investigate the fallen trunk. Jak squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head when he momentarily lost sight of Daxter against the pile of orange and yellow leaves on the base of the treeline. “Check this out — ax marks. Someone … oh crap!”

“Indeed,” The Wastelander emerged from the trees. His face had grown even more gaunt since they last saw him, drawn low with deep lines etched into his skin. He looked the opposite of the deranged, angry man who had been stalking them since they left the Old Grist Mill a couple days ago, and nothing like the nightmare Jak fought off in the woods. In his hands, he still held the lantern and ax lazily, both hanging like weights from his arms. The teen’s ribs ached from the memory of them rolling around the forest floor for the upperhand, yet looking at the man before them, he doesn’t believe the man was ever strong enough to almost best him. Jak hardened his gaze at him. If he came for round two, he wasn’t going to be able to live to get a recount. The Wastelander picked the wrong day to mess with him.

Mar gasped again, tugging his arm still firmly in Jak’s grasp. The child thrashed and squirmed. Along with Daxter, the kid pulled at the older boy’s sleeve. The crocadog rushed to their side, teeth bared and growling at the older man with as much gusto as a metalhead would’ve. The Wastelander stepped forward, and Jak took a step back. The momentum of both the kid and Daxter made him stumble, however, and the Wastelander took the opportunity to get a hold of Jak.

The touch burned him. He could feel pin pricks under his skin, the shape of the man’s palm and fingers searing. Jak flinched backwards. He had to blink a couple times to erase—

— the hand on his forearm was huge, big enough to obscure his entire face. The grip was brutal and he knew it would leave a bruise in a couple hours. He pounded his free hand against it, snarling as the line between boy and animal became hazy enough that he didn’t know which side he was on anymore. The hits were useless. The guard still pulled him towards the Room.

That didn’t stop him, though. He dug his heels on the ground, screaming his vocal cords raw, fought off the other guards that accompanied them, growled, bared his teeth, anything that would make the transportation harder than was needed. The fists and steel boots didn’t register anymore. His whole body was an open sore. His skin was tender to the touch, his blood was on fire, and his head felt like it was about to roll to the ground like a boulder. Blood was dripping down his chin and staining his uniform, but he welcomed the hint of cool moisture in the suffocating heat of the prison.

He only managed to scratch the exposed skin of the guard’s wrist, and it earned him an elbow to the nose with an echoing CRUNCH. The momentary shock gave the guard the time to haul him into the Room and throw him to the ground without so much as a word. The brick was damp. Everything in this place was damp. If he never had to touch water again, he’d die a happy man, he vowed.

The guards didn’t leave. They stayed posted at the door, staring at him through the bars with obscured faces hidden behind soulless red lenses and muzzles. The Baron’s crocadogs, poised and trained to strike at the call of their master’s whistle. They looked at him with the same indifference as he and Daxter used to look at the dead fish on the beach who failed to follow the tide back to the water. It was just fish. They didn’t feel anything, after all. Why would they care about its glassy eyes and gaping mouth? It should’ve stayed back, and not venture out towards the unknown.

He heard their superior approach, and he tried to push himself up, but his arms shook. The blood from his nose and teeth were flooding his mouth, falling freely onto the floor in thick drops. In the corner of his eye, he saw a shadow move. On his back, he felt something else touch his spine.

“Give in,” it whispered, “Let me feel it for you. You won’t feel anything, I promise. You’ll just sleep,”

“N- … nnn,”

“Shh, it’s okay. I’ll protect the both of us,”

He strained to look up, but he couldn’t move any more than his eyes at this point. There were consequences to blurring that line, ones he didn’t know the exact ramifications of, but knew they would cost everything. The days and the weeks and the months were all one continuous loop of pain and misery and loneliness and suffering and agony and fear and despair and hopelessness. He fought. He really did. He fought against losing himself to this place, hanging on to the bits of sanity and good he had left inside him, but it was getting harder. There was no goodness in this place. There was no comfort here, no reprise from the horrors. He’ll wake up, and find Erol standing in the corner, his hand held to his neck as blood spilled from between his fingers. His face would be a mix of satisfaction yet unease, and he’ll call the Baron to report that there was a breakthrough. He’ll wake up, and find bits of flesh under his fingernails.

In the end, it was so easy to let go. It felt like he was on that Sentinel again, feeling the power of being up so high and the promise of better things beyond the horizon. All he had to do was let go, and fly—

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Jak growled, feeling his body react in preparation for a surge in eco. It wasn’t going to get it, and he felt even more lightheaded. The Wastelander didn’t let go though.

“Listen! The Beast knows you’re here! Ready to claim you as part of its dark forest, but only if you give up! Keep hearty in both body and spirit, and you shall be safe from it!” he drew in closer, his breath hot on Jak’s nose, “Fall ill or lose hope and your life … oh no,” the Wastelander’s gaze drifted away from Jak, sliding to stare at something behind his ear. His face went white as a sheet, and he shook his head in horror. “No, no, no! You mustn’t let it take you! Come—”

Jak had a clear path, and he took it. He kicked the lantern out of the Wastelander’s hands, watching as it made a wide arc to the trees on the other side of the clearing. The older man quickly went to attend to the fallen article, and when his back was fully turned, Jak made a run for the treeline on the opposite side of where the lantern laid. The Wastelander screamed after them. “Please! Heed my warning! It won’t stop until you’re theirs!”

The kid stumbled after him, tripping on roots and rocks, Daxter begged him to slow down, but Jak could only hear the blood rushing in his ears as he ran as far as he could from the Wastelander, from the lantern, from the Room, from Erol, from himself. He didn’t stop until his lungs threatened to pop like balloons and his legs gave out from under him. A small stone wall appeared in the path, and Jak pushed Mar over it, hunching down to conceal both him and the child as he peered over to make sure the Wastelander wasn’t following them. They waited for moments for the glow to appear, and when it didn’t, Jak collapsed against the stone wall and took gulping breaths.

Daxter scrambled over the wall, heaving as he pulled himself over the top. “No, no. Don’t worry about me, I’m fine. Please, I insist. It’s not like I have little legs or anything,” he grumbled, slipping off the top of the wall to stand at Jak’s side. “Seriously. Warn a guy next time you decide you wanted to do some cardio,”

“I think we lost him,” Jak panted.

“You almost lost me too!”

“I told you I got it under control. Now, let’s find someplace to wait out the rain,”

Daxter mentioned something under his breath, but the steady downfall of rain and the distant rumblings of thunder made it hard to hear what exactly he said. Squinting his eyes, Jak made out the shape of something in the distance. He shushed Daxter — “I swear to God, I’m this close to biting you.” — and gestured with his chin toward the cottage. He didn’t wait for the kid or Daxter to complain, he merely stood up and started heading for the home. He sneezed, then sniffled twice on the way there.

Despite its rotting exterior, the inside of the cottage was clean and polished. Even the fireplace has been swept clean of embers and ash, the pot that hung inside it shiny enough to reflect their faces back at them. Wicker baskets were piled in the corner, the lids held on with dried grass twisted into elaborate knots. Vaguely, it reminded Jak of the times he and Daxter sat sitting in the village square weaving palm leaves into tight squares until plates formed and sewing grass around rope to make baskets for the Fisherman’s catch. They wasted no time, gathering up candles and logs to invite light into the cabin. At this point, it was becoming second nature in terms of finding a home and preparing it for their brief stay. Even the kid had warmed up to the home, dancing around the room with the crocadog front paws in hand and hopping on its hindlegs.

Daxter, on the other hand, seemed to be less convinced of the homestead. He paced around the room, looking under furniture, trying to open doors, and going as far as knocking on a closed attic door before retreating downstairs to join them. Once there, he set his sights on the baskets. “Would it be too much to ask to find some jerky or something in here?” he mused, seeking out the one basket that wasn’t tied to its lid, “I’m starving,”

“We have apples and bread in my bag, Dax,” Jak said, though his stomach grumbled at the idea of choking down yet another raw apple and stale chunk of bread. In Sandover, they learned how to preserve fish and meat in salt, loading up on crispy protein before heading out to run chores or get in trouble around the village. Fruits and vegetables were reserved for eating at meals, favoring scavenging for dragon fruit or sugar canes during snack time. The apples, while juicy, lacked the protective outer skin that kept it from bruising easily or browning. It was hardly an adventuring kind of fruit. The kid stuck his tongue out in disgust, obviously on Daxter’s side about the idea of eating another apple.

“You keep ‘em! The kid and I will savor the fine, fine cuisine of … turtles?!”

Peering into the basket, Jak found a wriggling mass of the same black turtles he found at the mill. He swallowed thickly, remembering the feeling of the creatures lodging in his throat and making him hack them up along with poison and blood. They were considerably small — maybe only as big as his palm — and left stains of inky blackness on the interior of the wicker. They looked nothing like the giant tigerturtles that they used to find as kids, swimming under the surface as he and Daxter competed to see who would be able to hold their breath long enough to swim down and run their fingers over the mossy striped shell. They were horrified the day that the Mayor told them where the meat for their stew came from.

They squirmed under each other, climbing over themselves to reach the rim to escape. Jak flicked one that got too close, watching it fall backwards and disappear under more of the identical turtles. They reminded him of how dark eco behaved in its rawest form. It rocked, breathed, warped itself and anything it came in contact with. He laid his hand over them, trying to feel for the substance. They weren’t coated in eco, nor did he feel it inside them, but whatever their inky coating was, it held almost the same powerful energy as eco. It was thinner than dark eco, slipping from his grasp as he attempted to channel it. He pulled at it once more, but it didn’t budge.

“No, no, no! I wanted food!” Daxter whined, plopping on the ground with crossed arms, “Who needs this many black turtles anyhow?!”

Mar climbed on top of a smaller basket, looking over the side to look at the turtles. He giggled into his hands as he watched them move, pointing at them with excitement to the crocadog. His companion, on the other hand, only whined and growled at the turtles. Jak snapped the top of the basket closed. “Make sure Thomas doesn’t try to eat any of them. I don’t want a repeat of last time,”

The kid looked up at him. He signed back. His name is Turtle.

The door behind them pushed open, a small voice calling out from behind the old wood. The teens froze. “Auntie? Auntie, I’ve finished sorting—” Jak turned to see a girl standing in the doorway of what looked to be a cellar. She was about his and Daxter’s age, standing at about the same height as Jak. Her face reminded him of the moon — round and pale with an illumination that made her stand out against the drab and darkness of the cellar. Her eyes were oaky brown, wide at the sudden intrusion into her home. She gasped. “Who are you?!”

Jak grabbed the kid by his midsection before he could hurl himself at her. Apparently Mar had picked up a thing or two in their time together, immediately trying to rush at the girl with the fireplace poker in hand. Precursors, Jak hoped Torn wasn’t going to find out about this. It was bad enough he managed to get them lost out here, it wouldn’t look good if he also turned the heir to the throne into some kind of baby sleeper assassin. He pulled the poker away from his tiny fist, incurring the look of disappointment the child fixed him with. “Be nice,” Jak hissed.

“Let me take care of this, boys,” Daxter said, pushing them aside with a sweep of a furry arm. Jak opened his mouth to protest, but his friend winked and leisurely strolled up to the girl. “Greetings and salutations, toots! How fare thee? They call me … Daxterius the Great! We apologize for our ungentlemanly behaviors. I’m still teaching my sidekicks here some manners. Pray tell, I don’t suppose it would be awfully dastardly if we happened to stay here until the rain lets up? I ask you kindly? Pretty please?”

The girl didn’t seem to notice Daxter, her eyes trained on Jak. Something about her made her nearly transcendent, her whole demeanor reminding him of something out of a fable. The maiden awaiting a knight, the damsel waving a handkerchief out of a tower. He cleared his throat, looking away from her searching gaze. “I’m sorry. We were just passing through and we saw this place and we thought it was abandoned so we came to—”

“Burgle your turts!”

“—get out of the rain. It … we didn’t mean to come in uninvited—”

The girl shook her head, a small pink smile forming on her face. “I believe you, but please …” she coughed into her hand, and Jak couldn’t tell if that was why her cheeks suddenly flushed, “You have to hide. Auntie Whispers will be home any minute now,”

Her voice came out tight and hushed. The sense of urgency to follow her instructions was not lost on them, and he and Daxter didn’t waste any time, especially when the girl inhaled sharply while staring at the door behind them. They looked around the cabin as the sounds of footsteps sloshing in the mud outside drew nearer, a dark shadow casting out the natural light from the window as whoever it was passed. The girl’s eyes grew bigger by the second. Jak pursed his lips at the reaction. If this so-called Auntie Whispers was bad enough to create such a reaction in the girl, he wasn’t going to just hide and let her withstand it. The door latch jostled, and the person — an old woman, by the sounds of it — grumbled in frustration.

“Hide, quickly!” the girl whispered harshly, ushering them towards the vats of turtles. Jak lifted the kid and Turtle into the largest one, pushing aside the small amphibians until both were able to be completely concealed under them. He signed again his warning of not letting Turtle eat any of the creatures, earning a thumbs up from a confused Mar. He sealed the lid back over them, quickly tying the dried grass back into the loops of twine to hold it in place. Just as the door finally clicked open, Jak dove for the cellar door. Daxter followed suit, running on all fours to make it past the doorway before Jak closed it with a muted thump.

Peaking through the keyhole, Jak watched as a figure entered the cottage. The girl started to dutifully sweep, having produced a broom from somewhere while they scrambled for a hiding place, and greeted the figure. Though his sight was limited, the teen could make out a few characteristics. It was a woman, tall and illuminating. She thumped into the room heavily, as if mysteriously weighed down. Her face gave him pause, however. Her features were … strange. It was subtle, barely noticeable, but her eyes were too large for her face, her neck longer than it ought to be, her fingers translucent like a specter. Upon seeing the girl, she smiled wide to reveal crooked and few black teeth that resembled old wooden fence posts. She held her shawl tightly against her body, ignoring the mud she was tracking in from outside.

“Ru, my sweet child,” she croaked. Her eyes went dull instantly, sniffing at the air like Jak has seen Turtle do on occasion, “Hmm. Tell me, dear, do you smell that?”

The girl — Ru — stiffened. Jak held his breath. He was too quick to trust the girl. For all he knows, this was a ruse to keep them inside in one place to make it easier for her and the older woman to capture them. His heart started to beat a little faster, his brow started to get wetter. He licked his lips, tasting salt as he watched the woman look around the cottage.

“Smell what, Auntie?” Ru replied, doe-like eyes gazing up at the woman who petted her bonnet covered hair. Auntie Whispers hummed in acknowledgement, though it didn’t stop her from looking about the cabin with weary eyes.

“It smells of rot in here,” she stated plainly, “As if something has just died. What a horrid scent! Has someone come by today?”

“N-nay, Auntie — not a soul,”

“Then I trust no one shall be devoured alive tonight, correct?” Ru nodded, and Auntie Whispers shook her head, “You’re a good girl, Ru, but you deceive me,”

“Hey, what are they saying? I wanna look too!” Daxter moaned, tugging on Jak’s ear. The teen batted him away, but his friend didn’t relent. He pushed at Jak’s chin, forcing him to look upwards while he shoved his smaller head into the eyeline of the keyhole. “HOLY YAKKOW! Geez, lady, ever heard of a dentist?”

“Dax! Shut up! She’ll hear you!” Jak whispered, shoving the ottsel aside. Daxter didn’t seem to take too kindly to that because he climbed Jak’s torso to lean over his shoulder, once more pushing Jak’s head to the side.

“I let you be in charge this far, and look where it got us; stuck in a dark basement with a cannibal on the other side of this door! I’m taking over, here on out,”

Jak stared at Daxter, yielding the keyhole to him. He bit down the uneasiness bubbling in his gut, pretending to not have heard Daxter just confess that he blamed Jak for their current predicament. Something shuffled outside the door, and both teens shot the other in a look of panic.

The old floorboards creaked as the old woman shifted, leaning heavily towards the barrels of turtles. “I speak the truth, Auntie,” the girl pleaded, but the woman still didn’t yield. She turned to face Ru in a flurry, white curls pouncing as she moved to face the younger woman.

“Deceive me not, child!” Auntie Whispers replied, sniffing the air more feverishly. “I can smell children in this house,”

“Who’s she callin’ children? We’re like, nineteen!” Daxter complained. Technically, Daxter was nineteen. Jak himself was still seventeen, having just turned a week or two before escaping prison if his calculations were correct. Still, he wouldn’t necessarily consider them children.

“Tell me where you are hiding them, precious one,” Ru hesitated, taking too long to answer, and Auntie Whispers reached into her sleeve. She pulled out something golden, shaped like a person, and held it near her face as she smiled down at the girl. From just five minutes with this woman, Jak’s mouth tasted like cotton. He couldn’t tell if Auntie Whispers loved Ru or hated her.

Auntie Whispers jiggled the bell, and Jak watched with quiet awe as it glowed eerily. The ringing was enchanting, delicate and swift. It cut through the air, resonating like a fine mist all around them. Ru’s body stiffened at the sound, her head tipping to the side. “The ringing of the bell commands you,”

Ru’s face went slack, her eyes rolling back in her head until only the whites were visible. In a trance, Ru lifted her hand toward the baskets where Mar and Turtles were. The lid shifted. “Look,” she breathed, gasping, “in the basket,”

Auntie Whispers tucked the bell away again, turning her attention to the largest of the baskets. Jak shifted from his seated position. Think. If his gun worked, he would be able to switch on the Vulcan mod and fire at the woman’s back. Without any of his gear, however, Jak was left to problem solve his attacks like when he was fifteen and armed with only his fists and feet. He’d give anything to go head to head against a Lurker right now. Even if he did manage to get the jump on Auntie Whispers, she clearly wasn’t a normal being. Her size and predatorial albatross features marked her as other in his book. Who knows what it actually took to put something of her caliber down quick enough to get Ru, Mar, Daxter, and Turtles out of there. His best strategy was to wait for Auntie Whispers to unearth the two, then while she’s distracted, pounce on her with everything he’s got.

“You have entered the house of doom, children,” she said, lifting the lid up. Then she paused. “Oh! My dear, why, all along you meant it be the turtles that smell so ripe,” Auntie Whispers held one of the small animals in her hand, indicating it to Ru. The girl snapped out of her trance-like state, deflating momentarily before giving a light laugh.

“Yes! That is what I meant. Silly me, I should have been more forthwith, mum,” she looked away as Auntie Whispers popped the turtle into her mouth. From the corner of her eye, she locked with Jak’s, silently telling him to stay put. It was only then that Jak realized he had opened the door a crack, the squeaking of its hinges muted by the sounds of Auntie Whispers suckling and chewing the creature in her mouth. Having had the same animal in his own, Jak fought the urge to gag. It tastes of battery acid and pinched his tongue, revolting like eating a a chunk of curled cheese.

“And you have no evil secrets to keep?” The older woman asked around the food in her mouth.

“No, I promise,”

Auntie Whispers retrieved the now empty black shell from her mouth, tossing it on the floor with little to no regard. She moved past Ru, heading to the stairs that lead upstairs. “Then I shall retire for the night. As for you, Ru, you shall sort the bones of those who have been eaten here before,”

“I have finished already,”

“Then clean this floor until it shines,” she paused half way up, the bell once more in hand, “The ringing of the bell commands you,” The girl once more went taunt, turning with the broom in hand to commence sweeping. From this angle, Jak can see her eyes shining before fading away back to brown. The woman on the stairs didn’t move at first, heaving a heavy sigh. “You know I do this for you, child. Keeping you busy is the only way to keep the evil spirits from driving you to wickedness,”

Ru smiled up at her aunt. She leaned her head forward, just within distance of the woman’s outstretched hand, and hummed when invisible fingertips touched her crown lightly. The girl seemed to preen at the attention, only lifting her head back up when Auntie Whispers pulled away. “I know, Auntie. The work will keep me busy,” the last part of her sentence was cut off by a harsh cough, shaking the girl’s thin body.

“Goodnight, dear. And dowse that fire. I did not ask you to light it,” and Auntie Whispers was gone, retiring past the attic door and closing it with a stiff click. Ru continued to sweep for a few minutes after, keeping an eye on the door. Her ear twitched, and she stopped sweeping. When loud snores erupted from the darkness of the attic, she made a beeline for the basket.

“You can come out now, my little turtles,” she gleefully whispered, pulling up her sleeves and reaching inside to pull Mar up from his armpits. Turtle followed after, tongue lulling out his mouth to lick at Ru’s ashen face. Jak and Daxter emerged together, closing the door behind them as Mar went to pick up the black turtle shell that the old woman discarded moments before. He chucked it into the fire without a second thought. “She sleeps,”

She coughed again, this time into her arm. Nevertheless, she took her broom in hand again and continued to sweep. “Are you alright?” Jak asked, raising an eyebrow at her, “You’ve been coughing a lot,”

“It’s my illness,” she explained, “It’s the reason why Auntie Whispers is so hard on me,” as if on cue, Jak sneezed. She chuckled into her hand, flashing him with a bright smile. “It seems we are two peas in a pod, aren’t we?”

“No kidding!” Daxter said, “That lady is horrible! I ain’t no doctor, sweetheart, but I think you need to get actual help from a … well, doctor,”

“You should be careful. Auntie … doesn’t not allow visitors here. She believes outsiders … lead me to become wicked,” she said, struggling to get the words out. Jak knew the feeling. He moved towards her, laying his hand on the handle of the broom. Ru regarded him suspiciously, then with a nod, let go of the handle. Jak took over the sweeping, just as she moved to dowse the fire like Auntie Whispers had asked her.

“That’s insane! I don’t mean to offend you or your family or anything, but, wow! Talk about a family of lunes,” Daxter mentioned offhandedly, kicking at the basket that housed the turtles.

“Your Aunt seems controlling,” Jak frowned, “Why would someone treat their own niece like this?”

“Oh, she’s not my real aunt,” Ru clarified, “I’ve known her for quite some time. She saved me,”

Mar tugged on Jak’s cloak, but whatever he was going to ask was abandoned as soon as he spotted the crocadog in the corner of the room. He chased after him, trotting off in the opposite end of the house. Just as well. At least he’ll be out of the way while Jak helps Ru sweep. “Do you mind if me and Mar help you with your chores? We uh … you know to, uh … apologize for breaking in and— well not really breaking in, we didn’t break anything, but—”

“I would love some help,” Ru giggled. The fireplace died out by now, the embers glowing hot as Ru waited for the smoke to become a small trickle so she could close the fireplace flute. Daxter muttered something about never getting a choice in what they do.

“You know,” Jak said, clearing his throat when it came out broken and far too pubescent for his tastes, “If we help you get all these chores done … maybe you can … ya know. Join us, or something,”

“You mean leave? With you?” she asked shrilly. She blushed intensely, the color of dusty roses evident on her face in a way that Jak has only ever seen on his friends growing up.

“Yeah. We can get you to a doctor and away from her,”

Ru turned her gaze to the door, her flushed face returning back to the sickly paleness it was before. Her hands stilled on the small brush she was using to gather the ashe and embers toward her. Jak knew that look as well. It’s the same he used to have on his own face, watching his cell door, hoping that if he looked hard enough it would spring open from just his mind. Ru hummed to herself, a mix of a chuckle and sigh. “I can’t recall a time where I was away from Auntie Whispers,” she mused, tearing herself away from longingly staring at the door and turned her attention to Jak. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to create new memories, right?” When she found him already looking at her, they both quickly looked away, bowing their heads and going back to their tasks. She got up and retrieved a metal dustpan from the corner of the room, handing it to Jak from a distance. “I never asked your name,”

“Hm? Oh! It’s, uh …” He thought of lying, of using the same alias he gave Hin, but he had already told her that the kid’s name was Mar, and the chances of both of them being named Mar was too far fetched for anyone to believe him. He cleared his throat. “It’s Jak,”
“Jak,” she echoed back, pulling out a dustrag from her apron. She mused for a moment, then said, “That’s a lovely name for a lovely person,”

They fell into their chores easily, a perfect rhythm as they danced around the other to complete their task. When Ru caught his eye during their chores, Jak swiftly avoided it. The furthest in terms of courtship he’s experienced was a few months ago when Keira, sweating in the sweltering heat with a fan positioned directly on her face, whined about how Jak’s long sleeves were giving her a heat stroke. He had shrugged her off, lying that he just naturally ran cold and that the sleeves were helping him starve off a nasty sunburn from running around outside all day. Of course, she didn’t believe him for a single second, shoving a popsicle into her mouth and offering one to him and Daxter. The next day she presented him with a short sleeved shirt she bargained for in the bazaar, which Jak promptly declined. It made him uncomfortable watching her triumphant smile fade, but not enough to subject himself to the idea of actually wearing it. It was bad enough the heat was bad enough that he had to sleep almost completely naked, he didn’t need his waking hours spent worrying about strangers staring at him. Eventually, though, as Haven’s overcast summer bled into murky autumn, the temperatures dropped like crazy. Suddenly, his tunic wasn’t warm enough. His arms still prickled with goosebumps through the layers of boxer wraps, sleeves, and gloves. When he visited Keira during one of those days, the mechanic presented him with a cloak she had made out of the shirt. “Ta-da! I had to eyeball your measurements, but thank the Precursors I’m a whiz at almost everything, huh?” she coyly said, kicking her feet from where she was seated on a Zoomer bench lift. She never told him where she found the metallic buttons, or how she managed to make the lining of the cloak softer than any material he had ever felt. He accepted it with all the poise a teenage boy could muster, and hadn’t taken it off since.

“Your brother is adorable,” Ru said suddenly when the kid ran up to Jak, holding the soiled rag the girl had previously given him. Once he deposited it with the teen, Mar ran off pitter patter somewhere where he wasn’t in the way. Jak chuckled lightly, though his voice caught in his throat when she continued, “You resemble him greatly. He will be fortunate if he grows to be half as handsome as you are,”

Heat rose high up into Jak’s cheeks. Oh. It’s been years since someone complimented him, much less someone who was his age. Someone who Jak didn’t mind complimenting him. He wasn’t going to deny that Ru was pretty. All the women in his life thus far have either been innocently charming or hardened authority — none accounting for the woman in red. Ru, as cliche as it sounded, was nothing like the women he’s met this far into his life. She was enchanting in her own way, reminiscent of the strong willed princesses that the Sculptor used to tell him about. The adult often recounted how his Muse was just as elegant and alluring as a princess, admitting that he found much inspiration in both. That’s who Ru was to Jak at this moment. She held herself with confidence, moving from task to task seamlessly as if it was second nature. Through her strength, though, Jak can feel a kinship to her. She carried her own bit of trauma. Her own imprisonment weighed on her shoulders just as his own weighed on his. He found himself imagining them both carrying their weight together, four hands better than two.

“Thank you,” he said, “We take after our mother, I guess. What about you? Do you have any siblings?”

Ru thought on his question, twisting her face in concentration. “I don’t believe I do. I remember being around many girls, and I recall a friend of mine being like a sister to me. She had this uncanny ability to know what was going to happen before it occurred. I miss her dearly, sometimes, but I’ve found companionship in Auntie Whispers,”

“You don’t have to keep defending her, you know,” Jak frowned again, and Ru shrugged. The teen pursed his lips, letting the awkward silence only stifle them for a moment before he asked, “How long have you known your aunt?”

“A long time,” Ru hummed, looking over her shoulder at the other teen. She flashed him a smile — one as sweet as sugar and as bright as the sun. “When I’m around her, the screaming meemies quiet to silence,”

“The screaming meemies?”

Ru licked her lips, then. Her entire demeanor deflated, and Jak could feel the waves of paranoia and hesitancy rolling off of her. He elected to wait for her to speak again. Whatever the screaming meemees were, they weren’t something that Ru evidently liked to speak about often. A pang of warmth lit up in his stomach as he pondered if this was the first time Ru actually mentioned it outloud, and to him no less — having deemed him trustworthy enough to guard something so valuable to her that it left her tongue tied and bending over backwards to avoid the topic.

When Ru decided to speak again, her voice was low, hushed, and husky. It beckoned him closer, straining his ears to hear what she was saying. “Do you ever feel like everything is awfully loud? Like your head is filled with angry whumpbees, and they’re buzzing around your head, and stinging behind ur eyes, and trying to crawl out your nose? And you are so suddenly overwhelmed with sadness, so heavy with the burden of your own melancholia that you feel yourself suffocate on it?” She bulked, flush creeping up high on her cheekbones as if she said something horrible. “I— I’m sorry. I didn’t mean— well, um—”

“I do,” Jak replied. Ru stared at him. She looked perplexed, as if she was waiting for Jak to laugh at her. She cleared her throat, coughing into her sleeve as she turned away. “I wish I knew how to quiet it too,”

“Well,” Ru started, “You also make them quiet,”

Jak looked away.

The morning sun rose and fell over the cabin, shifting the light inside until it turned orange and disappeared completely. Jak wouldn’t have noticed it if it wasn’t for Daxter’s ever shifting body moving with the sunshine, content to sleep in the drafty cabin in the spots that warmed even the floor beneath him. In the end, when the cabin sparkled like new, it was Jak and Ru standing in the middle of it to admire it all.

“I think we’re done,” Jak commented, setting the broom to lean against the wall. His muscles twitched, no doubt warning him they’ll be sore in the morning, but he was glad they go through so much in a day. In fact, he doesn’t even recall Ru coughing the entire time they worked.

She nodded in agreement. “Thank you. Had it been just myself cleaning, I’d still be polishing the floor,” she laughed, glancing up to the ceiling. “If we want to leave, we must do it before Auntie Whispers wakes. I’ll go …” she stopped, hands still corded around the tie of her apron as they paused mid-unfastening. She looked around the room, eyes widening. “Where did your brother go?”

Abruptly, a scream rang out across the house. It was coming from the attic.

Jak rounded the stairs, just in time for Mar and Turtles to come barreling down the steps with Auntie Whispers in tow. The woman followed after them, face twisted in anger. Her fingers grazed a green curl, and that was enough to send Jak into a frenzy. He picked up the kid before she made another attempt to grab him, shoving her backwards with a boot to the abdomen. Auntie Whispers remained unfazed, hissing only slightly at the mild inconvenience. Grabbing onto Ru’s hand was enough to give her pause, however, and she stopped just at the base of the stairs as the teens backed themselves towards the door. “I’m warning you, children. Keep away from my Ru, you don’t know what you’re doing!” she flashed them her blackened teeth, emphasizing them as her lips curled backwards into a sneer.

“Listen, lady! If you want Ru, you’re going to have to go through us! Jak, mostly,” Daxter threatened, waving a fuzzy finger at the old woman. Ru’s hand found it’s way to grip Jak’s cloak, terror and hysteria painted all over her face. The teen shifted the child in his arms to his side, using his free hand to grab hold of Ru’s. The girl flinched for a moment, but once she saw their fingers intertwined, she squeezed back. Jak tried not to think about how her fingers slotted with his almost perfectly.

“She’s not your property,” Jak said gravely, pulling the girl closer to his body to shield her from Auntie Whispers, “We’re leaving, and if you know what’s good for you, you won’t follow us,”

“Ru! Come here, at once! The ringing of the …” Auntie Whispers searched her sleeve. When nothing came up, she patted down her chest and sides, clearly looking for the golden bell. The older woman looked up at the attic, cursing. In her distraction, Ru tugged at Jak’s hand and yanked him into the cellar without warning. The kid’s hat almost flew from the force of Jak pulling him along. Ru barely waited for Daxter and Turtles to get through the door before forcing it shut behind them. Mar had managed to snatch one of the candles from the room, holding it up to Jak as the teen spotted a chair that they hadn’t seen earlier in the darkness. They jammed it under the doorknob in time for Auntie Whispers to slam against the wood, rattling the doorknob and pounding on the door. She shrieked horribly, sounding closer to a wild animal than a person. “Open this door! She will devour you!”
“What’s this broad talking about?” Daxter asked Jak, but he wasn’t going to like the answer. A gasp behind them drew their attention, and dread gripped both of them like a vice as they turned to investigate. Mar dropped the candle.

Ru was floating high above them — only, it wasn’t Ru. Gone was the sweet girl who helped them hide only hours ago, replaced by what Jak could only describe as a horror. The flickering of the candle showed a set of monstrous teeth, jutting out of her jaws like they had to forcibly put themselves out of her gums. Her eyes were wider than naturally possible, completely blackened save for pinpricks of blue that trained themselves on the group. Her previously rounded cheeks and button nose were severed off, her skin now completely taunt over her skull. She looked like a reanimated corpse, gasping and smiling impossibly wide as she loomed over them. Mar whined loudly, hiding his face in Jak’s chest as the older boy felt his heart crack in two.

Oh, Ru. Instead of paralyzing fear, Jak was hit with overwhelming sadness. She told him of her illness, but he didn’t think she suffered from the same type of ailment he did. They were both trapped by a demonic entity, both held hostage by their own resentment of who they became when the beast could no longer be held at bay. He wished she had told him about what happened, maybe he could’ve helped her find comfort in knowing she wasn’t alone in this. Mar burrowed deeping into Jak’s chest, and he couldn’t ignore it any longer: his mission was to protect the kid. Even if at the cost of Ru.

“More bones to sort,” Ru — or whatever she was now — breathed, advancing on them with hands spread wide as if anticipating them to make a run past her.

“I told you boys to stay away from her, but now you’ve gone and made her wicked again,” Auntie Whispers whispered through the door, no longer actively trying to end the cellar again. Turtles barked somewhere to Jak’s right, scratching at the old wall with his razor sharp nails. With his snout pointed upwards, the crocadog indicated their best escape route.

Ru didn’t even spare him a glance, a hand with fingers the length of yard sticks making a swipe at him. He dodged her easily, ducking down to curl himself around the child in his arms. She chuckled, then attempted it again, though this time she was slower on the downswing. The broken claws sliced through the air, missing him completely as Jak dove for the small window that Turtles had found.

The landing was hard, but unlike the fall from the roof of the Old Grist Mill, it was blissfully short and he remembered to roll on impact. It also helped that the ground was slippery from the rain, easily malleable enough that Jak could slide on it like a hoverboard and run into the woods. Daxter and Turtles followed after, his friend’s echoing screams almost deafening in the quiet of the evening. Jak only spared a quick glance backwards, realizing that Ru was hot on their trails as she glided through the branches. The moon behind her obscured the more scary aspects of her appearance, but Jak could make out the spittle that dripped down her mouth as clear as day.

“I’m sorry, my turtles,” she whispered, her voice distorted, “But I must feed,”

The ground ahead of them had a sudden drop, plummeting them down into a pool of murky water. The water that rushed to meet them was thick with algae and moss, clinging to his shoulders and arms like weights as he tried to march through. The kid slipped from his arms, sinking down below the surface, but thankfully Turtle was able to pull his head free from under the water. The spirit was upon them now, floating just a mere few feet above them. Daxter banged his fist in the water, cursing angrily. “This is it, isn’t it? We spend all that time pushing our luck with metalheads and an ax-wielding lunatic and it’s going to be the bone lady that does us in!”

“Ru?” Jak called out. When the spirit tilted its head, he continued, “Ru, it’s me. It’s okay. You’re okay,” the spirit laughed darkly, dropping its jaw down wider than any normal person’s jaw should go. It looked painful. Jak’s own mutations always felt like he was pushing the limits of his own anatomy. He felt every inch of his horns bursting out of his skull, felt the way his innards rearranged themselves and fortified to withstand more abuse, his muscles contorting into until they felt like they would tear the flesh clean apart. Ru’s transformation looked like it was pushing her body to extreme limits as well. “Ru, you’ve got to fight it!”

“My, my,” it breathed, snapping Ru’s arm into odd shapes. The bones cracked and cracked, unnaturally twisting to point at Jak. When she moved closer, her legs buckled and folded, though she stayed upright. “Look who speaks of fighting the wickedness within. What can one expect from a hypocrite such as yourself? Don’t you see? Everything you touch turns to rot,” The arm fastened back into its socket, but now it was Ru’s neck that bent sharply. Jak swallowed the bile that threatened to come out of him, willing away the images of fellow lab rats who lost to the madness of the eco and sought to die on their own terms. We thought you were special. We thought you were going to get us out of there, but you left us to rot. In more ways than one. “It is a pity. She really fancied you,”

A rock smacked Ru on the cheek. Another missed her completely, though it did earn a low growl. Jak followed the trajectory of a third stone and found Mar with his arms full of them. Though Mar’s head was barely above surface level, his eyebrows were furrowed in concentration as he launched another that hit Ru squarely in the foot. Jak grabbed one from his stock pile and managed to land a head shot squarely on the spirit’s forehead, and the spirit went ballistic.

It charged at them, screaming like a banshee as it tried to grab one of them. With each passing moment, its features melted and shifted into an amalgamation of flesh and teeth. Jak ducked underwater, pulling the kid with him for a brief minute as the spirit flew overhead. Mar, in his momentary minute of shock, kicked him in neck—

—It was dark. He couldn't see which way was up. Everything hurt, and the shock of cold numbed it so deliciously. The world went mute and peaceful around him, and if he tried hard enough, he could hear the birds chirping in the trees.—

—before letting Jak take charge. He resurfaced them almost immediately after, shaking their heads like crocadogs to rid the muck of the lake from their eyes. If it wasn’t for its glowing eyes, Jak wouldn’t have seen the spirit on all fours perched on a branch, watching them like a predatory bird before shuffling backwards to disappear behind the trunk of the tree. Vaguely, he wondered if people saw him the same: a boogie man hiding in the dark, watching his prey and waiting for them to let their guards down so he could pounce before they even got the chance to fight him off. He might be a monster, but Ru was anything but.

“Ru,” he croaked, swallowing the lump in his throat, “Ru, please,”

Mar tapped Jak’s shoulder, waiting for the teen to shoot a quick side eye before he started signing. Ghost can help.

“Ghost is trying to eat us, buddy,” Jak muttered, but Mar kicked him shallowly in the ribs.

No! Not that one! This one! Jak finalled ripped his eyes away from Ru to look at Mar, ready to scold him for kicking him again when he saw the young boy holding the crocadog like a liferaft. He picked it up from under his arms, giving him a proper shake and …

And the crocadog’s stomach glowed. Mar gave him another harsh shake, and Jak heard the tinny ringing of the bell that Auntie Whispers had used earlier. Oh my god, the crocadog ate the bell.

Whether in the hands of an old witch or in the stomach of a young crocadog, whatever the bell did to Ru took hold of her instantly. She gasped, head lulling forward while those piercing beady eyes started at the direction of the bell. Daxter caught on immediately, paddling over to the two with all the grace that an ottsel can pull off. He leapt over the kid’s shoulder, pointing an accusatory finger at Ru. “The ringing of the bell commands you, you old hag!” he screeched hysterically.

There was a beat as the spirit breathed ruggedly, eyes almost blinding from how illuminating they were. Daxter turned to Jak with a tense smile. “Yeah, I got nothing,” he admitted. “You want to give it a go?”

Jak took the crocadog and shook him again, the ringing stronger with more force applied. The spirit growled sharply, yet it still managed to choke out something. “The spirit compels me,” it hissed, verging on the edge of annoyance and losing its patience. Jak wadded closer to Ru, the crocadog still firmly held in front of him like a shield.

“The ringing of the bell compels you to fuck off and leave Ru alone. Forever.”

The spirit roared. It was loud, head splitting loud. It echoed off the tree tops and caused birds to flee in panic, the kid and crocadog both whining as they held their ears to stop the noise. The spirit contorted and shuttered, fighting against whatever force was taking over her. It twisted Ru’s body up again, all her limbs sticking out unnaturally before a bang of light lit the forest around them. Jak could even make out bugs on the trees from how bright it all became. Just as it started, it was over, and in the place of the floating spirit remained Ru.

She collapsed out of the sky, no longer held up by the spirit's powers. Her body made a sickening thud as it landed, and Jak never rushed out of water faster than in that moment. There were rocks and exposed roots on the ground, a minefield of danger for the girl. One good blow to the head and Ru was done for. He rushed to her side, finding her lying motionlessly in a bed of blue flowers. One hand was draped over her middle, a blade of grass and a flower stem stuck between her midriff and fingers. Her other arm layed outstretched, her face turned toward it as if looking at her own palm. Her bonnet had come loose, tendrils of chestnut hair peeking out from under the off-white cap, but it was her face that gave him pause. Long gone were the dark circles and pale skin, now replaced with a peachy hue that gave way to rosy cheeks. She no longer looked sickly, barely held together before a strong cough would send her shattering. No, Ru looked the picture of health, complete with long eyelashes that fluttered as he approached her.

“Ru!” he called, falling to his knees. His hands hovered over her, undecided whether to touch her or avoid any contact. She hummed in response, turning her head to face him. Her eyes fluttered open, squinting up at the blonde teen.

“Jak?” she breathed, her hand coming up to rest on her forehead, “I was having the strangest dream … it was so horrible, but you saved me,”

Jak opened his mouth to speak, but Daxter had other plans, and he found his back instantly sopping wet as the soaked ottsel leaned over his shoulder. “Yeah, we saved you! I know it’s not the most organic thing to bring up in conversation, but for the love of the Precursors! You could’ve warned us! What do you shapeshifters have against slapping a warning label on a guy before he gets ripped to shreds?!”

Ru sat up, wincing. Jak moved to help her, but stopped short of touching her as she gathered her wits. Mar waddled over seconds later, dropping the rocks in his arms into a heap on the group next to the girl. “Well, that certainly explains my headache,” she said, leaning down to plant a kiss on his forehead, “Thank you, my friend,”

“See, that’s more like it! Why don’t you give me a forehead kiss after you try to eat me, huh, Jak? You too good for a smooch from your old pal?”

“Ru! Ru! Oh, my Ru!” Out of the darkness ran Auntie Whispers, her face wet with tears as she enveloped the young girl in a crushing embrace. She pressed her feeble hands fiercely against Ru’s back, cradling the back of her head against her shoulder as the older woman fell into near hysterical sobbing. “I was so worried! I thought this was the end!”

Ru pulled back to hold the woman’s hands, shaking her head. “No, Auntie, they saved me. They banished the evil spirit with the power of the bell,” she said, gesturing to Jak and Mar. The kid timidly looked away, kicking at the flowers with his muddy shoes. “I’m free now, Auntie,”

Auntie Whispers sniffled, rubbing her eyes with her sleeve. “That’s near impossible! We’ve tried so many times …” she swallowed thickly, pressing a hand to Ru’s cheek. Her eyes darted around the young girl’s face, realization setting in. The older woman sighed heavily, mournful and joyous. “Oh, my little dove. I see. Now you are a formidable woman, and must go and enjoy life,”

“Oh, Auntie, no! I would never leave you,” Ru said thickly, embracing the woman once more, “You are my family. There’s nowhere I’d rather be than here with you,” She searched Jak out, unshed tears glistening in the moonlight as she shook her head at the teen. He felt sour bile rise in his throat, and grief grip him tighter than he expected. He was stupid to think that there would be a happy ending in all this, naive to think that maybe just this once he’d be granted this little respite of peace.

Jak smiled and nodded to her, though the feeling in his chest still ached. He was used to so many kinds of pain — physically, emotionally, and mental — yet this one stung differently. It was sharper than any blade and more breathtaking than any punch. Absent-mindedly, he rubbed at the sore spot, massaging it as it would alleviate the discomfort. He forced himself to wave back at Ru, his hand as heavy as lead.

Auntie Whispers’ jumped suddenly, pulling the girl back to face the trio. Her voice dropped low so that only the boys and Ru could hear, her cadence a warning. “And a word of advice — beware of my sister, the Lady of the Wastes. She intends to harm you, and she does not take kindly to those who escape her grasp. She seeks to use you for her nefarious purposes. Take heed and protect yourselves,” With that, she started walking back to the cottage, her arm intertwined with Ru as the two walked off into the dark.

Jak and Daxter were left standing in the middle of the meadow, both the kid and crocadog between them. The teen sighed, motioning with his hand for them to silently follow. He only managed about five steps before he heard someone calling his name. He barely had the time to turn before he was catching someone, the force of their body hitting him making him stumble backwards. Ru’s arms wrapped tightly around him as if he would disappear if she let go. Her hands felt dainty against his back, a shocking juxtaposition from how strong she held him against her. Even when he instinctively tried to break the hug after a moment, she did not let go. She buried her face in his neck, her fingers digging bruises into his shoulder blades. “Thank you,” she whispered. Jak couldn’t think of what to say that wouldn’t come off painfully lame and uncool, so he settled for pressing his hand on the back of her head.

When she pulled away, Jak felt her absence in the cold that replaced her. Ru’s eyes shone brightly in the moonlight, and though she was smiling, Jak could see the way the corners of her mouth wobbled. She stepped back, took a deep breath, then said, “I won’t say I hope to see you soon, for if I do I’ll be beside myself with sadness. Instead, I will say that I will be right here, and when you are ready, we will meet again. Good luck, my turtle. I pray you find what you seek,”

“What if I feel like I've already found it?”

Ru shook her head, and held his hand in hers. She held his cheek with her other one, forcing him to look at her. “It’ll pass,”

With that, she hastily retreated back to the path that she and Auntie Whispers took moments ago. Jak watched her go, still feeling the warmth of her in his hands. He watched after her, praying she’ll look back. He told himself that if she were to look back, even for a second, he would stay here with her. He would damn the Underground and forsake Haven City and stay in the forest with Ru and Mar, surrounding himself with the very love he lacked back home. There was nothing there for him, but the Unknown has provided him with the hope of happiness and it all started with Ru’s smile. The girl halted just before the treeline, wringing her hands together and he watched with bated breath as she picked her head up, squared her shoulders, and marched forward into the darkness without a single glance backwards.

“Whoa,” Daxter whistled, appearing on Jak’s shoulder so smoothly that Jak jumped at the sound of his voice so close to his ear, “That was intense. What do you think all that was about?”

“No idea,” Jak said, and even to him his voice sounded thin. It was funny. He’s spent so long chasing away the darkness — the eco, his own thoughts, the monsters that lived within it — yet in this moment, standing among a valley of star-shaped blue flowers in the pale moonlight, Jak found himself wanting nothing more than to go to it. Not because Ru had so fearlessly walked into it, but he understood now how it was a comfort. To be nowhere, existing in the abyss without fear. No horror that called the darkness home could compare to the horrors he’s seen in the light. He could let go in the darkness, sink into it, and allow it to claim him. In the darkness, there were no hallucinations to be seen, no heartbreaking hands to be felt, no words to utter — the darkness didn’t demand those from him. It only seemed to have him wholly and completely, and in return, it would be content just having him the way he was. He could simply close his eyes, and tuck himself away. Just lead off the temple and fly into absentia.

“Hey, whatcha got there?” Daxter’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts, and he raised an eyebrow at him. His friend reached over, plucking something tucked between the scarf and his ear. Twirling it between his pointer and thumb, Daxter presented it to him. It was a flower, yellow with a mane that resembled a lionbear. Its stem was long but weak, dangling when Jak took it gently from Daxter’s paw. It smelled like the crocadog.

He let it fall from his fingers, losing it in the sea of others at his feet. The night ahead of them was empty and endless. There was no room for little yellow flowers or promises.

Chapter Text

“Wastelander,” the voice said, “We need to talk.”

The Wastelander didn’t want to hear what the Beast had to say to him. He took a huge risk just now, alerting the brothers of the creature’s intentions, but he couldn’t live with himself any longer. The winter was settling in, the silver clouds growing in numbers by the day, and Wastelander’s hands could no longer handle the frost nipping at his fingers as he chopped tree after tree. The harvest has come and gone, and soon there will be no more trees to grind to oil for the lantern. His emergency supply went with the mill as it collapsed, and he was growing desperate.

Once upon a time, the Wastelander regarded the Beast as a benevolent savior. He admired it, accepted the comfort it offered, and almost considered it a friend. Now, he could no longer hide his resentment towards it. The years he has spent wandering the forest, repeating the same events day in and day out as new faces appeared and disappeared as he toiled away at the edelwood trees. The days started to pile upon his soul, and he found it too hard to move under the momentous weight of it all. Burden or responsibility, they were both partners in this danse macabre.

He followed the Beast through the forest, quiet as he let the creature run him around in circles. The Beast thought him stupid, and far too detached to learn the forest, but the Wastelander has long learned every twig and leaf, every bug and mushroom the woods had to offer. Everything he learned, he learned in defense of the Beast. It was beneficial to know the home turf of your enemy, especially if there were ever to be a battle. He learned that long ago, before the lantern, before the Beast, before the forest.

The Beast stopped them just short of the treeline, then it stalked close behind a tree and peered out to the young man and his brother. The walk was just a diversion, the talk a ploy. The monster was biding its time and waiting for them to re-emerge from the home of the witch. There were few things that the Wastelander knew the Beast feared, and one of them was the witch that lived in the cabin. He never asked, and he never will, but something about the strange woman scared the Beast enough to never dare cross the stone wall that lined her property. Instead it stalked the treeline, rumbling and hissing as it haunted the outskirts of it. The Wastelander wondered if the strange woman knew the kind of power she wielded, how she was feared by the biggest predator in the forest.

The Wastelander had to squint to see the shape of the brothers, standing in a clearing where the trees allowed for the moon to shine through them. The youngest was picking at the flora with childish vigor, yanking the flower heads with little care and stuffing them into his pockets. The eldest, however, gave him pause.

“Yes, yes, my little doves. That’s right, don’t fret. All hope will soon be lost,” The Beast hummed from its vantage point, its silhouetted body almost curling around the tree in excitement. The moment didn’t last, however, and it quickly changed to a sharped tone when it addressed the Wastelander. It shifted, suddenly standing right before him. “We’re lucky the boy had the pluck to best you! Your play could’ve cost us both. Don’t you care about keeping the lantern lit?” When The Beast moved, it was important to watch its surrounding environment. The Wastelander had learned to look for the absence of light, to track the creature’s movements by tracking the loss of moonlight. Its body was an all-consuming shadow, blending into the forest with ease. If one was not careful, they could easily lose sight of the ominous spirit. The Beast’s voice was in his ear now, standing behind him from one blink to another. “Don’t you care about your son’s soul, Wastelander?”

Anger ripped through the Wastelander like the harshest blizzard wind. The implication was too horrible to bear — the very notion. He saw the young boys in a new light now. They were no longer the lost deer awkwardly trampling around in the forest, but have now become the sacrificial lambs that The Beast was corralling for the slaughter. His hand tightened around his ax, tremors rattling him like an irate bell.

“One cannot trade the souls of children as if they were tokens!” he bellowed, strengthening his hold on the lantern’s handle. “There has to be another way …!”

“No. There is only me. There is only my way. There is only the forest, and there is only surrender,”

The fog was thick, and Mar couldn’t see a thing outside of their boat. He squinted as they passed a shadow, but it was only a large fish with a fishing rod. That’s weird, so he pretended not to see it.

The water under them was dirty and gross, much like the water in the city that Mar once wanted to swim in. The man who pulled him roughly along didn’t let him so much as peer into the water, and Mar was grateful in the end. It was nothing like the water back home, not like the shore that beckoned him with its glittery waves and salty air. His Papa always told him to stay out of the sea, to keep away from the water lest the sea monster get him and pull him all the way down to the bottom where Mar will become a squid baby. A squid baby! He was a human big boy, not a squid baby. He huffed at the idea of him with tentacles, happy that he always listened to Papa and never ventured into the water.

Though, sitting in the middle of the lake drifting in the fog, Mar wished he had listened to Papa on other things too.

Ever since that nice girl tried to eat them, Jak has been quiet. It’s not new, or anything. He tended to be quieter than Daxter, offering up smiles and scowls instead of words. He was like Mar. They don’t like talking. Talking means having something to say, drawing attention, making important decisions. Mar didn’t like any of that. Jak didn’t either. This time, though, he hasn’t said anything in hours. It was Daxter’s idea to cross the lake in a wooden box, chattering that they could use it as a boat and convincing Jak to push it into the water. Mar can’t exactly remember when Daxter joined them. He sort of just … appeared out of nowhere, blinking up right next to him as if he’d been with them the entire time. Maybe he had been. Mar had seen Jak speaking to something multiple times, though usually when the child followed the older boy’s gaze, he found that no one was there. It gave Mar the jitters, watching his chaperone argue and reason with the air before him.

Usually, Mar wouldn’t have minded the addition of Daxter on their adventure, though he can tell that Daxter was not welcomed as far as Jak was concerned.

Mar tried to cheer him up, flashing him a goofy smile, but Jak had just turned away. It made him feel yucky. He didn’t like it when adults were upset, it always meant something bad was going to happen.

“Hooomme,” Daxter called out, “Home? Home! Where the hell are you, you crapstain of a city? Hey, Kid, you see anything?”

Mar shook his head. Everything was gray and wet. Though, if he tried hard enough … Yes, there it is. There was singing again, coming from somewhere over the mist. Mar never did find out where it was coming from. He looked around him, tilting his head to hear the singing better. He signed to Daxter if he could hear it, but the orange friend was too busy trying to row them through the thick water. He signed the same question to Jak, but he wasn’t looking therefore he didn’t see it. He signed to the crocadog — Fish — who licked his fingers instead. Mar made an impatient noise, contemplating tugging at Jak’s ear or pulling Daxter’s tail to get their attention, but the boat creaked loudly as it abruptly stopped. The sudden collision sent Mar falling to the side, gasping as he almost crushed Fish with his body.

“Land, ho! Wait, was this where we left off? We didn’t go around in circles, did we? Precursors, this fog is thick,” Daxter muttered, hopping on Jak’s shoulder. The teen sat there for a moment longer, then stood up slowly to get out after Mar and Fish had already hopped out. His head hung low, and his messy hair was all over his face. Jak didn’t like it when his hair got in his face. Mar’s seen him countless times swearing at his goggles and tightening the strap around his head so they’d stop slipping off. Now, it laid around his neck like a funny necklace, and his hair was all over his forehead and eyes.

Mar moved towards him, reaching up to grab his hand. Jak moved it away from him, tucking it closer to his side, but that didn’t stop Mar from grabbing a fistful of the older teen’s cloak to pull him along as Fish led the way. He almost made it a couple feet before Jak pulled the fabric from his hand, frowning down at him. “Don’t touch me,” he said lowly, “Don’t ever touch me. Can you get that through your thick skull?”

That was rude. Mar didn’t know exactly why it was rude, but he knew that Jak was being rude. He told him as much, attempting to reach for him again.

“Knock it off! Are you deaf too? I told you to stop touching me!” Mar started to sign back, but Jak cut him off, “Will you stop with that?! Just be normal and say something for once! For fucksake, do you know how annoying it is trying to figure out what you’re saying?!”

“Lay off the kid, Jak! It’s not his fault, he can’t help it. You were mute too,”

“Yeah, I was. If I had to learn how to talk, so should he. Even his sign is bullshit,”

“Dude, seriously, lay off him. You’re being a huge dick right now. Maybe we should all take a break, regroup in an hour or two. We’ve got to be close—”

“Oh my God! Dax! Can you stop pretending we’re ever going to get home?! Can you just admit we’re lost for good?!”

“You’re such a drama queen! The forest has to end at some point, we just gotta keep looking for the exit and we aren’t going to go far if you keep lashing out at us!”

Jak bared his teeth at Daxter, though it didn’t look scary at all. Everything about him had changed since they got here. He was thinner than before, and he stumbled more while walking. At first Mar thought maybe he was tired from all the walking, but now he thinks that Jak might be sicker than he led them to believe. He needed medicine, like Papa used to give him when his throat hurt and all he could do was cough. Some medicine would make Jak nice again. Maybe Mar could find the nice lady again. The one with the smelly house who gave him tea that warmed his stomach and brought feeling back into his fingers and toes.

“I have a right to be pissed! The whole reason we’re here is because of him and his stupid lineage! Everything that has happened to us is because of him!”

“He’s just a kid! He doesn’t have any control over what happens to anyone! At least he isn’t a whiny baby about it like you’re being!”

“Fuck you!”

“Fuck you, too, sunshine!”

Fish trotted over to Mar’s side, a stack of mushrooms in his mouth. He took one and ate it in small bites as he petted the crocadog’s fur, grimacing when his hands felt slimy and gross. He didn’t like the yelling. Back home — his real home — no one ever yelled at him. Maybe Papa and Mama, but only because they were scared he would hurt himself. Mama always said sorry afterwards, hugging him tightly and stroking his cheeks gently as she explained how much she loved him. He thinks that’s what he misses most. He missed his Mama’s hugs. His Mama was so pretty and nice, and it hurts to think how worried she must be. He didn’t mean to, he just thought that it was—

—”... pretty, isn’t it?” the man asked, holding the flower towards Mar. It glowed green with eco, and it sparkled like glass the more he looked at it. The man held it in a cloth, both hands cupped to safely hold the large petals that curled at the ends. “Do you want to hold it?”

“Yes!” Mar giggled, thrusting his smaller hands forward. He liked this man. When Papa heard he was coming, he wasn’t all too happy about it. He said the man was strange and said strange things about the Precursors and the monks never looked forward to his visits. Mama told him to cancel, but Papa had said it was necessary for him to oversee the temple. He was important to the monks, though Mar didn’t know why. He supposed he wasn’t so bad. After all, he had the cool flower.

The man smiled, sliding the flower in between Mar’s palms and keeping the cloth to himself. The flower glowed brighter, and Mar laughed as the green sparkles danced around his thumbs, all the way up his arms. “It tickled me!” he told the man.

“It did,” he agreed.

“Can I keep it? I want to give it to Mama,”

“My apologies, Prince Mar, but I’m going to need this once back,” he said sadly, picking the flower up again using the cloth. Mar frowned. Mama would’ve loved it. It was green, just like his and her hair. Papa was sandy haired, so he wouldn’t have liked the flower as much as Mama. For Papa, he’ll find another gift. Maybe a shell. The man’s eyes got wide, and he smiled again, “You know what I just remembered? There’s a whole garden full of flowers just like this, not too far from here. You can pick as many of them as you want there,”

Mar squealed. That was a much better idea! Instead of one flower, he’ll give his Mama a whole bouquet of them! Bigger than the ones that Papa gives her on her birthday! She’ll be so happy, she won't know what to say. “Let’s go! I’ll go get Papa,”

“Oh, dear. I’m afraid the King can’t come with us, your majesty,” he clucked, shaking his head, “The garden is a secret. Only me and my monks know where it is, and if others find it, they’ll surely take all the flowers for themselves,”

Mar frowned. “But Papa said I can’t go anywhere with strangers,”

“I’ve known you since you were just a little baby,” the man explained, “You don’t remember this, but I was the one that gave you your Precursor rites. Why, your father and I have known each other since we were your age,”

“Really?”

“Really. See? I’m not a stranger anymore. He won’t mind if we go see the garden, I promise. But you have to keep this between you and me, so we can surprise your parents. They love surprises. Meet me back here later, and I’ll take you to the garden,” the man stood up, folding the flower into the cloth and tucking it into his trousers. He extended his hand to Mar, wiggling the fingers until Mar reached up to hold them. He can hear his Mama calling his name. He skipped next to the man as they walked back into the throne room. He pushed back the curtain, revealing Mar’s Mama and Papa standing near the throne, both sighing once they saw him.

“Mar! Holy hell, I’ve been looking all over for you, young man,” Mama said, quirking an eyebrow upwards, “Count Veger. Thank you for finding our son. He has a bit of a habit of running off the moment his father looks away,” she winked at Papa, who laughed.

“It was no trouble at all, my Queen. Young Prince Mar and I were just having a lovely chat. He’s grown so much since the last time I saw him. You didn’t tell me he was a Channeler like his grandfather …”—

—going to be alright.

Jak stomped away from Daxter, sitting down at the base of a tree with his knees pulled to his chest. “I’m done. Go on without me if you want, but I’m staying here until this fog clears up,” he said to Daxter. He looked really mad, and it looked like he wanted Daxter to say something else to him. He didn’t, instead he sighed and waved at the kid to follow. He did, picking Fish up from his middle and taking him to where Daxter was curling up next to a large root. He made himself a teeny tiny orange ball, tucking his tail around him.

Mar dropped off Fish next to Daxter, then headed for the leaves surrounding them. He scooped up as many as he could, stuffing them into his overalls until he looked like a giant pillow. More and more yellow and orange leaves joined the rest before he deemed them enough. He ran back to the older boys, depositing the leaves on Daxter first. He protested, but he settled once he saw Mar smoothening the leaves with a pat of his hand. This ought to keep him warm. He did the same to Fish, giggling when the crocadog sneezed from having the leaves dumped over his head. Next was Jak, who by now faced away from Daxter and leaned his head against the trunk. Even asleep, he looked angry. Mar frowned. What kind of person is able to sleep and be angry at the same time? He dug into his pockets, grabbed a handful of flowers, and sprinkled them all over the leaves and Jak’s hair. At least now he looked less angry. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to Jak’s forehead, earning a sleepy grumble for it. Mama and Papa used to kiss his forehead when they tucked him in. They said their kisses will send all the monsters and scary things away because they would know his parents were there to fight them off, and everyone was afraid of his parents. Papa was the King, after all, and Mama … Well, he’s seen Mama spar with her brother before. His Uncle had owies for a long time afterwards.

He kissed Fish on the head, then it was time for Mar to tuck himself in. He pulled the rest of the leaves out, laying them all in his lap until they covered his legs and feet. He peppered the flowers over himself too. Leaning over to his left, Mar planted a peck on Daxter too, who cracked open an eye when he did.

“Thanks, kid. Don’t mind Jak, alright? He’s a jerk, and he’s sick too, so he’s more of a jerk than usual. He didn’t mean what he said,” Daxter yawned, resting his head on his arm. “He’ll be better once he gets some shuteye, you’ll see,”

Mar patted Daxter's head, scratching behind his ears. He was a good friend. The fog was thick around them, but when he looked up, he was greeted with something he hadn’t seen in a long time. Millions upon billions upon trillions of stars shun over them, dotting the sky and twinkling their hellos. There was a story about them, he tried to remember. There was a great desert spirit whose priestess mother was impregnated by a Flut Flut feather. The desert spirit had a vision of the baby, who was born out of blood and devastation and would bring only the same to their civilization. The desert spirit pleaded with her mother, but she did not listen. Enraged, the desert spirit enlisted 400 of her brothers to help her to kill the baby once it was born. They waited for days, listening for any cries of a baby, but the desert spirit grew impatient and decided to attack immediately. Armed with a dagger made from a metalhead claw and Precursor metal, she snuck into her mother’s bedroom late one night. Her brothers by her side, she swung the knife above her head, but before she could strike, the baby bursted forward. Except, it was no baby. It was a spirit of war, born as a man who killed his brothers and sister gleefully. His mother, however, mourned her children, so to appease her, he threw his brothers’ bodies into the sky where they became stars, then placed his sister’s head up high, thus creating the moon so that his mother can see her every night. Mar didn’t like that story very much. According to Papa, it was his grandfather’s favorite story, because it was his grandfather’s favorite, all the way back to the original Mar, who told his own children it was his favorite.

With any luck, by the time they all wake up, the fog will have gone away and they could start looking for home again. Then Mar will tell Jak all about Spargus and how great it is over there, and Jak will be so happy to hear about a city other than Haven, they’ll go immediately. Then he’ll be with Papa and Mama again.

The child kissed his open palm, then touched it to his forehead. Satisfied with his makeshift protection, he bowed his head and prayed to the stars. He doesn’t know if the 400 brothers would grant him what he asked, but he figured it didn’t hurt to try.

Once finished, Mar curled around Fish and drifted off to sleep.

Mar watched as the star shined its light down on him, surrounding him in its splendor. He blinked, and when he opened his eyes, he was home. His real home. The home where the homes were made of cool rock and mud, shaped as a community as a symbol of the city’s values. The home where the days were hot and bright, yet the nights were cold and clear. The home where the sea met the desert, all shielded by grand walls and mountains. The home where the light of lanterns led to your bed.

He rubbed his eyes, not able to believe what he was seeing. It was his room. Army men and cars littered the red stone floor, curtains were drawn back to let in the sunshine through the large windows that took up the entire north side, his bed carved into the wall where he sat. Mar ran his fingers through the quilt his grandma made him when he was in Mama’s tummy, and looked up to find that the paper bugs Papa folded were still dangling from strings above him. The walls were filled with photos and tapestries — most of which looked out of place in the stone and torches of his room, but his parents insisted they were important.

Looking down, Mar found himself wearing his linen pants and favorite tunic. It had a leaper lizard eating a prickly pear from a cactus embroidered on the hem. He liked to pretend the leaper lizard was his friend, a constant companion he carried with him in his day to day activities.

The door opened to his right, and when he snapped his head to look, he was overwhelmed with joy.

“Mar?” Mama called softly, peeking her head through the curtain. Her boots were dusty, and her gun was still attached to her back, which means she had just come back from the desert. Pulling her scarf down from her nose and mouth, she smiled wide at him and outstretched muscled arms to squeeze him tight. “Oh, my little bug! You’re home!”

Mar rubbed his face on her shoulder, wiping his tears away on her warm skin. She smelled like lavender and the sea, smoke and sand, love and comfort. She pulled back, cupping his cheeks in her hands as she wiped his tears away. “You’ve been so brave, little one. I can’t imagine how terrified you must’ve been,” the young boy sniffled. Mama looked exactly like he remembered: short green hair, full lips, shiny blue eyes, sharp cheeks, scarred nose. A true Wasterlander. He didn’t realize how much he missed seeing all the tough and weathered citizens, grinning like they knew something you didn’t and would only tell you if you bested them in a fight. Mar couldn’t wait to be a true Wastelander one day. “It’s alright now, Mar. You’re safe. You’re home. Nothing bad will ever happen to you here ever again,”

Mar cuddled up into her lap, pressing his ear to her chest. He could hear her heart beating. Fingers caressed his hair, a hand rubbing his spine up and down and up and down. In her embrace, Mar felt as safe as he did in Jak’s. The two gave the best hugs — all strong arms, yet tender hands.

Jak. Mar had to tell Mama about Jak and Daxter and Fish. The star granted his wish to be back home, but he forgot to wish for them to come with him. Frantically, Mar pulled back to start signing to Mama. He told her about the forest, the Wastelander and his lantern, the bone woman, the pumpkin friends, the tavern, the mansion, Ru and Auntie Whispers, then his wish for the star. By the end of it, his fingers were mixing up his words and his arms were tired. Mama, meanwhile, frowned. “This Jak … he’s who kept you safe?” Mar nodded, Mama sighed. “I’m sorry, Mar. The star granted your wish to come home, but Jak … he’s too lost,”

A freezing breeze swept through the room, and Mar saw the forest on the other side. The dark tree that looked cold to the touch, the falling snow peppering the ground around Jak as he slept. The blue flowers had been blown away along with the leaves, and his friend shivered in the cold. Thick vines wrapped around his arms and body, swaddling him in a cocoon of leaves and roots. They shedded twigs over him, but Jak didn’t seem to notice. His eyes remained tightly shut, trembling on the ground. “See how the edelwood grows around him? He’s been claimed by The Beast. He belongs to the forest now,” Mama said, cuddling her son to her chest. “I tried to save him from it, to save you both, but I wasn’t strong enough. There’s nothing we can do for him now,”

Mar felt tears well up in his eyes again, but this time they were out of sadness. Here he was, wrapped in his mother’s arms and sheltered from the hot sun, while his friends laid in the snow covered ground with only leaves to keep them warm. He had to do something. He was the leader now.

Mama tightened her arms around him. “I know what you’re thinking, little bug. Please stay. I’ve been so alone since you left. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you again, baby,” she cooed in his ear. Mar looked back to where Jak was, finding the stone floor had turned into a field of red poppies. They blossomed open, calling to him gleefully as they swayed against each other. They all begged him to stay here, stay forever, don’t go. Mar thought about it. There’s nothing he wanted more than to be home with Mama and Papa. So many nights in Haven were spent crying into his pillow, wishing that his Mama or Papa or Uncle would burst through the door and take him far, far away from this city of metal and smog. Days were filled with him being shuffled from one place to another, and his nights were filled with him trying to sleep while the Underground teemed with drunken agents and bitter sentiments. At home, he could crawl into his parents bed and sleep under the covers, knowing that nothing will ever get him.

But, he couldn’t stay. Jak needed him to be the leader now. He fought off a mean monster, the Wastelander, the scary spirit … he held Mar and comforted him when he got so scared he couldn’t stop shaking. It was his responsibility to look after Jak now. It's what the teen would do for him, even if right now he was grumpy and rude to Mar. Deep down, right in his tummy, Mar knew Jak loved him just as much as Mar loved him.

He told Mama. Her eyebrows pinched, and she said something, but no sound came out. Horror and panic creeped into her features, her hands tight on his shoulders as she opened her mouth wide to scream. Sand spilled out from her lips, a scary ringing rattling his ears until it all came to a halt. He blinked, and Mama’s face was soft again. She smiled with her pearly teeth straight in a row, tapping his nose with her finger. She was cold. “You’re such a good brother, my son. I’m so glad you decided to help him,” she mused, “I’ll tell you what. Go to The Beast, and tell it you will help it in exchange for letting you come back home. Once you complete your tasks, it will grant you your wishes and this time, you will be returned home with your older brother and we’ll be a family again. How does that sound, tzicuēhuallotl?”

Mar nodded enthusiastically. He’d do anything to protect his brother, just like how Jak would do anything to protect him. This will be his redemption.

A white light enveloped the room, and that was it.

Jak snapped awake sometime in the twilight of dawn. There was a voice muttering something to him. He forced his sleep-addled mind to concentrate on what it was saying, but quickly lost his comprehension. He took in a deep breath, willing himself to open his eyes, and he quickly lost that too. The ground beneath him was hard. Erol would be by any moment now with guards and technicians in tow. He was going to have to get up if he was going to stand a chance in hell to protect Daxter and Mar. The crocadog, though small, could defend himself until Jak took out the biggest threats. He had to get up.

He twitched his fingers first. Testing them to figure out where they were. Once the feeling came back to his finger tips, his own breath felt scolding. They were curled near his nose. He tried shifting them downwards. Nothing. He tried rolling to his back. Nothing. The most he could do was kick a leg out.

He was wrapped in his yakkow blanket again. The sun was shining through his window and the ocean breeze ticked his hair. The wind chimes were singing. He had training with Samos today. His bed was so warm, so comfortable. He could afford to be late. The hut wasn’t going anywhere. His Uncle muttered in the living room, no doubt bent over old maps that have seen better days and trying to recall an old trail he once used twenty odd years ago. Then he’d grumble about how old he was getting and there was still so much to see. Jak felt his muscles melt. The bed sank near his torso. A calloused hand pressed itself on his cheek. A thumb rubbed near his eye. “There, there, my little bug. I’m here,” she whispered, then a press of lips to his forehead. No. That wasn’t right. Who kissed his forehead? He’s never been kissed on the forehead by a woman. By anyone, except— “All these tears for me? Aren’t you just precious when you cry.” Jak tried to move away, but his arms were pinned down. They were under the blanket. They were restrained. Metal bit into his flesh, rubbing it away until it was raw and bloody. He tried to force them out. He dislocated his thumb and got one wrist free before he was slapped in the face by a gloved hand.

His head thudded backwards. Snowy rocks and icey dirt jabbed at his back. The trek around the mountain was long and treacherous. Lurkers really knew how to pack a punch. He felt the green eco he stored within himself work to clear his concussion, but he wasn’t quite ready to get up. He was exhausted. His muscles ached, his knuckles and soles were torn to shreds, and his limbs felt like marmalade. It didn’t stop him from grinning. The rush of adrenaline he got from fighting hordes of Lurkers was like nothing he’s ever had before. The red and yellow eco pulsed under his skin, sure, but it was the moments where he wasn’t channeling that made him feel powerful. There was nothing like taking on two, five, ten, fifteen opponents. The flurry of motion, the numbers running through his head as he had to quickly calculate his next move, all the while dodging blows and attacks. Once in a while, you’ll have to take a hit. Just be sure you’re quicker to recover than they are. Strike them quick and put them down before they even know what hit them.

The sand under him was hot. Almost too hot. He pondered striping to his underwear, but thought against it. They’ll be by to take him home soon enough. Maybe he can convince them to go for a swim. The squid can’t turn him into a squid baby if his parents were with him. He was too little to fight it off, but they were big and strong. He’s seen them take on bad guys bigger than themselves and win. He’s seen them take on bad guys bigger than themselves and lose. He’s never seen them take on bag guys bigger than themselves and lose him in the process. His hand closed around the sand and squeezed. It bit him. Blood coated his hand where he had held it against his thigh. His pants were torn and his skin was slashed open. The knife he dropped was beside him. The voice near his head whispered, “Go back to sleep. I’ve got this. You’ll only get in the way.” He was sitting in his cot, scratching feverishly at his skin. His nails were broken and jagged, but he didn’t care. He wanted it out. He wanted the madness to bleed out of him, squeeze it all out until he was nothing more than a deflated balloon. He was close. He could see the purple glow pulsating in his veins. He just had to let it out. He scratched and picked and pinched and sliced and carved and dug and scratched and scratched and scratched and scratched—

Jak opened his eyes.

The forest floor was white. Undisturbed and fluffy with snow. His fingers, ears, and nose were all numb from the freezing cold. Autumn is gone. Winter had just made landfall. Groggily, he yawned and tried craning his head towards where he knew Daxter and Mar were asleep. He was met with a face full of leaves.

Thick, branch-like vines wrapped shrouded him from head to toe. “What the hell?” he muttered, flexing his arms to test the endurance of the vines. They didn’t even budge. He wiggled and shifted, kicking out his legs to get some space between them and the vines. It worked, and he was able to make enough room for his boot to crack the frozen appendage in two. The rest of the vines came loose around his legs after another moment of kicking. Next he widened his arms away from himself, splitting the vine that had bound his forearms and wrists together. Once he was free to move, Jak noticed the blots of black on his body. He pressed two fingers against them.

They came away slick and tacky. Oil. It was oil. The vines were oozing it onto the snow. A thin river of oil burned away at the snow, eating away completely.

Jak turned to look at the rest of his group, and his heart lurched into his throat.

They were gone. Daxter, the crocadog, and Mar. He dug into the snow with both hands, peeling it all away until he brushed the solid earth under it all. Getting to his feet was a feat on its own, having had to use the trunk of the tree to steady himself. Everything around him was covered in a blanket of snow, and he couldn’t make out any footsteps in the chilling landscape. It was all gray and white, absent of the color that he’d grown accustomed to seeing.

“Mar?” he called out. Nothing. “Mar! Daxter!” The trees ate his words.

Panic was setting in, and his chest felt tight. How long was he out? How long had they been missing? He whipped his head around him, squinting to look over yonder for any movement that could be the young boy or ottsel or crocadog. The sick part inside him wondered if they had taken his temper tantrum seriously and had left him behind, searching for a way out of the woods while leaving him to be claimed by the land. No. No, they wouldn’t do that to him. Daxter, especially. Right? Jak knew he wasn’t his best friend from Sandover anymore, but in the months since they’ve reunited Daxter has shown time and time again that loyalty and dedication were the biggest pillars of his character. Even on days where Jak was more animal than man, Daxter always stayed by his side in the face of danger. All because he couldn’t bear to lose his friend again.

Mar too. Since leaving Ru’s cottage, Jak has been contemplating letting himself submit to the elements around them more and more. He was sick, and so tired. He wanted nothing more than to slip away, let the abyss swallow him whole and leave not even a memory of him behind. Daxter would be able to start his life without the deadweight of his friend hanging around his neck, he reasoned. Daxter was more than capable of getting Mar back to the city. In the haze of his brain, Jak believed that if he pushed the child away, he wouldn’t leave him traumatized if the teen were to ‘accidentally’ slip and smash his head on a boulder.

But Mar never batted an eye. All the kid’s done is wanted to be close to Jak, to seek out the comfort that he no doubt was missing in his everyday life. The Underground was for agents and operatives, there was no time for anyone to properly care for or even offer a hug to the child. He was nothing more than a figurehead to them. Once he had served his purpose, what then? He was too young to rule. Mar was going to be forced into a role that even grown men were driven to madness by, how could they expect a four year old to deliver them from Praxis’ hell? No wonder he latched onto Jak so hard, he was the only person that ever treated him like … well, a kid. And Jak just completely proved to him that every adult in his life was a huge asshole who looked only after their own ass.

Tears welled in his eyes. He had to make this right. This can’t be all there is to the child. He can’t go through life believing that everyone around him only sought to use him for personal gain. The kid needed to know there was good in the world. There was good in the Wastelander, who offered them room and board. There was good in Thomas and the village, who showed them camaraderie and kindness. There was good in the tavern and its patrons, who fed them and sheltered them from the rain. There was good in the mansion, where he sat with Daxter and finally told him what he was feeling. There was good in Ru and Auntie Whispers, the former who tucked a yellow flower behind his ear and the latter who warned them of the dangers ahead. He needed to find Mar and tell him. He needed to apologize and let him know that it wasn’t his fault that the world had been cruel to Jak, but that doesn’t mean it will be towards him as well. There was good in Jak’s life too, even if it was overshadowed by the pain.

Jak miscalculated the frost on the floor, and one wrong step send him cracking his head—

—He lost his grip as a red zoomer crashed into him, sending them flying into a building. All around him was gunfire and screaming. He punched the nearest body to him, hoping it would daze them long enough to take control back. It didn’t work, though, and he saw stars swim across his vision paired with an ache in his temple —

—against the solid ground. His hearing bursted into a tinny whine. Everything around him swam together, blurring at the edges. The whine had morphed into static, bits of voices starting to come through. He heard his hallucinations, taunting him with vicious insults and pleading for him to get back up. He heard memories of guards laughing and prisoners asking him to help them.

He heard singing. It was faint, far off from where Jak was, but he could hear it. He heard the same melody after fighting the Wastelander off in the woods, right when he ran from the ensuing fire. There was someone else there, someone who laughed gleefully and sang as the boys escaped.

The Beast.

He took off. He ran forward, calling their names into the vast emptiness. The wind was picking up, and the trees whistled around him. The singing was growing more faint, but he wasn’t going to slow down now that he knew where the kid was. He was screaming the kid’s name into the land now, verging on hysterics as he willed himself to run faster than he’s ever ran before. He’d kill for a blue eco vent right now. The ground under him made a sickening echoing noise below the surface. It only took a split second glance downward to realize that the ground was actually the lake they had just crossed before he’d fallen asleep. The ice cracked under him, and he plunged into the freezing water below like a rock.

Someone was talking.

“You got him! What are you waiting for!? Pull him up, hurry!”

It was faint. He can’t pinpoint the voice. Precursors, his head hurt. Why was it always his head?

“Is he breathing? I don’t see him breathing! If he’s dead, I’m going to kill him, I swear to … Jak? Jak, c’mon buddy, now would be a great time to say something to your ol’ pal—”

“D-Daxter?”

He blinked. He was laying on his back as three dark shadows loomed over him. He was drenched head to toe and he was freezing. His entire body was one big numb sag of bones. He felt the cold deep inside him, curling around his lungs and brain and strangling out whatever comprehension was left. Jak was faintly aware of his hand shaking hard enough to rattle the wooden boat he was in. “M- mmm— … Mar?” he reached out to touch the figure, but whether he made contact or not, he didn’t know.

Daxter’s face was the first to come into focus. His orange fur was easy to hold his eyes on, especially since it stood out so sharply against the muted colors of the winter landscape. Daxter looked worried.

“Oh, thank the Precursors! I thought you were a goner!” he moaned, hovering over Jak like he was afraid of shattering him if he so much breathed on him. “Jak, I need you to listen to me. Where’s the Kid?”

Jak tried to answer, but all that came out was his stuttering breathing. He was shaking too much. His vision was going black around the edges again, pulling him back down to the abyss he thought he wanted to be a part of. He fought it the best he could, but alas, his efforts were in vain as his eyes glossed over and the abyss pulled him in after it.

Chapter Text

ONE WEEK EARLIER

The Peacemaker crackled and hummed, drawing its energy to the mouth of the gun before it projected itself straight at the heart of a particularly large metalhead. Its body convulsed for seconds, then it collapsed inward on itself as Sig watched his handiwork. The animal gave a mighty scream, ear-piercing and rageful, cut off halfway as it gave a final death rattle. Its body fell into the dirt with little ceremony. The Wastelander then climbed the rock face with only one pickaxe and hauled the creature over his shoulders in an effortless lift that made the three hundred pound metalhead look like a pillow.

Jak had never seen anyone more badass in his entire life.

“Pick up your jaw off the ground, chilipepper. You don’t want to be breathing any of these fumes in,” Sig winked once he was back within earshot, tapping his scarf with one finger. Oh God. He was holding up the metalhead with only one arm. He was so cool. Jak lifted his scarf over his nose and mouth, mimicking the older man as he readjusted his own. “Look alive. I’ve been seeing bigger and nastier things out here lately,”

“Too much to handle, big guy?” Jak smirked, and earned himself a flat chuckle from the older man.

“Nah. They’re nothing like the ones we get out in the Wastelands. Talk about bigger and nastier,” Sig replied. He nodded at Jak to take the lead, standing back as the teen switched from his Scatter to his more long range Blaster mod. He took confident, slow strides forward — all the while keeping his eyes trained for anything that so much as twitches. The Pumping Station was all corners and boilers. It provided lots of hiding spots for creatures to get the jump on them, and with Sig unable to use the Peacemaker while holding the metalhead on his shoulders, it was up to Jak to defend them both. He’d be lying if he didn’t say that the opportunity to show off his skills didn’t make him excited, almost downright enthusiastic. Something about the older, much more impressive man made Jak yearn for his approval. It was the same as when he was a kid back home, eager to take on the most difficult of tasks if it meant getting words of gratitude and adoration from the villagers.

A glub jumped out from a pipe and Jak kicked it into the water below. It screeched, but otherwise didn’t put up much of a fight. He wasn’t going to waste ammo on a glub or znorkle tooth, and bit back the sting of disappointment that he did in fact flinch when it growled at him. He rounded a corner and pointed his gun around, holding his breath to hear for any claws against metal or soft snarling. He nodded at Sig when he was sure nothing was going to jump them. The pattern continued until they reached the entrance back into the city. They never did encounter another metalhead, and Jak grimaced that he couldn’t show Sig his gun work.

The Wastelander grunted as he released the metalhead backwards, its body thudding heavily on the sand beneath their feet. He rolled his shoulders and stretched them thoroughly before he reached into his waistband and pulled out a knife. The reflection of the sun on the blade gave Jak pause. “Like what you see?” Sig asked, holding it flat in his open palm. Rather than metal, the blade was shiny and black. It had sizeable divots, and wasn’t at all flat or smooth, but the deep color intrigued Jak. The hilt was … no way. Jak’s eyes grew wide with wonder as it dawned on him that the hilt of Sig’s knife was bone. It was bleached and scratched up from years of use, leaving it a yellowish-brown color. It was carved with intricate designs that looked all too familiar to Jak, conjuring up old lessons about symbols that he thought he had forgotten the moment he was taught them. He instantly recognized them as ancient Oceanian — if albeit modernized to include symbols that weren’t typical to the tropical island lifestyle.

“I’ve never seen a black knife,” Jak said, leaning forward to read the carved Precursor text. They were clumsy and crooked, but he can more or less make out what it says. “‘Poopsie’?”

Sig nodded. “My sister thought it was hilarious to name it after my old teddy bear. She said because she made it, she deserved to name it,” he chuckled, but Jak caught a flash of something in his eyes. He smiled sadly at the knife, turning it over in his hands, “The blade’s made of volcanic rock, and the hilt is the fang of a widowmaker we bagged up in the mountains. Athea spent all of three days making this, and I still had to go to a blacksmith to get the blade properly attached,” Sig pointed at the conjoined area. Upon closer inspection, the blade was fitted to fit into an indent of the bone, married together with a blackened matte substance then tied together with what Jak figured was animal sinew and leather bands. “See that dark red stuff right there? That’s sap from a bloodwood tree. You can only find them up high in the rockies. Here, hold it,”

Jak picked up the knife gently. It had a healthy weight to it, but it was significantly lighter than any knife he’s held before. The ones in Sandover were carved from tigerturtle shells or fashioned with lurkershark teeth — all of which were fine for cutting ropes and food, but too brittle to use as a weapon. The ones in Haven were all metal, but they lacked the high craftsmanship that came with a durable knife. He twisted it around his hand, running his fingers over the carvings and letters, moving upwards towards the shallow ridges and divots of the rock blade.

“Careful with the—” Sig stopped mid-sentence, and when Jak pulled his hand back, he found his fingers cut up and bleeding. He didn’t even feel the blade slicing his skin, and only now was getting the tingling sensation. He handed the knife back to Sig, shoving the cut into his mouth to wipe away the blood. “I should’ve warned you. Obsidian is a son of a bitch. It bites back if you aren’t careful, but they make great cutting tools,” To demonstrate, Sig leaned on one knee to pull the metalhead’s head closer to himself. Then he plunged the knife into where the skull gem met the skull, carving it out in a sawing motion until it popped free with a tinging noise. Sig handed the knife to Jak to hold while he dug his fingers into the cavity he created and grabbed the gem with ease. He set to work inspecting the rest of the body, moving its limbs this way and that.

By the time he declared he was done, Sig helped himself to the animal’s armor, teeth, and claws. He has hesitated on whether to take its hide also, but told Jak that he didn’t have the proper room in Haven to make the leather good enough to bargain for with other Wastelanders. Jak’s ears perked up at the mention.

“Do you miss the Wasteland?” Jak asked, eyeing the warrior, “It seems like you and your sister have some fun times out there,”

“Oh, we had fun, alright. The Wasteland is like our deadly playground. Playing chicken with a sandstorm will definitely put some hair on your chest. There’s just nothing else like it,” Sig frowned, glancing at the behemoth before them. The walls of Haven were high and imposing, a technical wonder that they didn’t reach up to touch the clouds themselves. The first time Jak saw them, a day where he managed to climb the blicks long enough to peer out a high window, he almost wept at the sight. He was a bird within a cage within a cage. There was nothing beyond imprisonment, both within the fortress and outside it. “This city … in my granddad’s day, it was a beaut. He use to tell me that Haven had the clearest water he’d ever seen, and the ports were always full of new and exciting people coming to trade goods. Ever since the war started, it’s been nothing but fortified metal and pollution. Out in the Wasteland is the only place you’ll get to experience the world like how it’s meant to be. Human and nature in harmony,”

Jak knew what Sig meant. He lived in a place like that. The villagers took only what they needed and spared the rest. Cultivated the land and paid their respects to the animals that gave up their lives so they could sustain themselves. It was a paradise.

“I’d like to see it sometime,” Jak mused. Sig nudged his shoulder with his elbow, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Yeah? How ‘bout you come with me hunting tomorrow? I’ve been itching to get out of the city, and I could use someone to man the guns while I drive,”

Jak had to school himself. He’d kill to venture outside the city. By the sounds of it, the Wasteland sounded exciting and endless. It was new territory to him. A chance to see what life had to offer away from the stagnant lifestyle of Haven where everything was gray and uninspiring. He’d be able to really let himself be himself without worrying about a guard recognizing him or ending up at the wrong place at the wrong time. His curiosity and fascination with artifacts already made him interested in the Wastelander lifestyle, but with the added bonus of having Sig there with him made it all the more fun. He had to play it cool though.

“Sure, I wouldn’t mind helping the elderly on a little errand if it means seeing something new,” he teased. “Your sister okay with me tagging along?” Sig threw his head back and laughed heartily, then sobered immediately.

“Call me elderly again and I’ll leave you out there tied to a cactus,” Sig said, “Athea … won’t be coming,”

So it was just going to be the teen and Sig. “Can Daxter come too?” he asked, punching in the access code to return back to the city. The heavy gates turned and slotted, unlocking with loud clicks for them to stand in the chamber within the wall. The gates behind them closed, and the biometric reading scanned them as soon as it did. A female voice told them to stand still. The red lasers scanned over them, then the rest of the room as it weeded out any possibility of any unwanted guests getting past the chamber. When satisfied, the same voice informed them they were back inside the city, and the second gate opened.

“Sure, just keep in mind that hawks love anything small and fuzzy,” he grinned, side eyeing the ottsel who was currently tapping his foot next to the zoomer Jak had stolen earlier. His arms were folding in front of his chest, his brow set with mock fury.

“Finally! I was worried I was going to have to go in there and fight off the metalheads myself,” Daxter grumbled, hopping onto Jak’s shoulder with a graceful leap that only years of experience could perfect. “Do you know how boring it is staring at that gate for an hour?”

“You’re the one that didn’t want to go with us,” Jak reminded him.

“The Pumping Station humidity frizzes out my fur, you know that,”

Sig was about to add to the comment when Jak’s Communicator buzzed to life, floating out of Jak’s pocket with a staticy growl before Torn’s tinny voice came out. “Jak, I need you to get to the Underground immediately. I’d got a job only you can do. Don’t keep me waiting if you know what’s good for you.” The Communicator tucked itself back into its pocket instantly, the whole affair lasting less than five seconds total.

“Love you, too, Tornie-poo,” Daxter cooed, knowing full well Torn wouldn’t be able to hear him. Didn’t matter if he could anyway. Knowing Daxter, he would’ve said it to the ex-KG’s face without a second thought. Sig frowned.

“Does he always talk to you like you’re his servant?” he asked. Daxter gave a resounding ‘yes’ while Jak opted to remain silent on the matter. Cage inside a cage and all that.

“Duty calls,” Jak said apologetically, shrugging at the older man. Sig nodded understandably, dropping his question when he realized the boy wasn’t going to respond and lifting his Peacemaker over his shoulders like he had with the metalhead earlier.

“Don’t forget — tomorrow, five am sharp. I’ll meet you at the Hip Hog. Don’t leave me hanging, cherries,” and with that, Sig hoisted himself out of the crater and disappeared effortlessly into the sea of Havenites.

Daxter waved him off, hopping up and down on Jak’s shoulder until he lost sight of the Wastelander. Then he leaned close to Jak’s ear. “Did you get anything good?”

“Hell yeah,” the blonde smirked, digging his hand into his pocket when his fingers grazed something hard and rough. Odd. The only thing he carried with him were skullgems and obs — all of which are smooth to the touch. Wrapping his fingers around it, the teen pulled it out to get a better look at it.

Jak still had Sig’s knife.

Daxter bulked, whistling loudly as he commented on the rarity of seeing the black blade like the taller boy had earlier.

The Wastelander was too far now. He’ll return it to him tomorrow.

“Shit, shit, shit, look out!” Daxter screamed, firing off into the KG zoomer in front of them. Jak twisted the steering wheel as far left as it would go, slamming the tail end of his zoomer against a support beam. It left a dent, but it was the least of their worries at the moment. The Baron had put a warrant out to arrest any child between the ages of 2-18, making the city an apocalyptic nightmare since stamping his name on the decree that afternoon. All around him were mothers and fathers begging the guards to let their children go, pleading that they were not affiliated in any way with the previous rulers of the city. It all fell on deaf ears. Children were being ripped away from parents, others were carried out kicking and screaming and hanging onto anything their little hands can get a hold of.

Jak didn’t think the Baron would go this far, at least not so heavy handedly. While he was sure the Baron wanted nothing more than Jak’s blonde head on a spike, his recapture seemed to be low on the list with the teenager being able to evade the guards as long as he didn’t do something stupid to piss them off. This, however, was desperation. The Baron must’ve figured out the Underground’s plan, and that could only mean he was after the Kid.

The child in question was hanging onto Jak’s waist, only one wide eye visible from where he had pressed his face into the teen’s side. The gunfight was clearly scaring him, and Jak wasn’t exactly in the best position to comfort him like he normally would when the KG were on high alert. A KG in a cruiser managed to sneak up on the passenger side, baton poised and ready to dispatch before Jak jerked the zoomer into a lower hover gear.

It fell a good ten feet, the crackling of the guard’s taser electrifying the open air where the Kid used to be. He brought them back up and shoved a boot in the guard’s face, distracting him long enough to crash into a building with a loud explosion. The Kid’s arms grew tighter around him.

“There’s too many of them! We won’t be able to outrun them for long!” Daxter screeched, taking aim at the approaching KG zoomer. He shot the engine, sending the guard careening downwards. Jak grit his teeth as their vehicle got caught in the blast radius, sending them spiraling out of control through the south part of the Slums. The zoomer sputtered as he hit the gas. It only took a quick glance backwards to see the billowing smoke rising out of their rear engine. Ideally, now would be the time to abandon the two-seater and either try to make it on foot or hunt down another. Logically, if Jak took even a second to ponder their chances, he was getting filled with lead and the Kid was getting arrested for sure.

They weren’t going to be able to get to where he wanted to from here, not if they had to fly through the Industrial sector where the KG torrents were no doubt poised and ready to take down anything that moved. Their best bet was to squeeze through the Imperial Plaza and loop around the Palace. Jak really, really didn’t want to go through the Imperial Plaza, but it was the only way to get the Kid to the forest without incident.

“Hang on, Dax!” he yelled through the gunfight, not waiting for a reply before he pulled the zoomer around and headed toward the KG.

“Wrong way, wrong way! Jak!” Daxter hollered, his finger pulling the trigger down to rattle off shots. It cleared the way only a little, the rest was on Jak switching hover zones to evade the blockade of cruisers and risking a nasty taser burn. The KG didn’t expect Jak to actually come their way, leaving them at the disadvantage as they had to recover from their initial shock of having a zoomer go faster than it ought to in an urban area. Some lept out of the way, cursing as the teen sped past. While powerful, KG cruisers were far too bulky to make quick turns in the small corners of the city that were only big enough to allow two way traffic for single and two seaters. It took them a while to catch up, and by then Jak was already weaving his way through the northern gardens.

“Oh, that was beautiful, pal,” Daxter grinned, lowering the gun for what felt like the first time in hours. He flashed a thumbs up at the teen.

“Ah, how many times are you going to doubt my genius, Dax?”
His friend chuckled, drawing his eyes back to the road ahead of them. With the wind whipping in his face and a mission in mind, Jak didn’t notice when Daxter’s brow furrowed.

“Hey, Jak? You know you’re going the wrong way, right?”

Jak’s hand tightened around the child, pressing him further into his chest. He didn’t reply, instead he set his jaw and made a turn left instead of right.

“What are you doing? Onin’s tent is the other way, you’re heading towards the wrong Bazaar,” Daxter really didn’t know when to drop a subject, and though Jak knew he couldn’t blame his friend for being rightfully concerned, it didn’t stop him from white knuckling the steering wheel.

“We’re not going to Onin’s,” he growled, keeping his head forward to avoid the ottsel at all costs. “It’s fine, I know what I’m doing,”

“Torn was pretty clear we had to take the Kid to Onin, buddy,”

“I know what Torn said, but I’m making an executive decision, okay? I know what I’m doing, just keep the KG off our asses,”

Jak should’ve known Daxter wasn’t going to listen. How could he? His best friend spent their entire lives chasing after Jak, taking the young boy under his arm and keeping a sharp eye for any injustices that might befall them both. For years, it was Daxter who proved himself to be more of an older brother and guardian than any of the adults in the teen’s life that proclaimed themselves to have his best interests in mind. While Jak doesn’t doubt his Uncle loved him more than anything, he still couldn’t deny that the call for adventure beyond their small village was more alluring than parenthood ever was. It was Daxter who took up the mantle — eleven years old and jerking Jak’s arm away from the maw of a sand snake that no doubt would have made him dinner. It’s why Jak had tried as hard as he could to keep the horrors of his breaking mind at bay around his friend, praying to any Precursor alive that his friend won’t notice the small flinches and ear twitches. Still, his time for normalcy was extremely limited and now it seems that the ruse was up.

“Jak,” Daxter said quietly, yet with the firmness that Jak remembers all too well from when the ginger haired teen was reprimanding him, “Stop the zoomer,”

“Not happening,”

“I said stop the zoomer! This is kidnapping, Jak! The KG already has enough on you to put you away again and—”

“I need to keep him safe, Dax!” Jak bellowed, wincing a little when he noticed Daxter flinch at the aggression, but not backing down. “Onin and Kor … they’re doing something to him. With him, o-or for him, I don’t know! I don’t fucking know what they want with him! For all we know they might be working for the Baron, or Erol, or Gol … He’s not going back, Dax. All I know is that he’s in danger and I have to keep him safe!”

Daxter didn’t respond right away, but his grip on the gun went tight as he held it back up to his shoulder. It was a long time before he spoke again, though when he did, Jak noticed the lack of emotion in his voice. It was careful, almost robotic in how his friend said, “Okay. I believe you. Take us to where it’s safe,”

The victory was short-lived.

They had just arrived in the farming district when their zoomer jolted angrily to the right, and a scream from Daxter was all the warning Jak got before he tore his eyes from the road to see two KG staring at them. The cruiser was close enough to chip the paint on the passenger side, sandwiching them against the armored transport and the city wall.

“You’re under arrest, by decree of his majesty the Baron!” the guard barked, reaching a gloved hand over to force the wheel away from Jak’s grasp. The teen protested wildly, elbowing the guard backwards while trying to regain control of the zoomer. Daxter had fumbled the gun from the impact, and when he went to shoot at the guard closest to Jak, it only clicked.

“You’ve got to be kidding me! Now, of all times!” he groaned, flipping the gun in his hands to use as a club. It was useless against the hard Precursor metal of the KG armor, only managed to scuff the chest plate before the driver reached over. In one swift motion, the guard defended his partner by forcing the gun backwards and slamming it against Daxter’s face, laying the ottsel out with a bloody snout. Jak’s eyes widened as he felt his friend collapse against his neck.

“DAX!” Jak screamed, his hand reaching up to feel around blindly for a pulse. The guard was practically on top of him, leaning over him to grab the Kid in the passenger side. His adrenaline was at its peak, and all Jak wanted to do was tear the guard limb from limb for even trying to touch the child. It didn’t help that the feeling of having armor and thick cloth against him was triggering him something fierce. It felt like broken bones and despair, a hand gripping his head and a sharp knife digging into the skin on his chest. It was taking all his mental capacity to keep from slipping away back to the Fortress, leaving his body behind to be target practice for a rookie guard. He swallowed down the bile that threatened to rise up, and he instinctively lashed out the only way someone in his position could: he bit down on the exposed section of the guad’s elbow where the armor was sparse to allow movement. Latching on, Jak channeled the little eco he had and heard the guard scream when his fangs punctured the muscle underneath.

“Fucking animal piece of shit!” the guard cried out, trying to shake off the vice grip Jak had on him. Blood filled his mouth, and Jak had to let go to spit it out on guard’s perfectly polished face plate. He grinned, licking the blood from his teeth. The guard stiffened, rage and disgust rolling off his like a foul odor that only fueled Jak’s current bloodlust. “It's about time someone put you down like the rapid crocadog you are,” The guard backhanded the teen hard enough to snap his head to the side, his grip slipping off the steering wheel for only a moment.

The driver pulled the zoomer away from them, falling back as Jak fought to control the zoomer that was now heading straight for a pillar without the weight of the cruiser keeping it pinned against the wall. Daxter was still slung over his shoulder, and his breath on Jak’s neck was all the confirmation he needed that the ottsel was still alive. Looking back, the KG were still trying to close off the sector and there was no sign of the two that had been there seconds before. He spit out the remnants of the guard’s blood over the side, wiping his mouth with the back of his glove. “You okay, Kid?” he asked, sparing a moment to glance down at his passenger side.

In the Kid’s hand, he held Sig’s knife. It must’ve slipped out of Jak’s boot when he tried kicking the guard off him. The Kid’s fingers weren’t long enough to wrap around the hilt, though they were perfectly lined with grooves of the carvings on the bone. The Kid stared at Jak with wide eyes and a trembling lip, unshed tears gathering in his blue eyes and slipping down round cheeks. It was surreal, watching betrayal and fear creep into the small child’s expression. He looked at Jak like he was an enemy, like Jak had committed the ultimate taboo against him. It was an intense emotion to see on someone so young. It gripped Jak deep in his gut, spreading the uneasy and sticky feeling through him. The Kid’s only ever shown adoration and trust towards the teen, and seeing that completely shatter while holding the knife of someone the Kid didn’t even know … the air was growing thinner. The Kid opened his mouth, but no sound came out — despite his best effort. Then, shakily, he spread his fingers wide apart and tapped his chin twice with the thumb. Mama.

Jak never got to think on it for more than a second.

He lost his grip as a red zoomer crashed into him, sending them flying into a building. All around him was gunfire and screaming. He punched the nearest body to him, hoping it would daze them long enough to take control back. It didn’t work, though, and he saw stars swim across his vision paired with an ache in his temple. Jak barely got the chance to blink his eyes back open before another blow sent his head reeling. He tried to hold his hands up to grab it, but a third hit was enough to make the world go swirling around him. Vaguely, a fifteen year old boy in his head complained about it always being his head.

Jak stared up at the KG, and a final blow was delivered too off center. He felt his cheekbone crack under the blow. His eye socket was welling up with blood and tears, and he didn’t have the wherewithal to grab the steering wheel. His stomach dropped as the zoomer finally gave up on them, sending them falling at the base of the wall.

Tiny hands tried shaking him awake, gripping his arm and pulling him. Jak couldn’t catch himself in time, slumping over towards the passenger side. He felt the warmth around his neck lift away, and more hands joined the first set in trying to rouse him. He blinked an eye open, and the world was fuzzy. He felt like he was going to be sick.

It was a scream that snapped him alert, snapping his head to follow to noise.

It was a guard, and judging by the smell of the non-standard issue aftershave, it was the one from earlier. The black knife was stabbed clean through his hand, pinning it to the cushion of the driver seat that Jak was just leaning against moments before. The Kid looked murderous from where he stood on the passenger side, his hand still around the hilt. The awe and amazement at the Kid’s ability to defend himself dissipated quickly as the thunderous sound of boots and radio crackling started to surround them.

Jak twisted the knife free, kicking the guard in the stomach simultaneously before he could recover. He stabbed the guard in the stomach, ensuring that he was down for the count. The first shot rang out as he grabbed the Kid, both Daxter and the crocadog running in front of them. The yakkows grazing the gardens mooed and jumped away irritable, clearing a path for them as they took off. The whole city was on red alert, there was no way they were going to be able to keep dodging and evading the KG at this rate, especially not with a broken gun and head wound. It wasn’t impossible, but it wasn’t going to be the best course of action when it came to protecting the child.

They had to get out of the city.

The airlock wasn’t far. He wasn’t particularly ready to go outside the city with the Kid — having initially planned to steal supplies and then hide the Kid out in the forest until he met up with Sig in the morning, hopefully being able to enlist the help of Sig — but it was the only place that the KG wouldn't be able to follow. Not without the new passcode that Vin implemented to keep any treacherous guard from giving the metalheads. It paid to have allies who knew how to hack into the city’s mainframe.

Jak set the child down in front of the gate, holding him from his shoulders as he got down on his knees so the Kid had no choice but to look him in the eyes. “Listen up. I’m not going to let them hurt you, okay? Stay here while I take care of them, and no matter what you do, don’t open your eyes. You need to promise me that,” the Kid nodded, and Jak turned to Daxter. “Get him through the airlock and wait for me. I’ll hold them off,”

“Jak, don’t be a martyr. Those are thirty of the Baron’s finest, and you look like a steaming pile of yakkow crap—”

“Dax, just do it!” Jak snapped, and he saw the look of rebellion in Daxter’s eyes. One look at the Kid was enough to make whatever argument he had die off, but it didn’t mean he was happy about it. The ottsel used the crocadog to climb up high enough to reach the buttons, and started to punch in the security code.

The KG were closing in on them, and Jak couldn’t let even a single one get close enough to the Kid. He ran to meet them, twirling Sig’s knife in his hand as the first guard brave enough to approach met him head on. The rest was a blur of slashings and stabbing, blunt hits and taser burns. Two guards working together managed to get him to his knees with a blast of their taser while the other wailed on him with spiky steel toed kicks to the ribs. He felt a couple threaten to crack, but he managed to dodge the worst of it. Another guard yanked him backwards with his own cloak, wrapping it around their fist until the garment went tight around his throat. It was hard to breathe, and the guard was at a too awkward angle for Jak to land a blow. Fear and pain started to bubble up in his stomach, ice lacing his veins and spreading to every inch of his body. His eyes rolled into the back of his head as he felt the chanting taking up his mind. It was happening again. His heart pounding and his brain tapping out from lack of oxygen, Jak closed his eyes as he felt the dark eco waking up inside him.

It always felt like waking up. The slow approach to awareness as his senses started up one by one. It started in his fingers, purple lightning buzzing and dancing across them as they ignited the rest of his transformation. It was followed by his eyes as they sapped all the light away and left him with impeccable vision, being able to see the whited out outline of a kangarat from a mile away. Next was his hearing, sharpening until he could pick up the very sounds of blood rushing in his victim’s bodies. Finally, everything else cracked itself to a hundred percent capacity. Agility, reflexes, strength, and speed all hit him like a ton of bricks as his alter ego took hold of the reins.

He was being tucked away. This was the part he hated the most, the one that he actively tried to fight when it came to transforming. The physical pain of horn sprouting from his forehead and his body contorting to the eco were agonizing, but it was nothing compared to the trials and torture of fighting against the demon in his brain. It hissed and shouted, cooed and comforted. Jak felt his grip in the present falter, and he let go as it enveloped him completely.

The rest was carnage.

In the end, he couldn’t tell you how he killed all those guards. Their bodies were nothing more than mangled flesh and meat, blending into the other bodies around them. The cause of death will be ruled homicide without further explanation, though he was sure it should’ve been more along the lines of mutilation by wild animals. There couldn’t be any other cause of death. It would be impossible to see what could’ve been the final blow. It could be from decapitation to disembowelment to blood loss. Those were the lucky ones. The ones that survived wouldn’t last long as the effects of dark eco poisoning ravaged their insides, eating them from the inside out until they were nothing more than hollowed shells of people. He couldn’t find it in himself to care. He literally couldn’t see them. There were chalk outlines against black paper to him. His animalistic brain didn’t allow for refined details and shapes, only where the important parts of a target was. Jak always secretly wondered if it was his mind’s way of protecting him — to detach himself from the death and gore for when he awoke.

The eco burned away unpleasantly, leaving him empty and vacant. It at least healed the more superficial injuries, a quick touch to his cheekbone confirmed that it had already stitched itself together and healed the bruise. He pocketed the knife again, first wiping it on his trousers and leaving long swipes of bloody streaks. Looking at the hilt again, he frowned at the red inked craving. He hoped he’ll be able to clean it off before tomorrow, or else Sig was going to make his next knife out of Jak’s bones.

The airlock was shut firmly. Daxter, the Kid, and crocadog were nowhere in sight, but judging from the blinking on the keypad, he knows they’re safely on the other side. Jak punched in the code quickly, smearing blood on the metallic keys as he went. The gates turned and clicked open. “Leave the city at your own risk,” the voice warned, but it was just buzzing in his head.

The second airlock opened, and Jak almost cried with relief when he saw the Kid and Daxter unharmed, both petting the crocadog’s head lazily as they stared at the gate. Though a little more restrained, the Kid beamed when Jak stepped out of the chamber. He rushed up to him, head tipped upward. Jak ruffled the green tuft of hair sticking out of the leather cap as he did. “Glad to see you too, buddy,” Jak said softly, motioning for the Kid to follow after him.

“Now what?” Daxter asked as Jak inspected their surroundings. It looks like they were on the other side of the forest, mirroring the Precursor ruins that lingered just past the rock face in front of them. This side of the forest was rockier and more dense with trees, but it wasn’t imposing like the Forbidden Jungle had been. Jak’s arms were sore for a week after having to hack away at thick vines and even thicker brush.

It would be a short — if albeit a little tedious — walk to reach Samos’ safehouse near the base of the Tree of Life. It would have a communicator and food to last them until the KG eventually gave up looking for them. He also had his stash of green eco that Jak could use to heal some of his more severe injuries.

Not to mention the amount of dark eco he could find out in the forest, oozing out of metalheads and free for the taking.

Jak nodded at the gap in between the rocks. “Samos’ hut. He wouldn’t have told us about it if he didn’t want us to use it in emergencies like this, right?” Jak didn’t wait for Daxter to reply. “It’s not that far a walk,”

“Oh, it’s not? Goody! Ya know, that’s what was really eating at me about this whole plan. It was the walking I would have to do. Thank the Precursors it wasn’t something bad like, oh let me think, metalheads, maybe?!” The tail end of the statement came out shrill and loud, making Jak’s headache worse than it already was.

“Calm down,” Jak sighed, “We cleared out the worst of it last week, remember? Metalheads aren’t that—”

“JAK, LOOK OUT!”

The warning came too late. Jak twisted around to find a nice, big metalhead running towards them, snarling and roaring as it gained speed. The gaps between grassy platforms didn’t bother it, leaping over the wide gaps with all the poised grace of a hunter. He shoved the Kid out of the way just as the monster pounced on him, knocking the wind out of him in one fell swoop. It snapped its jaw at him, aiming for his jugular with razor sharp teeth and a jaw strong enough to crush titanium with little effort. Jak was defenseless and unarmed. The knife was still in Jak’s boot. It was too risky to try and grab it from this position — especially since both his hands were preoccupied with holding the creature at bay and delivering hard punches to its flank. It barely felt it, more annoyed than bloodthirsty now. It slashed at him with its paws, slicing open his side and shoulder. It got way too close to his throat for his liking.

He grunted, trying to get his feet in between him and the beast. His soles lost traction on the armored underbelly twice, then it caught on the divet from where the metal met flesh. With a roar of his own, Jak shoved the creature backwards and off the ledge before it knew how to react. It splashed down below, and judging from the sickening crack that echoed from below, Jak would wager it was going to stay down.

Rolling to his feet, Jak surveyed the landscape more thoroughly. The metalhead had come out of nowhere. It must’ve been one of those cloaking ones that Sig had warned him about. If it was, then this wasn’t going to be the piece of cake hideout session that Jak was expecting. He unholstered his gun, trying to pry the yellow eco round from the cartridge where it had jammed. It looked like a bullet had collided with another, blocking the passage deep within the nozzle that Jak couldn’t get to without taking the whole gun apart. He peered over the ledge to the dead metalhead and cursed when the dark eco pooled in the water around it. Once the eco was dilated with water, it was like separating oil and, well, water.

They were down a gun, eco, and the only weapon they had to work with was Jak’s shotty combat skills and the obsidian knife cutting up his ankle. He’s had to work with less.

“Okay, Kid, get behind me,” Jak muttered. He crouched low, flexing his hands to get his muscles ready for an impending attack. Daxter was heavy on his shoulder, a grounding weight that he can rely on and use to his advantage. It also helped having an extra set of eyes to watch his back. Reaching down into his boot, Jak retrieved the knife. He really needed to invest in a litany of melee weapons. He reached behind him to search out the Kid’s hand, but no matter how far he reached back, he couldn’t reach him. “Kid?”

About ten feet away, having crossed a log to another platform, the Kid squatted in front of a patch of violet flowers. His hand moved a section of it away, and in the ground, a small metal bug scurried under the child’s gaze. He was in awe of it. Mouth agape with wide eyes, the Kid pointed it out to the crocadog by his side. He must’ve ran when the metalhead attacked Jak.

“Hey, Kid!” Daxter called in a loud whisper, cupping his hand around his mouth, “Get over here! Hurry up, I need to pee,”

The Kid tore himself away from the metalbug. He trotted over, crossing the log with careful steps as he tethered from side to side to hold his balance. The Kid and the crocadog were halfway across when Jak heard the snarl of a metalhead far too close for comfort. A clawed hand wrapped around his neck before he even got the chance to gasp, squeezing tightly around his windpipe in a bruising grip. “What’s happening?!” Daxter asked curiously, and when they were both lifted off the ground, he caught on quickly enough. “Oh, Hell!” Instinctively, Jak slashed wildly in wide arches, unable to see his assailant under the cloaking device. For his part, Daxter bit the area around Jak’s neck, though he reeled back immediately when his teeth met metal.

The teen was starting to see spots when the blade finally met its mark, and the metalhead screeched in pain as it flickered into visibility. It let go, dropping Jak to the grass in a heap. As it tried to pry the knife from its arm, Jak heaved in as much air as he could. Motherfucker were these things strong. By the time the oxygen reached his brain again, the monster was still trying to dislodge the knife. He sprung up and pulled it out, then without flipping it, used the knife to rip out the metalhead’s throat with one swing. Sig wasn’t kidding. The obsidian was really sharp. It cut through leathered skin and cartilage like butter, leaving the metalhead sputtering as it tried to suck in air. It fell to its knees and flicked its eyes to look at Jak, then darted to look somewhere behind him.

Jak tilted his head. He knew metalheads were smarter than the average animal. They knew how to organize and mobilize their armies, even how to strike deals without ever uttering a word. They weren’t like glubs or znorkles. So when Jak turned around and realized what the metalhead was looking at, it dawned on him that this metalhead wasn’t going down as easily as the first one.

“Kid!” he screamed, running for the child still standing on the log. His heart pounded as he heard the weapon fire up, tinny whine all too similar to Sig’s Peacemaker, and everything slowed down around him. Daxter screaming, the crocadog whining, the log splintering under his feet, the Kid’s arms opening to allow Jak to pull him to his chest, the bright and burning pain that blossomed across his back as everything turned purple and white around him. Then everything went still.

They were flying.

Then they were falling.

The water felt like cement when he smacked into it. It was dark. He couldn't see which way was up. Everything hurt, and the shock of cold numbed it so deliciously. The world went mute and peaceful around him, and if he tried hard enough, he could hear the birds chirping in the trees. He felt weightless, drifting deeper and deeper into the dark depths. It was funny how one could be actively sinking, yet feel boneless at the same moment. The chill of the water shocked his system, and he breathed it in involuntarily while gasping out whatever air he managed to swallow down beforehand. He twitched his arm, still feeling the Kid pressed against him. The adrenaline fizzled out. It left him exhausted, and the cold sapped out whatever energy he had left to fight against the current. He opened his eyes for a moment, a tendril of light calling him towards it but he couldn’t figure out which way was up. All he knew was that the push and pull of the water was lulling him to sleep, the water bubbling like the shores of Sandover as he and his friends piled into a hammock, Daxter’s leg over the side to rock them from side to side to side as the sun warmed their skin.

He sank into the abyss as it called him home.

Above the lake on a pillar of grass, Daxter whined as a violent surge of pain blossomed from his torso. The water below bubbled and settled, the surface now peaceful as if Jak, the Kid, and crocadog weren’t currently fighting for their lives in the basin of the lake.

He had to get up. He had to help them. The young man tried to get his hands and tail to cooperate, trying to get the muscles in his legs to flex back that they were still functional, but it was all moot. The dark eco was spreading through him, now, and he could feel the substance seeping into his skin to wreak havoc on his insides.

He thought, distantly, of his regrets and wishes. Daxter might’ve been horrible at reading a room, but he wasn’t naive. He knew this was death. He was dying, alone in the grass blades of the forest alongside a dead metalhead. It was peaceful at least — far better than the deaths he figured he’d have riding around on Jak’s shoulder. He pictured bleeding out in Dead Town, or blown up by eco bombs, or crashing into a fiery heap of metal and debris. Truthfully, in Sandover, he dreamed that death would come in the form of old age after living a stupidly mundane life of trading fish or vegetables, one of the last people to remain in Sandover as the village would no doubt fall into obscurity. Jak was never one to remain in one place for long — even as a child, he had the kind of restlessness that Daxter attributed to being inherited from his Uncle, and he knew the day would come where he’d sail off to explore the world. Keira would’ve no doubt followed suit, charmed by the promises of a new life away from an overbearing father like so many of the women in their old storybooks. Daxter would’ve followed him to the ends of the planet in any reality and timeline, but he knew there would come a day where he’d long for the shores of home. He was never the type of hero Jak was. He was the kind that had their big adventure, but would eventually hunker down to disappear into happily ever after.

Now, as the eco burned into him, Daxter supposed this was just how the cards would fall. Like he said, he’d follow his brother to the ends of the planet. If Jak goes, he goes. He was thankful for the small mercy that was being able to die rather than live a life without his best friend by his side. Even death was kinder than being separated from him for two years.

He’d miss Tess, and Osmo. Ximon and Tayrn. Keira. The others could suck it for all he cared. To hell to them all, those who let teen boys fight their battles for them. They were just kids. They deserved a childhood.

The world was growing fuzzy, and Daxter’s energy was slipping away. So, it felt like falling asleep. The thing everyone feared — ran from, accursed, bargained to evade it just a little longer — felt like falling asleep after a long day. Daxter closed his eyes, waiting for everything to come to halt, when fingers touched his head.

They were sharp, and they dug into his cap. He tried to open his eyes again, but the effort was too great. The smell of bitter almonds were overpowering and acidic, making his gag. Then, the scent of the earth wafted over him, subduing the almonds down to a simmer. A new set of hands were on his cheek, caressing it with feather light touches. It was smaller than the first, and for a moment Daxter wondered if Jak and the Kid had made it out of the water after all.
“Oh, do you have to?” a small voice asked. It sounded young, and it reminded him of the tone Keira used to have when Samos called her in for the day. She continued, “I loved ottsels. They’re so rare to see nowadays,”

“The eco is killing him. I’d rather have an alive human rather than a dead ottsel, wouldn’t you?”

A sigh. “Alright. Make it quick then,” then the voice got low, dangerously low, “You know how I feel about dark eco in my forest, Micte. Get it out of here,”

Daxter’s tongue thawed out in that moment, the feeling coming back to it and he coughed as he tried to utter a question. The woman and girl above him shushed him, petting his head like a beloved crocadog. It felt nice, he’ll admit, but he wasn’t really in the petting mood. They continued to coo him, whispering encouraging words into his ears as the hand with the sharp nails held his face still. He tried opening his eyes again, but the sun was too bright. Everything was too bright. “What’s going on?” he asked quietly, his voice wrecked, “Jak?”

“Calmarse, little one. You’ve done your part. Now it’s time for Jak to save himself,” the woman whispered.

Daxter resigned himself to her care, the energy he managed to conjure up failed him. He let go, muttering the words back to the woman above him. He’s done his part. Now it’s time for Jak to save himself.

Now it’s time. For Jak to save himself.

What a stupid thing to say.

Chapter Text

“Come now, Mar. There is much to be done.”

The Beast was tall, and like no animal Mar had ever seen before. It stood off to the side, all long limbs and it took a while for the child to be able to figure out the shape of it in the dark. It got easier when he noticed that The Beast was the kind of pitch darkness that was darker than even the night sky, hiding from any light like it would burn it from just a single touch.

Mar nodded. He gave Jak a hug around his shoulders, savoring the feeling of the teen’s solid body against his own.. His escort didn’t wake up, but he did move away from Mar. That was normal. Mar didn’t have to feel bad about it because he knew it didn’t mean that Jak didn’t love him. Bad people hurt Jak. He’s heard Kor talk about it a lot with the Shadow, unaware that just because Mar didn’t talk doesn’t mean he can’t hear. It was going to be okay, though. Mama promised him that if he helped The Beast, she would come save him and Jak and take them away from the forest forever. He wanted to share his Papa and Mama with Jak — like real brothers.

The child turned away from the older boy and felt the crocadog — Spargus — bite at his pant leg. With a stern face, Mar signed at him to behave and let go. When Spargus didn’t, Mar pushed his snout down. He signed again. Stay. This time, Spargus obeyed and went back to Jak, curling around the teen with a sad whimper. Mar didn’t want to be mean to Spargus, but he didn’t want anyone knowing where he was going. Whenever Mar walked away, bad things always happened.

This time, something good will happen. This time will be different.

Mar followed The Beast. The ground was icy, and his shoes weren’t keeping his feet very warm anymore. The Beast sang the entire way, loud and echoing through the path as it led the child through the trees without a single look backwards. Mar rubbed his eyes. He was getting sleepier. He was cold. He wanted to be home already.

The Beast stopped them in an open space. They were surrounded by trees, but at least here Mar could see flat ground with stumps and logs. He wondered if there were any metalbugs inside them. Metalbugs don’t like the cold, but they love the heat. There were many in Spargus. Mar liked them all.

“This is good. We are right at the end of the forest. Before I can let you and your brother go home, however, there will be a couple things I need you to do,” The Beast said. It reached up, tugging at its large antlers until Mar heard a snap. In its fist, it held a stick as big as Mar’s face and handed it to the child. “First, we need a spool of silver thread. Can you do that for me, Mar? Find me a spool of silver thread in the forest?”

Mar nodded, but he was lying. He took the stick, looking around the forest for anything that looked like silver. The forest floor was covered in snow, but it wasn’t thin enough to be thread. The remaining grass blades were long and skinny, but they weren’t silver. Mar was going to have to be smart. At least smart enough to finish the tasks, or until Jak joined him. He giggled when he thought of Jak’s face, seeing him with a spool of silver thread and victorious that he completed The Beasts’ task. He can do this. He can keep his promise.

He tucked the stick into his overalls’ chest pocket, then set off in search of silver thread. He was going to be home by this time tomorrow — come heck or high water.

Waking up felt anything but peaceful.

Jak groaned as his muscles spasmed. His back was drenched in sweat, sticking to his skin in weird places. His head felt heavy on his shoulders, his nose stuffed and his mouth drier than sand. He swallowed and winced when he couldn’t even produce saliva.

His fever must’ve broken.

Opening his eyes was a bitch and a half, but he managed to do it on the third try. His surroundings were warmer than he expected, surprised that he wasn’t nearly as cold considering he took a dip in frigid water the last he recalled . The snow fall outside had evolved into a full blown snow storm, all numbingly cold and strong enough to leave welts on anyone who tried to venture out into it. He rubbed his eyes, squeezing and opening them a couple times until his vision was no longer blurry.

He was sitting in the middle of what looked like a cage of twisted branches, a small opening being the only window into the world beyond the wood and brown moss. The ground still retained some plant-life in the bubble the branches created. There was dried grass and mushrooms, poking their red caps over the soft mud. Though the roar of the storm outside, however, he picked up the sound of breathing at his side. A paw on his thigh confirmed the crocadog’s presence. The crocadog was panting up at Jak and whining while digging into his pant leg, shifting from leg to leg. Jak ran his fingers through the animal’s trail of fur on his back, but it didn’t do anything to calm the creature down.

“Glad you decided to join us,”

Daxter sat on the opposite end of Jak, his legs folding under him and his arms crossed over his chest. He didn’t look at Jak, instead choosing to stare out the opening at the snow storm that ravaged the outside world. “We’ve been here for hours. You’re lucky we saw you take your little swim. Otherwise you’d be one ugly icicle right about now,” his voice sounded shaky. Jak remained quiet. “Are you going to scream at me again for saving your ass?”

“Dax …”

“Hey. Make like before and zip it for a second, okay? ‘Cuz I got a lot to say to you,” he still won’t look at Jak, but the fact that he was even still talking to him after how he’s treated him was more than enough. “It wasn’t okay what you said to me and the Kid back there. In fact, when we get home, I expect a foot rub or something then maybe I’ll forgive you. It was a really shitty thing you did.” Daxter paused, testing to see if Jak was going to reply. Then he continued, “That being said … I’m more upset that you don’t talk to me anymore. Hey, hey, hey! What did I say about talking? I’m holding the talking stick right now, you’ll get your chance. Look, I’m just trying to express to you that I feel like you’ve been leaving me out lately. We used to share everything with each other, and I know what you went through was really hard and scary and shitty, but that doesn’t give you the right to ice me out. You want to scream at me and tell me to shut up, fine, but don’t push me away, Jak. I’ve been through Hell too, and I’d appreciate it if my best friend and I could talk some of it out,”

Daxter’s ears sloped backwards. He lost the tension in his body as he spoke, deflating physically as if just talking about wanting to talk was expelling all the toxins within him. It was moments like this that Jak wished he could go back in time and shake his younger self violently, scream at him to stay away from Misty Island and away from any Precursor artifacts. That his curiosity and wanderlust weren’t worth changing Daxter so fundamentally that he couldn’t even wrap his arm around him in comfort anymore. That he’d never get to see his best friend turn into a young man. That it wasn’t fair that Jak was the one that got to remain human when it was his fault in the first place.

Looking him in the eye now, Daxter looked both angry and hurt. His eyebrows were furrowed upwards, and his nose was scrunched up the same way he used to do as kids when he didn’t want Jak or Keira to see he was moments away from crying. He wiped his nose with his arm, sniffling as he held out his hand. There wasn't anything in it. “Here. You can take the stick now,”

Well, he wasn’t going to piss off Daxter more, that’s for sure. Jak took the imaginary stick, and sighed. He didn’t know how to put to words what he wanted to say to Daxter. Everything was easier when he didn’t have to talk. All he’d have to do is glue himself to Daxter and help him by taking the lion’s share of the chores, then hope eventually whatever Daxter was mad at him about would ebb away by the time supper rolled around. He always gave Daxter his taro, and that was enough of an apology for the redhead to take it and split it between them. Still, his best friend was begging him to talk to him. At this point, Jak was ready to kill Gol and Maia all over again if it meant making Daxter happy.

“I’m so sorry, Daxter. You didn’t deserve that. I shouldn’t have blown up at you and I can’t begin to explain how much you just being here means to me,” Jak said, swallowing around the lump in his throat. This was stupid. In the past week, he’s fought off metalheads, KG, a demon dog, skeletons wearing vegetables, a crazy ax man, his own hallucinations, and a possessed woman, yet this was the most taxing part of this entire ordeal. All the injuries and pain he’s incurred so far were nothing compared to having to do what he had to do next. He took a deep breath. “I miss how we used to be, and. And I’m done hiding from you, Dax. Whatever you want to know …”

He didn’t need to finish the sentence. Daxter caught on to what Jak was trying to say. Even now, he was still swooping in to save Jak the embarrassment of forcing himself to speak. Daxter nodded, satisfied with his answer, but he wasn’t going to let Jak off the hook that easily. There was still so much hurt between them. Daxter held his hand out for the ‘talking stick’ and Jak passed it over. The minute Daxter touched it, he said, “Back in that house … Who were you talking to?”

Crap. Jak took a deep breath, steeling his nerves for what was about to come next. “Sometimes, I see things. People. I saw one of them there and I guess I wanted to know why she’s here now,”

“She?”

“A woman. I must’ve seen an advertisement or something, I can’t really say. She just sort of shows up, but she’s harmless. She can’t talk, and she never really does anything other than stand there, but she’s always sad. Back at the mansion, though, she was sitting next to Mar and for a moment … she didn’t look sad anymore. It was like seeing him made whatever she was sad about go away, and I wanted to … know more about her? I guess? She’s the oldest hallucination, other than … you … I suppose,”

“These hallucinations … Jak, do they happen a lot?”

“It use to happen a lot in prison, but it’s been better since I got out,” the teen paused, then added, “Since you got me out,”

“I didn’t get you out,”

Jak’s head snapped sharply towards Daxter and blinked at his friend. Gone was the ottsel, replaced instead by a face he thought he’d never see again. He was fifteen again, sitting at the bow of the Fisherman’s stolen boat with Daxter shivering beside him, complaining about the cold as he wrung sea water out of his fiery red hair. Daxter smiled at him, though it was small and sad, and the pieces clicked into place. Jak closed his eyes, scrubbing his hands down his face in long swipes. He thought he had a better handle on this. He thought that he would be able to see the difference between what was actually in front of him and what wasn’t. Bile rose in his throat as it dawned on him that this wasn’t something he could hide anymore. “You’re not real, are you?”

“It took you long enough to figure it out,” Daxter said with a head tilt, fake amusement laced into his words, “I was starting to really worry for a moment there. You usually are quick to figure it out,”

Jak was quiet for a moment. The only sound between them was the howling of the wind and the groaning of the branches above. Then, “We’re not anywhere near Haven,” Daxter nodded. “Where am I? Is Mar …?”

“He’s real. So is the crocadog. Everything up until now has been real, or at least, more real than I am,”

Jak held his head in his hands, pressing them hard against each side as he tried to drown out the thoughts that were beginning to circulate. “Oh my god. This entire time … I thought I knew the difference, and … Oh God. Mar … he must’ve been so scared,” He can’t imagine what must’ve been going through the child’s head, watching Jak talk to nothing but the fucking air for days. The kid was trusting a lunatic with his life — he didn’t even have much of a choice in the matter. “Oh God. Daxter, what have I been doing?”

“You did nothing wrong, Jak. The kid wasn’t in any danger, thanks to you. Sure, he might be a little confused, but considering the week we’ve all had, I think you talking to an imaginary friend is pretty low on the list,” Daxter shrugged, “Revelation aside, however … you were just admitting to Daxter that you hallucinated him in prison. I think you should finish what you were about to say,”

Jak winced at the question. He promised he’d answer Daxter truthfully, and he was going to keep that promise, but couldn’t he have picked a less loaded one? “Yeah. It happened a couple times. That day, Praxis pulled the plug on the experiments and told Erol—” And finish off this thing tonight! “—to get rid of me. I was relieved. I was so far gone, I just wanted it all to stop. When I saw you — the real you, I thought my mind was trying to … trick me. It wasn’t until you pulled my scarf that I realized you were there for real. Then … then I got scared. Erol could’ve been back any minute, and if he saw you …” His alter ego had been whispering at him while he laid on the chair. Warning him of what could happen if Erol did catch them. He told him all the ways Daxter could die: shot, snapped neck, stomped, thrown in a cage, skinned for pelt, poisoned. Daxter didn’t even know how to open his restraints, and the fear of wasting time was too much to bear. He let himself get tucked away, allowed his alter to take control and protect him and his friend from any danger that would aside. His other half had gotten him this far, had done what he had promised and kept Jak alive long enough for Daxter to come save him, and yet somehow in that exact moment, even he was afraid. He didn’t see a friend, he saw an unknown entity. In the primal haze that took hold of his body, his mind told him that no one would protect him as well as himself. That it was up to him to save himself.

“You were scared of me, too, weren’t you?”

Jak nodded. It counts as talking — if you asked him. It wasn’t cheating.

“That must’ve been really hard to go through,” Daxter whispered softly, laying his hand on Jak’s wrist. His thumb rubbed near Jak’s pulse point, right where his scars were. Jak nodded again. His face felt hot, and it hurt to swallow. He willed the tears away. “Jak, I’m going to say something and you’re going to have to listen, okay?” He waited for the teen to nod. “This isn’t going to go away. I’m sorry to be the one to tell you — and believe me, if there was a way that Daxter could just wave a magic wand and fix everything, you know he would. But this isn’t going away. You can’t will this away. Ignoring it will only make it worse. It’s time you admit to yourself that you need help. Real help. All this anger and suffering … it’s eating you alive. There won’t be anything left of you if you keep ignoring it. You have to let us help you,”

“But what if it’s too much? What if … what if there’s nothing worth saving anymore?”

“That’s not for you to decide, kid. Yeah, it’ll suck. Letting people see you fall apart is ugly, and it’s going to suck. It’s going to require you to relive the shittiest things that you’ve been through and it’s going to dredge up a lot of emotions you thought you were over … but you’ll live. The past can’t hurt you anymore than it already has, and every day you’ll wake up and continue living. The sun will rise, the city will still stand, and you’ll continue on. It’s that simple,”

“That sounds terrifying,”

“It is, until it isn’t. You’ve faced scarier and from where I’m standing, whatever you've been through hasn’t killed you yet. You survived, you’ll continue to survive, and along the way, you’ll learn to live too,”

Jak thought about it. He let Daxter’s — well, you know — words resonate. The idea of telling someone everything that he’s been going through sounded like torture. Opening himself up like that, laying his heart and brain on the table to be poked at and prodded and dissected made him feel nauseous just thinking about it. It meant allowing others to see the cracks he had tried so hard to spackle close, to keep hidden behind the bravado of a courageous hero who was unfazed by anything because he knew that he was stronger than anything thrown at him. It would be admitting that he wasn’t, in fact, stronger. He never was. The hero that stood before them was just an orphan who took the stories and legends and myths told to him too literally. They’d shun him, chalk him up as nothing more than a facsimile of a savior that was better used as a disposable plaything.

But then he did something that never occurred to him: he thought, what if they didn’t? What if people like Keira and Daxter didn’t shun him away for all his faults and issues? What if they continued to love him not in spite of his baggage, but rather continued to love him along his baggage? He thought about Keira and Daxter, and realized that not once did he see them as less than because of their flaws. He didn’t love Keira any less when she cried about missing Sandover, nor did he view Daxter differently for continuously complaining about not wearing pants. He loved them, that was enough for him. Them being alive and within arm’s reach was enough for him. They didn’t need to prove themselves to be infallible, because to him it was all the better that they were. They were real. They breathed, they made mistakes, they were obnoxious, and he loved every single second of being alive alongside them.

If Daxter told him he had nightmares and hallucinations, Jak would still want to be his best friend. If Keira admitted that she sometimes needed space, he would still be her friend. He loved his friends, and they loved him completely all the same. That was enough.

Jak cleared his throat, wiping away the tears that managed to escape him as he laid his hand over Daxter’s and squeezed. He couldn’t feel it — it was a phantom limb against his thigh, but he couldn’t help offering back the sentiment even if it was with a fragment of his own imagination.

“Thanks, Daxter. For everything the Precursors got wrong, I’m glad they got you right,”

“Damn straight! I’m a gift from the Gods, bitch!” They laughed, loud and unabashedly. They quieted down rather quickly, and Jak’s face grew somber.

“We’ve got to go find Mar. It’s freezing out there, and Precursors know how long he’s been wonder out there,”

“You’re right, you gotta go find him. First though, give me that talking stick. You’re not getting off that easy and I don’t want you ‘accidentally’ losing it so hand it over,” Stifling a smile, Jak handed the ‘stick’ back and Daxter tucked it into his pocket.

He felt … lighter. He was relieved he didn’t have to hide his hallucinations anymore, even if he didn’t go into full detail about them. It was easier said than done to bare his soul for his friends, but Jak found that it wasn’t as horrific as he initially believed. This whole time, Jak was convinced his friend was going to finally snap out of his rose-colored lens idea of his old friend and decide he didn’t like what remained, yet he failed to account for just how big Daxter’s heart was when it came to his loved ones. Daxter was good. Everything about him was good and kind and loving. Jak was just a sniffling kid sitting on a beach and Daxter marched right up to him and declared that he would follow Jak to the ends of the planet and back — literally. Chest full of love, Jak reached over and playfully punched Daxter’s arm as softly as he could muster. The teen smiled, then retaliated with a punch of his own.

“Ow! What was that for?! You’re not even real!”

“Let that be a warning to ya, buddy, scream at me like that again and I’ll unleash an ass-whooping ten times harder than that — hallucination or not!” Daxter grinned. He raised his fist and Jak moved away, chuckling when his best friend muttered, “Ha! Two for flinching, dick,” and thankfully delivered two soft punches to Jak’s leg. Jak batted him away with mock irritation, standing up to take a look outside the barrier of the branches. It was completely white outside, and he couldn’t make out anything beyond it. There was no shadows or sunlight, no long or tree outline in sight. He’d be going in completely blind.

The crocadog, sensing that Jak was getting ready to leave, leapt up to its feet immediately. Jak frowned. If the crocadog was here, that meant that Mar was completely alone out in the woods. The pup never strayed far from the young boy, not even in the face of complete and utter danger that would’ve certainly killed them had it not been for some kind of intervention that saved them at the last minute. Wherever Mar was, he needed Jak to find him, and who better to aid in the mission than the child’s beloved pet?

Jak wrapped his scarf tightly around his nose and mouth, making sure to tuck the ends deep into his tunic and tested it a couple times by tugging at the cloth around his nose. Once satisfied, he brought his goggles down to cover his eyes and poked his head out into the blizzard. Thankfully, the goggles were helpful in keeping the snow and wind from drying his eyes out, though they did begin the frost from the cold. It was going to have to do, however, and he prayed that it would be enough to seek the child out.

Finally, the teen retreated to pick the crocadog up in his arms and, with a swift apology, shoved the small animal into his top. His undershirt saved him from the sharp claws and rough scales, so bonus points for Daxter for forcing the teen to wear one when the temperatures started to hit below the sweltering heat numbers Haven was clocking in at. Once settled, the crocadog poked its head out from Jak’s collar and panted up at him. It was awkward, and the extra weight was hurting his back already, but at least he wouldn’t have to worry about the animal freezing in the subzero temperatures they were about to subject themselves to.

“Alright, Daxter, let’s … Dax?” Turning, Jak found his friend standing off to the side, hands folding behind him and a sad smile stretched along his lips. Jak raised an eyebrow at him.

“I’ve got you this far, pal. This is all you now,” and between one blink and the next, Daxter was gone. The loneliness hit Jak suddenly and terribly, but the squirming against his chest reminded him that he wasn’t completely alone. He never really was, if he thought about it hard enough. Daxter was right. He’d gotten Jak this far, and now it was time for Jak to finish what he started by ensuring the safety of the little boy in his car.

Jak nodded, then stepped out into the Unknown, determined to find the kid and bring him back home.

Mar rubbed his eyes and yawned. In his hand, he held the second object The Beast had asked him to find: a golden comb. Mar didn’t really know what a comb looked like, but he knew what a honeycomb was. It was still sticky and oozing honey, clinging to his skin as he brought it back to the looming figure of The Beast. He was getting more sleepy, and his coat wasn’t keeping him warm anymore. Even while looking for the golden comb, he felt his head bobbing down to his chest as he fought off sleep. He couldn’t help it. His eyelids were heavy, they wanted to close so he could sleep until Mama arrived.

Mar shook his head. No. He couldn’t fall asleep, not until he saw Mama and Jak side by side. He was a hero, just like Jak. He wasn’t going to let his own sleepiness get in the way of his happily ever after.

Holding out the honeycomb, Mar waved it a couple times until The Beasts’ eyes opened. Two, shiny balls of light looked down at him, taking the honeycomb in its hand. “This is a honeycomb, Mar,”

The boy shrugged. It was golden, and it was a comb. As far as he was concerned, it was most definitely a golden comb, just like how the stick with a spiderweb rolled around it was a spool of silver thread.

“Hm … alright. You’ve brought me the first two items — a golden comb and a spool of silver thread. Now, I want the sun. Here.” The Beast dropped a teacup on the ground and it rolled to Mar, “Lower the sun out of the sky and into this china cup,”

Mar raised an eyebrow at the shadowy figure. The snow and clouds were endless all day. When he looked up, Mar couldn’t even tell what time of day it was. All he saw were pillowy, soft gray clouds that rolled over each other. Mar has only ever seen snow in picture books but he’ll be happy if he never has to feel this numbing cold ever again. He eyed the cup. The sun was small enough to fit in it, but how was he going to get it out of the sky? It was too far up. He was going to have to figure out how to get it down … or find a way to have it come to him.

Squinting up at the sky, Mar searched for the sun among the sea of storm clouds and hummed happily when he found rays of sunshine breaking through. It was muted due to the weather, and red like it would get when a sand storm was on the horizon. Mar approached an old tree stump to set the cup on the snow covered top. He stepped back, pointed at the sun, and mapped out its journey to the cup. It would take an hour, but if he was right, the sun should land right into the cup.

The Beast was silent. Around them, the wind started to pick up in speed as the afternoon started to die. The treeline has now all but vanished in the fog and snow, and the furthest thing that Mar could make out was the cup on the stump. Even The Beast, in all its deeper than black glory was hard to pinpoint among the storm. Mar shivered violently. The Beast spoke, “You figured it out, and here I thought you would give up,”

Mar would never give up. He was so close to home, he could practically taste the sand and sea. He blew hotly into his hands, rubbing them to get the feeling back into his fingers as he stared intently at the sun. Once the sun was inside the cup, his task was completed, and The Beast was going to show him how to get home. How could he give up now that he was so close? It was just a little while longer. Just a little while longer.

Thoughts of his Mama and Papa kept his chest warm. Thoughts of Jak and Daxter and the crocadog — Sunny — kept the feeling in his toes. Thoughts of the desert and its majesty kept his breath hot. Thoughts of spirits and the Precursors keeping him safe kept his mind focused. He could do this. Mar held his amulet in his hands, tracing the lines with his finger. Just a little while longer. A nap couldn’t hurt, right? A short one? It was so cold, and Mar was so sleepy. He was just a little kid, after all. Surely, he could rest his eyes for a moment until the sun was in his hands. Just a little while longer.

“Yes, just sit here and wait,”

Mar closed his eyes. He dreamed of his Papa, holding him in his arms and carrying him to bed. He could hear voices and music through the walls as Papa kissed his head and wished him pleasant dreams. Mar drifted away with the sound of laughter and drums.

There had to be some … it couldn’t all be lost, there had to be at least— there. Under the cupboard, just laying there, the Wastelander found a branch of edelwood snapped in two. Its dark oaky hue and inky black innards were impossible to miss. He reached under the cupboard and pulled them out, giddy at the sight of the wood. “You see? This will give us some oil, won’t it?” he chimed to the lantern. The flame inside flickered and danced, his son as happy as he was at the sight of the wood. It was a good thing too, considering that winter had officially claimed the Unknown for itself and soon even the most hearty of edelwood would freeze over and rot before he could get a chance to hack at it. Normally, the Wastelander kept a supply of oil stashed away for the winter so he didn’t have to leave the homestead as often, but since that demon dog and two boys demolished the mill and the oil along with them, he was going to have to scrap by this winter.

The Wastelander made his way into the ruins of the mill. It was lucky that the more archaic, manual grinder was still intact and functional for his purposes. He nearly wept for joy when he saw it among the wreckage, calling to him to feed it edelwood. He obliged, and dropped the two pieces of wood into it. Setting the lantern in front of the spout, the Wastelander knelt on one knee and started to turn the mechanism. The flame flickered wildly. “We’ll keep that light of yours shining. I can promise you that,” he cooed, turning and turning and turning and turning. Nothing was coming out. The Wastelander paused, raising an eyebrow at the machine. It worked just fine the other day when he last used it. He turned it again, and it made a horrible grinding noise that nearly split his ear drums in two. “Come on,” The Wastelander groaned, striking the pipe in frustration. The oil that was in the lantern was drying up, soon to be nothing more than a stain at the bottom of the lantern while his son disappeared forever. He was desperate for edelwood oil.

He was about to deliver another harsh blow to the grinder, but he was instantly stopped. The Beasts’ unholy singing was faint. It was unmistakable. The Beasts’ voice shook the trees and scared off the critters of the forest, the unavoidable harbinger of doom that held the forest in its palm. The Wastelander frowned. He was being summoned.

Leaving the mill, the Wastelander ventured out into the woods. The trees loomed over him like predators, watching for any sign of weakness to be displayed as he marched towards the voice that lured him to his inevitable demise. He hated the forest, hated the secrets that lurked in the branches and the claustrophobic nature. It was a repetition of scenery, a trickster who delighted in watching a person be driven mad as they circled the same clearing over and over and over. Everything about it unsettled him. He longed for the warmth of the sun on his skin as he watched the wind ripple the dunes before him like waves. How could a place be so barren yet hold so much of the visage of water? The desert was kind and unforgiving, granting its residents with what they need but not afraid to show them its wrath. The forest instead thrived in deception. It lulled you into a sense of comfort, and by the time you realize what is happening, you’re already too far gone to put up a fight as it strangles you into submission.

The Wastelander had been a more than willing victim to the forest. Just as so many before him. He wasn’t naïve, he knew what it meant to be lost in the forest. A warrior had to be adaptable and take heed of their surroundings to truly be able to persevere. It’s what let him survive out in the Wasteland for so many years, and it’s what defended him from the Unknown. While some buckled under the ruling fist of the forest, those like him that survived did so at the cost of their own sanity. He was alive, that part he knew. Many of the denizens couldn’t say the same. His death was more figurative than literal — a death of happiness and hope. He could feel his pulse and see his breath fog, and he knew that he was still alive somewhere beyond the Unknown. It was his mind that was lost. His grief and sadness that anchored him to the forest, ringing the dinner bell for the damned trees to devour him alive as long as he remained tethered to his pain. The Wastelander wasn’t too far gone that he allowed himself to slip into his own delusions, not like …

It didn’t matter now. All that mattered was his son, and The Beast could offer him that. Whether he wandered into the Unknown unaware or ran into it with open arms, the Wastelander was tasked with a duty. He couldn’t let his son down again.

To find The Beast, the Wastelander traveled the entire day on foot. He got turned around a couple times, ending up in other parts of the forest that he had been to before and likewise wished to avoid at all costs. The crunch of his boots on the snow was his only companion. It took hours, and the sun had fallen out of the sky. Nightfall spread across the land, taking with it any spark of hope that remained. The Beast never ceased its singing, belting out the same song over and over without so much as a pause to breathe. The Wastelander hadn’t heard so much as a twig snap in a long time.

He found the monster in the deepest, darkest part of the woods. Hidden from the main path, shrouded in grief and despair, the woods pulled at him like a siren’s song. It wanted him, it begged him to submit, but the glow of his lantern kept them at bay as he came upon The Beast’s silhouette.

“Wastelander, I knew you would come. I have a gift for you.” The Beast said, delight dripping from its tongue. It stepped aside, motioning for the Wastelander to come closer with the lantern. At first, he couldn’t make out what exactly The Beast was referring to. The clearing ate up whatever light remained in the night. He squinted, then approached with the lantern held out to guide its glow to whatever it was … no.

The Wastelander felt his heart sink to his feet. Pain and horror consumed him wholly, buckling his knees and making his grip on his ax weak. A mournful moan caught in his throat, but a whimper squeaked out. He had told the brothers to stay away, to leave as soon as they could, to wake up. The older one was fiercely protective and strong, he was positive that if anyone were to escape the Unknown unscathed, it would be them. He didn’t think — never allowed himself to fathom that they’d fail. Now, entangled in edelwood roots and branches, pale as the moon and unmoving, the Wastelander knew he had been foolish to expect so much from children. He gasped, suddenly unable to breathe. The boy looked uneasy. His eyes were sunken and bruised purple from exhaustion, his nose and cheeks flushed from the bitter cold, and his face was framed by ever growing edelwood. If it weren’t for the barely-there twitch of his small fingers, the Wastelander would have believed his face was nothing more but a carving etched into a trunk of a tree.

The Wastelander snapped violently at The Beast, shaking with rage and contempt. “W-What have you done!? He’s just a child!” he hissed, staring down the monster. It didn’t so much as flinch. Vaguely, the Wastelander saw The Beasts’ appearance shift, a barely there outline of a body beginning to take form.

“Why, I’ve given you another edelwood.”

The Wastelander sobbed. He screamed at The Beast, professing all his sorrow at the creature. The monster merely tilted its head inquisitively, voice level as it said, “He will burn nicely in the lantern,” and reached to touch the leather cap on the boy’s head. The Wastelander lashed out his ax at it, swinging with the intent to maim the hand that dared to touch another hair on the child. “Wastelander, be reasonable.”

“No! I won’t do this!”

“What difference does it make? You’ve been grinding up lost souls for years! You’ve never once questioned where the edelwood came from?”

The Wastelander bulked. How many? How many children had the Wastelander unknowingly chopped down and used for oil? How many lives and souls had he traded to The Beast for the one that resided in his lantern? It was too much to bear, too much to process. He knew where he was, he knew what this all was, but he hadn't dared to think that this was the punishment he faced ahead. There were fathers just like him now, bereaved and broken at the empty sight of their children’s bed. Fathers who would spend the rest of their own lives carrying the heavy heart of a lost child to never be returned because the Wastelander had gone and used them up as oil. He felt sick. Completely, irreversibly, soul-deep sick.

“I didn’t know,” was all he could muster. The child was still alive. The branches were criss-crossing across his face, cutting his visage as it wrapped its limbs around him even harder. It won’t be long before he is completely gone, his body becoming one with bark and sap. “I didn’t know this is where the edelwood trees came from!”

“Don’t act as if it would’ve mattered. You would’ve let your son’s spirit burn out forever? All to save someone who was already lost?” its voice grew darker, growling out its next command, “Feed the lantern,”

“No!”

“So I suppose after all these years, you have simply stopped caring for your son—”

“Hold your tongue, or I’ll remove it from your mouth! Don’t you dare speak of my son!” The Beast merely laughed. The Wastelander tried charging at him, ax held high to attack, but The Beast was quick to avoid it. It slinked away towards the trees, watching as the Wastelander bent down near the child. Pressing a hand to his cheek, the child stirred weakly. There was still life in him. He gazed at the boy, noting all his features and was struck heavily with it. His fingers grazed over the divot of a dimple near the boy’s mouth, and the air around him was suddenly gone. It couldn’t be. It was impossible, there was no way. He’d searched for so long and so viciously, there had not been a stone unturned before he declared his son dead. The Wastelander removed the leather cap from the child’s head, and wailed when he found emerald curls. “You bastard. You lying, treacherous bastard,”

“I only seek to help you, Damas! You need the oil or else your son—”

“My son is here before me right now!” Damas. That’s what his name was. He was Damas, King of Spargus, and father to the boy he held in his hands. He’d forgotten who he was. The forest made him forget, allowing him to sink into the Unknown without question or resistance. It was easier to eat and digest your prey if you knew nothing about it, if you didn’t wonder about who it was before it was just food to warm your belly. The Wastelander — Damas — ripped off the branch that grew diagonal on his son’s face, cradling it in his hands. If his son were here, that would mean … “You told me his spirit was in the lantern. For years, I kept this lantern lit because I believed he was safe. You lied,”

“Oh, Damas. You can’t seriously be blaming me for this? You fetishized your own sadness for so long, you blinded yourself from seeing your own son right in front of you this whole time. No wonder the Count was able to steal him away so easily.”

Damas swing the ax with all his might at The Beast, missing it by an inch. The blade embedded itself in a tree, but he ripped it away and swung at the monster again. The Beast laughed again, voice echoing in the woods as it led him deeper into the Unknown, evading every vengeful strike of the ax. Eventually, Damas found himself surrounded by darkness and trees, and it dawned on him that he could no longer hear The Beast’ sick voice singing in the trees. He turned in each direction, being met with only more nothingness.

It was a trap.

Jak snapped his head in the direction of the noise. It was pitch black, and he couldn’t even make out his own hand in front of his face. The woods around them had been deafeningly quiet. The sounds of shouting and tree bark being broken were not hard to miss out here, and it was the closest lead they had gotten since setting out into the Unknown that morning. Jak wrapped his arms tighter around the crocadog and ran towards the noises, hearing grunts and laughing as he moved through the woods and hoped there wasn’t a stump or root in the way.

He was rewarded when a blinding light cut through the trees, illuminating the treeline and clearing around it. It shone brightly like the sun, and Jak had to squint until his eyes adjusted to it. He followed it, calling out for Mar the entire way.

At his feet near the treeline, Jak’s foot kicked something made of metal. It only took a glance downward to see that it was the Wastelander’s lantern laying in the frost. He bent down to pick it up, and held it out in front of him. The snow was badly distrubed, spewn about with deep grooves and mounds all around them. It was as if a bomb had gone off, throwing everything to the wind in its explosion. Jak moved the lantern over the clearing. “What happened here?” he mused out loud. A tangled mass caught Jak’s attention, and he nearly dropped the lantern when he realized who the tangled mass was.

He found him.

Jak sprinted to the Kid, sliding on his knees to start attacking the branches that ensnared the boy. His skin was like ice, frozen over with snowflakes clinging to his eyelashes. He looked so scared. Jak was torn between ripping the branches away from his ward and holding him, the urge to comfort the terrified little boy far more overwhelming than his urgency to get him free. Though his own fingers were numb, Jak could feel just how cold the skin of the child’s face was. It was like touching a corpse, and his stomach rolled as his mind raced. No, no, no, no, he promised he’d keep him safe. All he ever wanted to do was keep him safe.

His hands brushed something in the boy’s pockets, and when Jak put his hand in to pull it out, he found a treasure trove of trinkets. There were the remains of the blueberry muffin that Emma had given them, hard as a rock after days in the open. There was a toy version of himself, no bigger than Jak’s ring finger, carved out of wood and painted by the Toymaker from the tavern. A litany of blue flowers peppered alongside apple cores. Jak’s heart squeezed as he realized he was holding something very precious in his hands. Mar was keeping a souvenir of all the adventures they’ve had in this place. Like he didn’t want to forget their time there.

For the first time in years, Jak couldn’t hold back the tears and sorrow, and they bursted out of him like a tsunami. Two years of pent up emotions poured out of him. Tears and wails of anguish rocked through him, threatening to shatter him into millions of pieces on the snow covered ground. He cried for Mar, who was only four and had barely started to experience the world. He cried for Daxter, who had to live the rest of his life as a two foot tall orange ottsel. He cried for the prisoners and lab rats, who gripped him by his shoulders and confessed their sins to him as the eco drove them to the brink of madness, begging him to tell their mother or their father or their sister or their brother or their spouse or their children that they are sorry. Jak cried for everyone he couldn’t save, and he cried for that fifteen year old boy who died in a cell, convulsing and begging to go home. The suffering he had endured, the emotions he tried so hard to keep at bay flooded out of him like a cup overflowing, and he allowed himself to feel every single one of them at their full potential.

“Oh my god,” Jak whispered, tapping Mar’s cheek with a frantic hand, “Please, no. Wake up, kid, wake up, please,” It wasn’t working, and Jak sobbed pathetically. He hit the kid’s cheek harder, alternating between slaps and cradling his head and shaking it. He can’t let it end like this.

“Mar? Mar, please, it’s me. It’s Jak, it’s me. You’re okay, I’m here. Wake up, please, buddy, I need you to open your eyes for me, please,” Jak could feel his voice verging on hysteria now. All he knew right now was the kid’s sickly face, frozen in time and encased in wood. He swallowed thickly, letting out another sob as he gripped the full cheeks in his hands a little tighter. “I’m going to get you out of here, okay? I’m going to get you free,”

The teen set to work on pulling at the branches, snapping off the weaker twigs that replaced the ones he already snapped off. Finally, after what felt like eons, the boy’s eyes twitched under his eyelids and they opened. “Oh, thank the fucking Precursors,” Jak moaned, touching his forehead against the child’s as his heart threatened to beat out of his chest. Mar coughed weakly. A leaf slipped out of his mouth, landing in Jak’s lap.

Jak deliberately ignored it, threading his fingers into the boy’s hair and using his thumbs to wipe away the tears and oil on his round cheeks. Jak swallowed again, willing himself to suck in deep breaths to stop the stuttering gasps that slipped out of him. The kid didn’t say anything, just watched the older teen shake in front of him.

“I’m right here, kid. I’m never letting you out of my sight again,” he promised, locking eyes with him. The child flinched, and Jak’s heart broke all over again. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you, I didn’t mean it. None of this is your fault. It’s all mine. You were my responsibility, I should’ve taken better care of you. Please forgive me,” Jak swallowed thickly, “It’s you and me from now on, okay? It’s me, it’s you, it’s us. I’ll die before I let something … anything happen to you again, Mar,”

Mar blinked sluggishly, reaching around a branch to grab hold of his amulet. He tugged at it a couple times before the charm came loose. The amulet was too big for his hand, filling up his entire palm as the child offered it up to Jak. When he didn’t take it, the boy spread out his pinky and thumb, then curled his fingers all inward. I love you. Goodbye.

“Mar? Mar, no, Mar!” Jak shouted, tugging at the branches with all his might. It wasn’t enough. They were too strong, hooking into the fabric and soft skin of the child. The ones that had wrapped around Jak were brittle, but it seemed like these ones were growing thicker by the second. Mar’s eyes fluttered shut. “No!”

“Doesn’t it just break your heart?”

There was a gasp from behind him. Jak snapped his head to look behind him, finding a familiar face standing just a few feet away. Jak had seen it before. It had only been a glimpse, intercut between the Wastelander snarling face and Mar’s frightened one as the blonde grappled with the ax on the ground. Now, the Wastelander laid motionless, Hin’s fingers tight in his hair as she dropped him to the frozen ground unceremoniously. The woman smiled with all teeth and no kindness, holding her hand out towards the teen. “I thought you’d never show. I’ll be honest, I was starting to worry,” she said, then, in a low voice, she demanded, “Give me the lantern, Jak,”

Jak’s lips went tight, and he glared at the woman with as much contempt as he could channel. He picked up the lantern, bringing it close to his side. After a beat, he shook his head ruefully. He watched the woman closely, took in everything he hadn’t noticed before — the hollow bird bones hanging from the brim of her hat, the way her charcoal dusted fingertips vanished in the shadows around her, the unnatural and uncanny way her face both resembled that of a human yet was simply too flawless to be anything near normal skin. Jak’s eyes widened.

“It’s you,”

At long last, he had obtained an audience with the Beast.

The woman chuckled. “Surprise,” she sang, then delivered a small kick to the body at her feet, “I must say, you’re a spirited one. Even with my little turtles on the hunt for you, you were still harder to pin down than a wiley jackrabbit,”

The bittersweet taste of a dark liquid, the burn of it sliding down his throat and forcing him to cough up the remnants. Gagging and vomiting up blood, ooze, and … turtles. “The tincture,”

“My own special blend of hemlock, belladonna, and eco. Perfect for making it easier to keep track of you. My eyes on the inside, so to speak,” she frowned, “I thought I lost you for a moment there. My sister and I solemnly agreed on much. Her and her little witch … oh, by the way, don’t think for a moment that I forgot about what you did, my dear. It took a lot of effort to bind that spirit to that girl and you managed to undo it like that,” The older woman snapped her fingers, and it echoed like a buckshot in the forest. Had she not been wearing the birds, Jak would’ve expected to see them fluttering away from the noises high above them.

Jak was speechless. The terrifying Beast that haunted the forest, that scared the very shit out of everyone in the Unknown, was none other than the strange woman who offered him and Mar aide when they needed it most. They had been in her home, had sat at her table and listened to her warn them of the dangers of the forest — all the while the biggest predator was sitting right in front of him, wrapping his ankle in thick strips of gauze soaked in aloe vera. Had he really been so blinded by his own bullshit that he didn’t sense the danger wafting off the woman? Was his own instincts that muted that he couldn’t figure out that the enigmatic Beast was none other than Hin. His jaw hardened. “What are you?”

Hin didn’t so much as flinch at the gravelly voice that arose out of him, didn’t comment on the hint of savagery that tainted his words like venom. She wrapped her shawl tight around her shoulders, and took a few steps away from the Wastelander who had still yet to stir. “Look closely. You know me,” she took a step back, shedding her shawl to reveal intricate lines carved into her arms. Just beneath the surface, below the tanned and smoothed skin, laid a lake of dark eco swirling within itself. Jak has seen far more pools of dark eco than he cared for, and there was no mistaking the shapeless nature of the substance. It was chaotic and unpredictable, shifting into itself as if trying to devour anything that came remotely close to it and — barring that — would consume itself completely. It was an ouroboros. Just like how it behaved within him, eating away at any progress he made to satisfy its own hunger. It was no different from the mansion that tried to do the same, to placate him long enough to digest.

This wasn’t Hin. Or maybe it was. The Lady of the Wastes, The Beast, Death, the Patron of Dark Eco, the Woman who Swallowed the Stars — all the names for all the years that Micte has been alive. Jak knew her well. Has felt her blessings surge through him, has heard her singing other prisoners to the brink of madness, and has felt her icy touch grip him as the eco gravitated to him on instinct. She was his ruination.

“Oh, good. See? I knew your head wasn’t just ornamental,” she mused, stalking closer to Mar. Jak growled, swinging the lantern in her direction. The Precursor flinched backward, tensing at the motion. “Is that any way to treat your mother?”

“You’re not my mother,” Jak hissed, gripping the lantern’s handle tighter. If he had to swing at her again, he would make sure he wasn’t going to miss this time.

“Such an attitude you have. We’ll have to work on that. Now, be a good boy and give me the lantern,”

The Beast’s figure went tense, and the forest around them started to whistle like screams. Jak didn’t budge, letting his anger and hatred bleed out of him. Eventually, he said, “Finders keepers,” and returned to pulling at the solid wood encasing the small boy. Hin wasn’t satisfied at the answer, growing tall enough to graze the canopy of leaves above their heads.

“Do you even know who you are speaking to? I am the forest, I am the Unknown. I have been here for longer than your ancestors and I will be here long after. You cannot escape me, Jak. Now, I’ll only ask you nicely one more time: Give me the lantern.”

The Beast, Erol, Praxis, Gol, Maia — they were all monsters seeking to possess any light the world had. They weren’t omnipotent, they weren’t all-powerful, there were all just stamps of the same arcane evil that lived within everyone. Their issues were that they had a leak and all that tar just seemed out of them and infected everything they touched. He had spent so long putting them on pedestals of broken glass and daggers, worshiping at their feet with offerings of rage and suffering and obsession. As if keeping them at the forefront of his mind, it would validate the trauma he had gone through. They’ve taken him and twisted him in so many ways that he might never be able to snap back into the form of a person again — except, that he has. Through the kindness of people like Thomas and Ru, who not only saw him as worthy of compassion but also demanded nothing more from him other than for him to see that same goodness in himself. The monsters of his past didn’t care about him, no more than Jak cared about the Lurkers he’s killed. His whole life revolved around getting revenge or some kind of closure, but even then he’s realized it will never be enough. It won’t reverse the damage that’s been done to him. He won’t ever see another sunset in Sandover, he won’t ever get a full night’s rest without night terrors, he won’t ever see just himself in the mirror. Not since they’ve got their hands on him. They were Midas with his golden touch. They were Nero with his fiddle. They were the boogeymen that lived in the dark closet. All he could do now was learn to live with The Beast inside his head and move the fuck on. They were his undoing, and he was tired of letting them control him any longer.

Jak repeated himself. “No.”

Hin faltered, twitching irritably. Her eyes were growing dark, and the forest winds started to pick up a violent pace once more. They flickered over to Mar. “Be smart about this, tzicuēhuallotl. Your brother is too weak to go home,” when she spoke, Jak heard whispers. He hadn’t noticed it at first — having grown so accustomed to hearing auditory hallucinations that they all faded into the background now — and now that he had, he strained his ear to make sense of it. It was too hushed, and Hin was too loud. “Soon he will become a part of my forest,”

“Fat chance,” Jak replied, using his boot to kick at the base of what was now a stump growing at Mar’s feet, “I won’t let that happen,”

“Well, then, perhaps we better make a deal,” The Beast cooed, her voice snapping back into a soothing tone. Jak said nothing. “I can put his spirit in the lantern. As long as his flame stays lit, he will live on inside. He’ll be safe from the harshness of the world. As long as you remain to protect him, no one will ever hurt either of you ever again. Isn’t that what you want? More than anything? To save him from the very things that have hurt you? You and I both know how wicked the world can be to innocent souls like your brother’s,” Jak stilled, his hands still wrapped around the thickest of the branches. Hin was near him now, a hand poised gently on his shoulder. He wanted to shrug her off, but his mind was far too occupied with how pale Mar was. “I can see how much you love him. I bet you’d even trade your life for his,”

Jak answered automatically, feeling as if he was floating in the air like the stray snowflake that caught in Mar’s eyelashes. “Yes,”

“If Mar was having a terrible dream, wouldn’t you want to wake him? A terrible dream of rot, and disease, and pain, and sadness, and sick, and teeth, and abuse … oh, I bet you’d wake him, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes,”

“Then let’s wake him, shall we? Take on the task as lantern bearer, and you can protect him. No more terrible dreams, no more suffering … just you and him, here. Where nothing horrible could touch you ever again. You can do that for him, Jak. You can save him,”

Jak paused to look at the light in his hands. The lantern’s flame flickered from behind the glass. The whole reason why they’re here in the first place was because he wanted to protect the young boy. Jak recognized the signs of overreaching hands manipulating the trajectory of someone’s life. He could see the little boy’s arms and legs wounded tight with string, pulling against his will toward a destiny that was no doubt nowhere near what the child wanted. His own childhood was filled with the same people with similar intentions, and the thought of yet another person growing up with the burden of the world on their shoulders had been too much to handle. Jak thought if he could take the child as far away from Haven as possible, maybe he’d have the fighting chance that he wasn’t given — the opportunity to be something different.

But it didn’t work, did it?

He already tried protecting Mar from the world, and look where that landed them. He couldn’t shield him from the horrors of the world. It just wasn’t practical. Samos had tried to do the same to him, Keira, and Daxter, and no amount of days spent in blissful ignorance on the beach saved them from Haven City’s unforgiving cruelty. There could be an argument made that Samos’ lack of transparency actually made it worse on them in the long run. Knowing the world for all its warts and beauty was a part of life. He shouldn’t have had to suffer the way he has, but he did and nothing would ever change that. All he could do now was offset that pain and pour more love into the world. He couldn’t stop the KG for hunting the child, nor could he keep him in a safety bubble his entire life. All he could do was promise to do the best he could, and support him through it all.

The teen shook his head, ridding it of the older woman’s hypnotic voice. “I’m not much of a lantern bearer, sorry,” Jak spat out.

“Then who are you?”

So what’s it going to be? The golden boy you used to be or the eco freak you have become?

He chose neither.

“I’m a survivor, and I’m not afraid of you,”

The Beast bellowed with laughter. The leaves on the trees shook from it, and the trees themselves seemed to tremble in fear. Jak simply held the lantern in one hand, and his brother’s hand in his other. He prayed the warmth from his touch was enough to rouse the child.

“You are an insolent brat! Don’t you see I’m trying to help you!? You cannot save him on your own, so GIVE ME THE LANTERN!”

Jak’s lips tugged at the corners, and he allowed a smirk to eek out of him. He didn’t really take kindly to being told what to do, especially from an authority figure. He held the lantern up to his shoulder, then coyly leaned his head to the side. “This lantern? All this fuss over this hunk of metal and glass? I don’t really get the big deal. You aren’t trying to help me, you just seem to have an obsession with this lantern. Almost as if …” Jak plucked the glass window open and took a deep breath. The Beast exploded in fury.

It shattered and shook, contorting wildly into something that Jak couldn’t even recognize as a physical form. It matched the dancing of the flame, nonsensical in shape and inconsistent in size. The Beast’s shadow crawled out of it, eating up all the light that the lantern provided without a single word. Jak was plunged into a darkness, the only light filtering through now was The Beast’ eyes and the glow from inside of the lantern.

“Are you ready to see true darkness?”

Jak chuckled. This wasn’t true darkness. He’s seen true darkness, and he’s crawled out of it like he’s crawled out of everything. “Are you?” he asked, and without breaking eye-contact, he blew on the flame.

The Beast retreated, taking her shadow and darkness with her as she regained her form once more. She reached toward Jak and the lantern, hissing out a desperate, “STOP!”. She tried making a grab at it again, but Jak once more held it back and away. He scoffed. Why was he ever afraid of something like this? Why was anyone? Hin was nothing more than a shadow afraid of what laid beyond her own comprehension, afraid to lose what little control she had over others. Jak’s had enough of power hungry monsters to last him more than three lifetimes.

Jak picked up the Wastelander’s ax from where it laid in the snow, heaving it over his shoulder. “My brother and I are going home,” he declared, setting it by his feet as he leaned down to inspect the wood. It looked like the branches were all coming from the bottom, and the higher up the branch, the weaker it got. He set out at chopping the wood as slowly as he could, mindful to not accidentally knick Mar in the process. It only took a handful of whacking before the branches came undone and released the child.

“Dude, that was pretty badass,” Daxter said quietly, nudging an elbow at Jak’s temple from his reclaimed spot on his shoulder. Jak smiled back at him, content with seeing his friend for even a fraction of a second before he disappeared completely, and dropped the ax for the final time. He picked up Mar from his arm, pulling it over his shoulder, and then hefting the other arm over his other shoulder. The teen looped his arms around the kid’s legs, and held the lantern in front of them. The crocadog reached up on his hindlegs to lick at the boy’s shoes, wagging his tail happily when Mar burrowed his feet deeper into where Jak’s neck met his shoulder.

The young boy’s fingers twitched against his shoulder, trying to form something cohesive. Jak couldn’t reach his hand from his angle, opting instead to lean his head against the matching green curls of the boy on his back. Hin, furious and ghastly, stared at them from the sanctuary of the treeline. Her eyes shone brightly — a ring of violet offset by the pitch blackness around her.

“This isn’t the end, Jak,” she spat, her fingers gouging thick lines into the tree bark closest to her, her face white as the snow on the ground. “I’ll always be with you. You can’t escape me. Wherever you go, I’ll be there,”

Jak paused, hefting a sigh that took almost all his energy to expel. He felt it from the top of his head to the tips of his fingers, and he had to close his eyes before addressing The Beast. “I know,” he breathed, “But it doesn’t mean I’ll give in to you anytime soon. I have a lot to fight for now,”

Turning his back on the deity, Jak heard more than felt the forest shatter around him. The entire landscape dripped with dread as the woman screamed loud enough to rattle his bones. Her rage mingled with the wind and the stars shook from the force of her tantrum. Vaguely, Jak thought of Ru and the screaming meemies. Of the buzzing whumpees and the overwhelming sadness that felt suffocating like a rock to the chest. For Ru, it took the company of those she cared about to quiet the screaming, so that’s what he thought about. He thought of Daxter, who no doubt was waiting for him with a groan beyond the trees. He thought of Keira, who would no doubt lecture him until the end of days about disappearing for so long. He thought of Sig and his black knife, of the openness of the Wasteland that the older man promised him a taste of. As he stepped further away from the screaming woman, his mind was flooded with memories of those who helped him along his journey through the dead woods, his heart warmed by the kindness of Ru and his stomach hearty from the cider Thomas had offered him. The words of encouragement from the Tavern Keeper, and the names of Brig, Anttie, Dreia, and Bash on his tongue to keep their stories and memories alive. Each and every one of those he had encountered reminded him that there was more beyond the city, more beyond the mean and crudeness of Haven. There was still love in the crevices of life, even if hidden and hard to reach — it was there. He just had to remember that he was also inside those crevices, nestled in with his friends and family.

With Mar breathing shallowly against his neck, the ever faithful crocadog at his side, and the openness of the Unknown before him, Jak marched straight into the darkness. This time with the intent of getting home.

Damas watched the two boys disappear into the forest, braving the snow and biting winds that awaited them just past the clearing as the bubble the Beast had encased them in wore off. He’ll be buried soon too, he remembers. The heavy grief and pain suffocating him all over again once he leaves the cursed forest and returns home.

His son. His son was alive, though barely. He had held his face in his own hands and seen the years of their separation marked on his face like tally marks and Damas wanted to hold him to his breast while screaming at the stars, but his son was alive. He finally knew the answer to the question that has plagued him since the bite of a blade slid into his gut, awaking to find his brother-in-law missing an eye and his wife cold, pale and unblinking as her blood stained the rock of the throne room. Mar was alive somewhere out there, just out of grasp of his fingers, and he wasn’t going to let him slip away again.

Struggling to his feet, the King couldn’t help but laugh at the outburst of The Beast. Shards of wood and icicles rained around him, decorating the clearing in the evidence of her failure. “You’ve lost, witch,” he laughed loudly, using the ax to lean his weight on. The Beast turned her attention towards him, teeth bared and skin ripping around the sigils and lines of dark eco. Her hair had come undone, slicing through her features in thick, black strands with bits of wrinkled petals cascading down. “My son is safe and he is leaving this place as we speak. You cannot control me anymore. I’m going home,” He spat out a glob of blood, aiming for her feet. The Beast didn’t even bat an eye, but her stance did straighten from the hunched form of vengeance.

“Only fools believe in finality. I can’t be rid of so easily, King. Jak is a wealth of melancholia and has a pension for death, he will be back in my web soon enough once he realizes not even his own companion has use for him anymore. I can see his faith laid out before him like a scroll. I will get them back. Two for the price of one,”

This gave Damas pause. The witch was cunning, albeit a little heavy handed in her recruitment techniques, but he’s rarely seen her not achieve her goals. The Beast had lured him with the promise of having his family back if he retreated into the forest, showered him in the hope of both keeping his son alive by lamplight and his wife nearby as a visage he could see when he dreamed. It didn’t take much for him to succumb to her manipulations — choosing to abandon his newfound kingdom for his own selfish wants and desires. Even now, though he battled for his life against the monster, he could still feel the warmth of the Wasteland on his skin and the scent of grilled cactus coming from deep inside the bowels of the palace.

When The Beast wanted you, there was no escaping her. Death — both literal and figurative — were ruled harshly by her. Just ask the dozens of edelwood trees that Damas had chopped down without even a second thought otherwise, all because The Beast commended it. Jak had evaded her for now, but there was no telling how long it would last before her whispers gripped Mar once more.

He bulked, pointing a finger at the woman. “By all the powers that be, I will not let you lay a finger on my son and that boy. Not if I have any say in it,”

“But you don’t, do you?” she hummed, unimpressed by the intimidation that Damas was trying so hard to channel toward her. She had a pensive look on her, all the previous ire of a woman scorned washing away as a reminder of the unruly nature of the Precursors underneath. “You are a mighty warrior, Damas, but even you are no match for a Precursor. After all, my sisters and I granted your ancestors their might. Don’t be arrogant enough to believe we won’t sooner snatch it back,”

Damas wanted to growl, to attack her once more with the ax, to fight the cosmos themselves to defeat the danger posed against his own son. Be it The Beast or those who stole his child away, he has had enough of others dictating the fate of his family. Was it not enough to have lost his ancestral home? Why take more from him when all he ever wanted was to continue to build his life alongside his wife and child, serving those who have been wronged by the sins of his past? Athea didn’t deserve to die for the crime of protecting their son, and his son didn’t deserve to be swallowed into the Unknown for simply being born.

Gazing up at the stars, Damas was struck with a plan. It wouldn’t be much, but it could rectify all the hurt and despair of the last two years and strike it from the record. Hopefully, it will be enough to give his son and his friend a head start. “What about a trade?”

“A trade?”

“You seek a companion,” he swallowed, and The Beast nodded curtly. He has heard the arguments between the witches of the forest, the battling sisters who bemoaned and chastised the ancient being for her misgivings. The Beast had a pension for being rash and somewhat impulsive. Her eyes narrowed, a tell-tale sign that he has gained her undivided attention. “Take me. Take all the years I have left and give them to my son. All of it. I’ll remain here with you out of my full volition. No lanterns, no tricks. I swear it,”

The Beast laughed — bitter and amused at the same time. As if she suspected that no good deed should go unpunished and that this was merely another ruse set by him. After all, who hasn’t tried to outwit Death? Damas wasn't the first, and judging by the hungry look in the woman's eyes, it would hardly be the last time. “You would give up your life so easily for a child who won’t remember you come Spring? He already has forgotten what you look like — what do you have to gain from such a deal?”

Damas bowed his head, submitting under the stars and trees and The Beast. The weight of it was merely too much to hold up anymore, and he crumbled under the words of the woman. His heart ached at how both he and his son had been only inches from each other this whole time yet none of them had any inkling who the other was. Time had made a fool of them both, and memory had failed them completely. There was nothing that could rectify the lost moments between them, but Damas loved his son despite it all. If he could give up centuries to his boy, he’d do it without hesitation.

“He will be safe. That is all that matters. I will remember for the both of us,” he whispered tearfully, staring out into the path the older teen had carried his son off to. It was a lot of burden to place on the boy’s shoulders, but seeing him defend Mar as the risk of his own life only gave Damas more confidence that the boy will be in safe hands.

“You’re making a deal with a Precursor, King,” The Beast chimed, tapping her dark finger against her temple. “If I accept, this cannot be undone. Failure to adhere these terms will result in me taking your son regardless. Are you still willing to take that risk?”

“Just …” he sighed, all the fight officially drained out of him, “Just let me see him. Before you claim me. I want to hold him just one last time,”

The Beast was quiet in her contemplation. After all, she had complete rule of the forest. If there was a deal to be made, it was more often than not stemming from her. To have someone else — a human, no less — offer up terms and agreements was not unheard of, but it was considered a foolish embargo nonetheless. Finally, she smiled with teeth sharper than a Lurkershark’s and laid her hand gently on his crown. “Very well. I accept. You will see your son again, that I can promise you. Do you accept, King?”

“I will as long as you keep your end of the bargain, witch,” he snarled, batting her hand off him. It didn’t matter. Her hand snatched his chin between her thumb and pointer finger, squeezing it hard to force him to look into her eyes. All the while her smile only grew wider.

“Cross my heart and hope to die,” she replied, then kissed him.

It tasted of rot.

When Jak inhaled, he was in the midst of the trees and darkness. When he exhaled, he was starling awake underwater.

All at once, Jak’s injuries screamed at him and he had to fight the urge to gasp at the pain. He wanted to shout in pain, but the oxygen in his lungs was already nearing empty. He squinted in the murky depths and spotted Mar only a couple feet away from him, soft bubbles spilling out of his mouth as he floated among blue flowers and apple cores. Fish that were nipping away at them startled away when they spotted Jak jostling the water, retreating into the deepest parts of the lake.. Jak swam over swiftly to him, gathering him up in his arms and kicked his way up to the light above the surface. It looked different from sunlight, and it wasn’t still enough to be the moon, but Jak didn’t care. It was a beacon of light and he’ll just have to deal with whatever laid beyond. The crocadog woke up around the same time as Jak, and he’s never been more grateful for the pet as it swam up quickly, beckoning the teen to follow suit.

Jak broke the water with a soul-shattering gasp, bobbing at the surface while he tried to balance the weight of the child and his own at the same time. The sight of dead metalheads and open clearings never looked so beautiful to him, even in the moonless darkness that surrounded the forest. He could weep. He tilted Mar’s head backwards, getting it as far from the surface as he could without causing him to asphyxiate on the water that was no doubt sloshing around both their lungs.

He can’t even tell how long they’ve been under there. Nighttime had basked the forest in a blue-ish hue, and Haven Forest remained as untouched as ever. It could’ve been from hours, to months, to years and he’d have no clue.

Situating the child back onto his back, Jak swam with one arm. The shoreline was just up ahead, relatively close to where they were when Jak woke up. He tried not to think too hard about it. The end was in sight and he could barely hold back his relief. Exhaustion and hypothermia were tugging at him incessantly, threatening to pull him under just as his hand reached the muddy bank.

Dirt, grass, and flowers broke in his hand as he pulled himself forward, the water clinging to their clothes making it nearly impossible to keep himself upright. He hacked up water, greedily attempting to breathe in air at the same time. Everywhere hurt, and he couldn’t stop himself from shaking as he used his forearm to inch himself halfway out of the water. Mar was slipping off his back, falling towards the ground now that the water wasn’t holding him flush against the teen. Jak’s hair was plastered across his eyes, his cloak now a noose around his neck. He couldn’t make out anything beyond the blue flowers right in front of him, surrounding a yellow flower that laid right at the center of the patch.

There was movement on the hill in front of them, flashing lights that moved around wildly as if searching for something they can’t spot. Faintly, he could hear voices calling out for someone, elongated names being shouted as whoever they were searching for were a missing pet. Jak spit up blood and moss, and when he looked up the woman in red was standing in front of him. She knelt down on one knee, close enough to him that he could see that her clothes weren't red at all. Her clothes were dusty and frayed, worn in a way that indicated it was a beloved outfit of hers. When she laid her hand on his cheek, he felt the grit of sand caked in the creases of her palm. Despite himself, Jak leaned into the touch, lifting his own hand to lay over hers.

He gazed up at her, though his vision was blurry and waterlogged, and croaked out a quiet, “Help.”

The woman nodded, kissed his forehead, then stood up. The lights were getting closer now, and Jak lost all his strength, collapsing into the bed of flowers. A scream echoed through the forest. It was long and hoarse, the kind of battlecry that Jak always imagined the mighty hero at the climax of the story gave before charging headfirst into the fray. With his vision failing, and his body chanting for rest, Jak laid his head on the ground and pulled up all the strength he had left in his diaphragm, and allowed his own scream to harmonize with the woman.

It was all confetti after that.

Sig’s head snapped at the sound. The forest was deader than he’d ever seen it, and it could’ve very well been a metalhead mimicking a human in order to get their attention, but there was something about that scream that made it too real to be faked. Tess heard it too, turning wide eyes to Sig as the scream continued to ripple through the forest.

“Jak,” Tess said flatly, and that was all the confirmation Sig needed.

Leaping down from the ledge, Sig hit the ground running. It was loud, louder than it should be for an area this big, and yet it rattled through the forest plain and clear. He spotted him just as the screaming stopped, and by the time he was kneeling next to Jak, the teenager was barely hanging on. His eyes rolled around his head in a daze, blinking rapidly to starve off what Sig figured was the sweet call of rest. Sig patted the teen’s cheek, waiting for those blue eyes to lock in with his own. It took a few moments of holding his head up almost nose to nose for him to get any response out of Jak.

“Kid, hey, can you hear me?” The blonde took a minute, then once the recognition hit, he fired off like a shot.

“I kept him safe. He’s safe, I kept him safe. Safe .. safe, safe, he’s safe, I kept him safe, he’s safe,” His voice was shot to hell. It was scratchy and barely more than a whisper, and it must’ve hurt to be speaking right now, yet he continued to rattle on like it was a prayer. Like if he were to stop, it wouldn’t be true anymore, and his friend wouldn’t be safe. Sig rubbed his arm, feeling how cold the teen was even through his thick leather gloves.

“You did good, chilipepper. Daxter’s safe and sound back at the bunker, you can rest easy now,” but Jak shook his head, soaked strands of hair whipping around wildly. Ice clung to the ends, which was all the more weird considering it wasn’t going to snow in Haven for at least another two weeks. Jak weakly reached to his side, moving away from Sig’s hands as he army crawled a few inches to the lump of blue beside him. He moved curls aside, cradling the back of the lump’s head as he continued to rattle off his mantra.

“He’s safe. He’s safe, I kept him safe. S- .. safe, safe, safe, you’re safe, I kept you safe,” Shaking fingers scratched at the scalp, a tear mixing into the lake water as Jak breathed, “It’s you, it’s me. It’s us. We’re s-safe,”

Jak lost his fight with consciousness, and the tension seeped out of his body all at once with a groan. Sig turned his body over, laying the teen flat on his back and cursed under his breath. The kid was covered head to toe in scratches and bites, his entire side was bleeding through his tunic and turning the garment a bright red. Bruises marred his neck and jaw — obviously having nearly lost a battle with a vice grip. Breathing through the mental image of Athea’s own broken body, Sig reached into his pocket for the communicator the Underground gave him. He was about to dial for backup when Jak’s arm limply fell off the lump and pulled the leather cover with it.

Everything around him came to a screeching stop. The air got thin, and Sig dropped the communicator into the mud without a second thought and he pulled the child into his lap. He knows those curls anywhere, those round cheeks, that adorable flat nose. He’d spent countless hours staring at the photograph of the child he kept tucked into his armor, drowning out the worst case scenarios with alcohol that barely made a dent in his grief-riddled nights. Poured hours into thinking of how different his nephew would look two years older, no doubt having lost his Spargan tan to the bleakness of Haven. It was Mar. Older than the bright eyed toddler he remembered, and definitely thinner, but it was Mar all the same. His clothes were different and weird, nothing like anything Sig ever imagined being on him. The kid loved running around with as little clothes as possible, the only compromise between him and his parents being a sleeveless tunic and a pair of shorts. Precursors help you if you try to wrestle shoes on that boy.

Sig pushed the hair back on his nephew’s head and nearly wept. He held the child's head against his chest, willing himself not to cry right now. After two long years of odd jobs, doing things that he wasn’t proud of, and mourning the loss of his only family left — Sig was finally holding Mar in his arms, feeling his heartbeat against his own and listening to the soft snoring that was coming from the sleeping child.

Jak kept him safe. That’s what he was saying. He kept the kid safe this entire time. Sig could pepper kisses on that stupid, crazy kid, right on his stupid, crazy cheeks. Well, whenever Tess was done performing rudimentary field medicine on the teen. For all the insults and disgust she had thrown the teen’s way on their rescue mission, she did dissolve quickly into hysterics when faced with the injured teen. Delicate hands pulled the blonde to her chest, cradling him and sobbing into his hair while she thanked every being in the known universe that he was safe and alive while simultaneously chastising the boy for going missing on them for so long.

“Oh, fuck you, Jak, you’re ruining my makeup,” she cried, taking one hand away from around his shoulders to fan at the streaks of mascara running down her cheeks. Sig chuckled at the sight, the happy memories of youth coming to the forefront as he watched the girl fawn over her boyfriend’s best friend. She finally cleared her throat, delivering a light smack to the teen’s crown. “You better pray you’re in a coma. You don’t want to know what I’m going to do to you when you wake up. God, we thought you were dead!” she breathed again, composing herself, then turned to Sig, “He’s an icicle. We gotta get him back to the Underground as soon as possible,”

Sig nodded, moving to grab his communicator from where it had fallen in the mud when Mar stirred in his arms, a hand coming up to touch his forehead and then his other hand, then pointed at Jak. He did it twice more before falling asleep again, snuggling against Sig like he remembered the child doing every time he fell asleep in his lap back in the palace. Brother.

Sig raised an eyebrow at the sign. He couldn’t mean that in the literal sense. Mar was an only child, he didn’t have any siblings that Sig knew about. Looking at Jak, however, he did see the similarities. He saw a lot of Damas in Jak, and he saw a lot of Athea also. He certainly looked like what Sig always pictured Mar would grow up to look like — even if he never imagined Mar sporting a sad little goatee and hair long and tangled. He could spot the same slight dimple that Mar had inherited from Sig himself, just near his mouth on his left side. He’d remember if Athea had another son, especially one as old as Jak. Logically, it made no sense that the teen was related to either of the three — not unless Damas had some secrets he kept even from Sig regarding his last days in Haven.

Sig shook his head. There were stranger things that have happened — especially when it came to Jak and Daxter. Hell, only a week ago the latter was a two foot ottsel riding around his friend’s shoulder and now he was a lanky human teenager sleeping off vertigo from shooting up four feet in a day.

Reaching into his pocket, Sig knew one thing for certain: if there was ever a time to use it, it was now. He’ll be damned if he lets Mar slip away from him again, and he was going to need some answers regarding his nephew’s savior.

He activated his beacon.