Welcome, one and all! As mentioned in the summary/description, this story will mention/include/be from the point of view from a female OC, who will not be fleshed out as these are drabbles set throughout the Jak and Daxter games. Her actual development will appear in the small novel I'm writing taking place during Jak 2, and certain situations and/or character interactions may not make sense. Thank you for reading!
I. Introduction
It was no secret that Jak was the Baron's favorite 'pet' in the Dark Warrior Program. He was, in the eyes of the rest of the prison, the oldest dog around, who'd seen hell and traversed it well. If he broke out, they whispered when the guards weren't around, then the Baron would have one hell of a problem on his hands, that's for sure.
But the new girl they'd heard the guards talk about, they didn't know a damn thing. Roomed with the old dog, doesn't speak a word, just like him. Some laughed, thinking the old dog would finally get some action. He deserved it, all things considered. Others shook their heads, well versed in the ways of Erol. She'd be dead within a week, if the boy didn't do it first.
She made it a week, then two, then a month, then two months, and some had hope, or were filled with dread. Hope that another warrior would break out and free them. Dread that they'd be twisted into weapons, the Baron's hold reigning supreme over all.
Finally, shower day arrived, the prisoners eagerly awaiting to be brought into the waiting room, hoping that they'd be in the group brought in to see the new Dark Warrioress. Most left disappointed, as the guards only let thirty prisoners in each waiting room, but the small group that did left with smiles, flat faces, or frowns.
"What did she look like?"
"A battle-worn warrior, might've been a traitor in the guard, or an Underground fighter. She'll save us, I know she will." Or, "A sorry sight, that girl. She looked like the shower room was the last place she wanted to be. Can't blame her." Or, "She looked like shit. Covered in blood, shaking like a leaf in a tornado, I thought she might collapse the moment the spray hit her."
"Well, how old was she?"
"As old as you and me, my friend. She knows what she's doing." Or, "Teenager, just as old as the boy. For a moment, I thought they might've been related." Or, "A child. Lost, alone, afraid. She's just like the rest of us."
"Where was the boy?"
"By her side, willing to strike down the guards with righteous fury! The only thing that held them back was that they wanted a shower. Cowards, should've killed the red bastards on sight!" Or, "Right next to her, standing guard. She was covered in blood; couldn't tell if it was her's or someone else's, but if it were that then she would've been killed long before the showers." Or, "Their arms were brushing, both were terrified as they tried to get in the showers, both bloody and bruised. I tried to feel empathetic, but it was too pitiful for me to even dredge up the emotion."
Locked in the solitary confinement wing, Goseph grinned. They were a great team, practically twins. He couldn't wait to see them screw the Baron seven ways to the wasteland.