Disclaimer: I do not own anything Jak and Daxter related; all characters, places, etc. relating to the game(s) are owned by Naughty Dog.
"Dare to reach out your hand into the darkness, to pull another hand into the light." – Norman B. Rice
PROLOGUE
It was a cold night, and the rain was pouring so hard that it kicked up a fog. The lamps around the streets couldn't break through it, and only managed to cast shadows. The moon hid behind the clouds, which did not give signs of letting up any time soon. It was dark, dreary, rainy and cold; everyone had the sense to stay inside, bar the doors and sleep away the night. Everyone, that is, except for one: a petite, raven-haired young woman named Cera.
She had already been walking in the rain for over half an hour, and still had a long ways to go. Every now and then she'd look up, to make sure she was going in the right direction, but she couldn't see anything past her hand, so she had to rely on force of habit; trust that her feet knew where to go even if her eyes did not. She had made the journey several dozen times before, rain or not. It was just easier when it was clear.
As she turned a corner in the Slums, nearly tripping on an outcropping of rock, most likely protruding due to excessive weapon fire or exploding Zoomers, she was grateful that she wasn't carrying her huge sac. It was heavy, awkward and added time to her walk. Unfortunately, as long as she was carrying that sac, she knew how the journey would end: she would exchange her merchandise for mercy and silence, and then she would go home, secure for another week. When her "employer" contacted her, telling her to meet him without the merchandise, she started to worry.
With every step in nearly every muddy puddle she passed, she hoped more and more that it was just a simple matter of acquiring more goods. Where she lived, she had so much access to them that doubling, even tripling, the number of goods was not an issue. She truly hoped it wasn't going to be another Question and Answer meeting; her "employer" sometimes held those in order to find out exactly where she lived. If he ever found out that information, it could compromise her advantage in goods: he could end up demanding so much that she wouldn't be able to supply, and then the agreement for silence would be broken. Worse, he could send in some of his minions to kill her, and no one would ever know.
She shook that thought out of her mind, although in truth, she shook from the cold, attempting to get the rain off her. She followed it with a sneeze and a snort, as she walked out into a more open area, one less sheltered from the weather as the Slums had been, despite the tall walls surrounding it. Judging by that landmark alone, she guessed she was halfway to her destination. The weather and the worry slowed her pace; she should have been farther by that point. She was going to be late, which turned her worry into fear. Her "employer" loathed tardiness. It was going to cost her.
She started to jog. Her muscles ached already, but every time her joints screamed in protest, she quashed it with the knowledge that she was late. The wind pushed against her harder here, but she pressed on, ignoring the pain in her chest from breathing too heavily. All the thinking she did since she left home was washed from her mind, replaced with the same chant, over and over: I'm late, I'm late, I'm late... She was so wrapped up in that thought alone that she almost didn't hear the distant rev of a motor engine approach her. Not until the vehicle passed her, and then slowed to a stop.
She slowed her jogging pace to a walk again, curious as to who was out in this wretched weather. At least the vehicle had a roof; whoever was inside was dry. Of course, Cera couldn't help but notice how clunky and massive it was; she guessed whoever owned it didn't have a great deal of money. The vehicle looked old, the paint job was peeling and it only had one hover engine, which meant that it could only hover in one zone.
Cera feared that since she had just recently left the Slums, the person in the vehicle may have been a delinquent. Unfortunately, in order to get to where she was going, she had to pass the now idling motorist. Compounding worry upon worry, she tentatively walked by the vehicle, keeping as much distance between it and herself as possible; a difficult task, as the driver chose to idle in the middle of the street.
As soon as she was in view of the passenger-side window, the Gull-wing door hissed open and flipped up, revealing the inside of the obsolete transport, as well as the driver, who turned to look at her, grinning slightly at her dishevelled appearance. She stood just under the opened door, grateful for the reprieve from the pounding rain against her body. After wiping the water from her face, and blinking a few times to clear her vision, she focused her attention on the driver, hoping to determine whether he was a ne'er-do-well, or simply a good Samaritan out for an evening cruise.
The first thing she noticed about him were his eyes: they were brown, like hers, but different; they were sharp, bright and piercing. They captured her gaze the instant they were upon her. The way he looked at her stirred something inside her; something that frightened her. She subconsciously backed up a bit, only to suddenly remember that it was raining, and the door to his vehicle was sheltering her from it.
When she re-focused her attention, she then noticed his hands: he was wearing thick, leather gloves, but it didn't hide their strength. He had long fingers, which appeared blistered, indicating to her that he worked with his hands a lot. He was resting his left arm on the wheel, his hand slightly gripping it, while his right hand reached up to remove the cigar from his mouth. He breathed out the excess smoke and quickly flicked the ashes hanging from the stogie, not in an ashtray, but in the back seat of the vehicle. The blatant disregard of cleanliness he had made Cera cringe slightly, but then, it was an old transport, and it was his, after all.
He smiled at her, forcing her to gaze at his mouth, and his surprisingly white teeth, despite the nasty habit dangling from his fingers. He asked, with a rich, city accent, "What'cha doin' out so late, Dollface? And in this weather, too?"
A dozen lies swam around her mind. He was a complete stranger; she couldn't tell him the truth. And she still wasn't certain he wouldn't hurt her, either. She wrapped her arms around her body, in a vain attempt to keep warm. Since she wasn't walking, she wasn't producing heat, and the cold rain only hit her harder. She was about to tell him that she was just out for a leisurely stroll when she suddenly sneezed again.
"Tell you what," he said, kindly, patting the passenger seat with his cigar hand, "there's an extra chair in here, and it's warm and dry, too."
Cera shook her head. "No, tha-CHOO!" She sniffed, wiping her nose ineffectively with the back of her wet hand.
"Get in," he said, with a sharper tone. "I'll even drive you to where you're goin'. I doubt you're just out for a leisurely stroll."
She shook her head more vigorously. "No, no, you can't do that!"
The blond-haired man cocked his head and raised an eyebrow. "Why not?"
She fidgeted. "It's... It's complicated. I can't show up with someone. If he thinks I have an accomplice, he'll kill me."
His eyebrow went higher. "Who's 'he'?"
"It... He... I..." She swallowed. Those piercing, brown eyes were drilling a hole in hers, waiting for her answer. He flicked the ashes off his cigar before taking another drawl from it, never removing his gaze from hers. It was then that she understood the phrase 'If looks could kill...' She continued, "Daren Teivel."
He brought his eyebrows together, but narrowed his vision, straightening his back suspiciously. Cera didn't notice just how built the man was until he tensed up as such. To keep herself from losing her composure, she averted her gaze, muttering to her shoes, "You've, um, heard of him?"
"Who hasn't?" he replied, rhetorically. Before she could say anything else, he asked, "What business do you have with him?"
"It's -" She was going to say 'none of your business', but she made the mistake of looking up at him. She feared that being crass with him would end up badly. So instead she said, "- complicated."
He took a long drawl from his cigar, considering her response. His eyes fluttered over her, possibly doing a visual frisking, checking if she had any weaponry. The way her ragged clothing clung to her wet body and the absence of any bags, pockets or sacs told him that she was unarmed. He sighed, turning around in his seat so he was facing forwards. He crushed the remains of his stogie in a make-shift ashtray next to the accelerator gear between the two seats before gripping the wheel with both hands. "Get in," he commanded, leaving no room for debate.
He still had a frightening look on his face, so Cera decided against objecting. She carefully got into the vehicle, wincing at the water she was getting all over the seat, and the mud her shoes brought in with her. He pushed a button near the wheel to close the Gull-wing door, and another to turn the heater on warmer. She suspected he did the latter one for her sake; he was wearing a sleeveless shirt, but had heavy cargo pants on, and very thick boots. He wore a red bandanna around his neck and leather straps in an X form across his chest. They had small pockets on them, presumably for storing ammo for the small hand-held at his side. She also noticed that he was already sweating; an act which made his skin glisten.
"Where're you headin'?" he asked, softly.
It still made her gasp slightly. She hoped he didn't notice her staring. She swallowed. "C-Central Park," she replied.
"When do you need to be there by?"
Only then did she remember the time crunch, and how hopelessly late she was. Her eyes widened as she glanced at the vehicle's digital clock. "Ten minutes!"
He broke out into a mischievous grin, barring all his teeth. "I suggest you buckle up, Sweetheart: it's gonna be a bumpy ride!"
"No! You don't need to -!" But she couldn't finish before he grabbed the accelerator gear and threw it forward, launching the ancient, obsolete vehicle into a speed that would outrun even the fastest Zoomer. Cera let out a blood-curdling shriek, as they barrelled toward a corner, cutting it so close that they halfway climbed the wall before levelling out horizontally. Having forgotten to put on her seat belt, Cera was thrown forward, but as quick as lightning, the speed demon gripped her shoulder and pushed her back, keeping one hand on the wheel to steer the vehicle away from another wall, just in time to avoid a crash.
He removed his hand from her shoulder to replace it on the wheel, giving him more momentum in twisting it, manoeuvring through a tight, zigzagged passageway. She screamed again, covering her eyes as he sped toward another corner, only barely making it through. "Slow down!" she cried, as the vehicle jumped slightly from hitting a speed bump too fast.
His reply was a loud laugh, that sounded more like a cackle, spinning the wheel so hard right to avoid a building that Cera was actually thrown into him. She took the opportunity to grab onto his arm, digging her fingers into his skin, holding on to dear life. She never realized how many twists and turns there were in Haven City until she met that lunatic, who flashed her a grin just before swerving the vehicle into a perfect 360 degrees, claiming he went the wrong way, accelerating the engine until the boost pushed their momentum forward again.
"Almost there, Dollface," he said, as if he were discussing the weather, ignoring the bruises forming on his arm from the frightened passenger clinging to it. His eyes glowed with something devious just before he took one last corner, sharply as always, and for the sake of showing off, swerved the vehicle into a stop, just outside Central Park.
Even though they weren't moving anymore, Cera still held onto his arm, waiting for her pounding heart to relax. It took several seconds for her to realize she was still digging her nails into his skin, so she let up. But it wasn't until her senses started swimming with the aroma of adrenaline filled, male pheromones that she gasped and backed away, as if he were electrically charged.
She hoped, uselessly, that he didn't notice, but the devilish grin on his face told her otherwise. Luckily, he was decent enough not to point it out. What he did say was, "All you have to do now is walk into Central Park, and Teivel won't know you got a ride."
With her heart still pounding, for a different reason now, she nodded, said, "Thanks," and turned to open the door.
She was stopped when he reached across her seat to softly grab her wrist. She turned back around, worry leaking from her face, but her fears were laid to rest when she noticed his facial features relaxed into a more friendly fashion. He looked like the good Samaritan she thought he was when he drove up beside her in the first place. "You know," he said, reaching into the vehicle's glove compartment to pull out another cigar, "you are about five minutes early. There's no need to stand in the rain for that time. Why don't we sit and chat for a bit?"
She didn't answer. She knew he wanted answers; everyone always wanted answers. It wasn't as if she didn't want to give them: she just couldn't risk it. But he didn't bombard her with questions right away; he took a few seconds to light a match under the stogie and puff at it. When he was satisfied that he could inhale the smoke under its own volition, he waved the match vigorously to put out the flame, then flicked it into the back seat. He took a drawl from it, leaned back slightly against his chair and gazed at the girl sitting in the passenger seat. He let the smoke out in order to ask, "So, what business do you have with that fanatical crime boss?"
"I'm sorry," she replied, sadly, "I can't tell you."
He narrowed his vision slightly, but didn't get angry. Instead, he said, "Okay; if you can't tell me, how 'bout I ask the question, and you just nod if I'm right?"
Cera opened her mouth to object, but decided his theory could work. Besides, she owed him for the ride. So she nodded. He flicked some ashes off his cigar and mused, "Everyone knows Teivel is obsessed with Metal Heads. Is he trying to organize an army with them?"
She shook her head.
"Nah, of course not; even if that were true, he wouldn't need a pretty girl to do it."
She blushed and turned away.
He saw her blush, but she didn't see him grin in response. He asked, "Is he tradin' with them, or else doing business with them?" She started to shake her head, but then stopped, turning her eyes to the ceiling in thought. "Not quite, huh? Okay, are you tradin' with them for Teivel's sake?"
That question made her teeter her hand back and forth. Sort of. He took a puff from his cigar, excitedly, and asked, "Does this have to do with Skull Gems?"
She nodded.
"Aha! You're getting Skull Gems from Metal Heads and givin' them to Teivel!"
She actually smiled when she nodded.
He quickly scanned her person, looking for any signs of Skull Gems, or even a weapon, but again found nothing. All he noticed was how her wet clothes clung to the curves of her body, so he fidgeted uncomfortably in order to avoid embarrassment. He said, suspiciously, "You don't look like someone who can take on a Metal Head. And you don't have any Skull Gems with you."
"Uh, no, Teivel contacted me and told me just to come without the merchandise. I don't know what he wants."
I know what I'd want, he thought, shifting again and shaking his head. She didn't seem to notice. He asked, "Can you tell me what he wants Skull Gems for? Or at least why he can't get them himself?"
"No," she replied, "I can't. I'm sorry." She glanced at the clock and added, "I have to go."
She opened the door and it made a hiss as it flipped up. Before she left, he cleared his throat, to get her attention, and said, "I have just one more question." She looked around at him, waiting. "What's your name?"
"Oh, uh, it's Cera."
He smiled. It was a nice name. He outstretched his hand and said, "Jinx."
She raised an eyebrow. "I am not a Jinx."
It took him a second to understand, and when he did, he laughed hard. "No! No, Dollface! I meant my name is Jinx!"
"Oh!" She flushed with embarrassment and quickly took his hand to shake, hoping he wouldn't take offence. The thought was pushed from her mind the moment her hand gripped his. She loved how strong it felt, as if it could take all her troubles away. He softly rubbed his thumb along her wrist, chuckling silently at how small her hand was compared to his. She looked up at his eyes, glowing with some emotion she couldn't identify. She felt instinct pull her forward, felt her heart crash against her chest, felt her eyes flutter shut...
And then she heard the shrill bark of Teivel's bulldog in the distance, denoting that he had arrived in Central Park. Cera's eyes flew open and she jumped back, ripping her hand away from the crazy driver who brought her there. He gave her a look of pain mixed with confusion, so she averted her gaze and got out of the vehicle. "Th-Thank you for the ride," she said, licking her lips quickly at what almost happened, before closing the door and walking off in the rain toward her destination.
As soon as she turned the corner to enter the park, Jinx flipped his dashboard around and pushed a yellow button on the other side. It flashed for a few seconds, as it sent out a signal to Freedom HQ. Whether they pick up the signal and contact him was anyone's guess; Torn and Ashelin rarely paid Jinx any mind unless they needed him for something. In the meantime, he quickly finished his cigar, crossing his legs and imagining what Torn would look like in a dress. By the time his body calmed down, and he was reduced to sucking on the negligible butt of his stogie, his message was received and the holographic image of Haven City's governor appeared above his dashboard.
"We're kind of busy right now, Jinx!" Ashelin snapped. "What do you want?"
Expecting her to be crass and impatient, he didn't take her tone seriously. Instead, he simply asked, "You guys still lookin' for Daren Teivel?"
She scoffed. "Always looking, never finding. He's harder to locate than you when you owe someone money. What does that have to do with anything?"
He crushed the butt of his cigar in his make-shift ashtray. "'Cause I found him."
Ashelin sighed angrily, her holographic eyes showing her rage, even though her image flickered in and out every now and then. "We really don't have time for your sick sense of humour!"
"Do I sound like I'm jokin', Toots? He's in Central Park right now. Send a scout party if you don't believe me, but by the time they get here, he'll be long gone."
Her head turned to the side before it flicked off. Jinx knew she was talking with Torn, to figure out what to do. He was able to light up yet another cigar before Torn himself flicked back on. With a voice inherit only to those who excel at commanding, he said, "If Teivel is in Central Park, it's too good an opportunity to pass up. Try to capture him alive; I'd like to know what kind of information we can get out of him."
Jinx nodded, but before he could disconnect the transmission, Ashelin's voice in the background asked, "I'd like to know how you found out Teivel was in Central Park."
He hesitated. That woman, Cera, was very insistent on the secrecy of her mission. It would be ungentlemanly of him to compromise that for her. He grinned; never let it be said that Jinx can't be a gentleman. He answered, "I was drivin' around and found him by accident."
He saw the image of Torn's tattooed face raise an eyebrow. "Trolling for night walkers?"
"Escorts, technically," Jinx answered, instinctively patting the pocket on his cargo pants that held his credits. It was true he was out looking for someone to spend the night with, but now he simply wasn't in the mood. "Anyway, Teivel awaits," he finished, pushing the yellow button again to disconnect. He flipped his dashboard back into place and fished around the glove compartment for his cigars, ammo, matches and gunpowder. Then he stretched to the back seat and brought up his backpack, and stuffed everything else into it. He opened his door and stepped out into the rain, his backpack slung over his shoulders. He cocked his hand-held, making sure there was enough ammo in it, before closing the door behind him and heading toward Central Park.
All he had to do was follow the sounds of that stupid dog and he'd find Teivel. And maybe Cera, too. He grinned as he thought about what she'd do when he showed up to save the day. Then he had to imagine Torn in a dress again to keep his focus straight...