A/N: Shalom and welcome, dear friends. At last, I have released another fic! (Not so excited cheers from the captive audience). This Jak fic has been in-progress for a while, so I hope you like it. As always, much love to my beta – Aries28, you rock my socks! The little purple button at the very bottom of the page really does work, so you should press it and leave me a nice little review. Constructive criticism is always welcome. Anyway, I'll shut up and let you read now.

The familiar burning sensation of an Ottsel Fury (1) gripped the Wastelander's throat, surprisingly soothing his frazzled nerves. Since Damas was gone, he had taken rule of Spargus City. And that job getting old very fast. Sandstorm season had rolled around again, complete with winds that relentlessly pounded at the city gates, and dust that spilled over the tops of the walls. He took another sip of his drink, chancing a glance around the Naughty Ottsel. It had remained basically unchanged. Except all the tables in the center had been taken out for the Freedom League's equipment. He set down his glass on the bar top and leaned over the map Torn had laid out on the holoscreen (2). "So, what does this have to do with us exactly?"

The faction leader ran a hand through his brown hair, sighing. "Look Sig, we need you and your Wastelanders to come in and help us defend the city from the Metalheads and the KG Robots. They're becoming bolder and bolder each day; we can't hold them off much longer. Freedom League forces are dropping like flies out there, even though we're just defending our two sectors. We need back up."

Sig raised the eyebrow over his mechanical eye, crossing his arms over his armored chest. "Why would we help the city that kicked us out? We have our own problems to deal with out in the desert, you know."

Torn paused, finding the table very interesting. "We can pay you." He reluctantly told the Wastelander.

"Oh, come on big guy; I know you're itching to kill some metal heads with these army buffs." Daxter's orange fur flashed in the bar lighting as he hopped from stool to stool, eventually making it to the bar top. He plopped down next to Sig, sniffing the Ottsel Fury delicately.

Sig pulled his glass away from Daxter and picked it up, draining the last of it in a single swig. Wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, he eyed Torn. ". . . How much money are we talking about, cherry?"

Daxter grinned and slapped him on the shoulder. "That's my boy! I knew the sound of a good Metalhead hunt would get you to agree. I've been on a few of those myself, you know. Why, when I was out in the desert with Jak-"

Sig rolled his eyes, wishing he hadn't downed his Ottsel Fury so fast.

The bar door slid open, saving Torn and Sig from an impossibly long and totally bogus story. "Hey Sig, I just got a call from Kleiver. I need to get back to Spargus. Are you almost done in here?"

Daxter looked over at the newcomer and whistled. "Come on in, sweetheart." He called to her, tail wagging excitedly. Leaning closer to Sig, he whispered, "Dude, who's the new chick? Can't possibly be your girlfriend or anything; she's way too hot."

Sig shot the ottsel an icy glance. "Easy now chili pepper, don't want to get Tess all riled up." Thankfully, the blonde was not in the bar to beat the living daylights out of Daxter for looking at another woman.

The girl moved a stray navy curl from her gray eyes, a smile plucking at the corners of her thin lips. "We're not dating. I'm Zaacha." She offered, stepping away from the door and closer to the men, and the ottsel. Placing a hand on her hip, she looked over at Sig. "So, you ready or what?"

"Hold your Leapers, blueberry." He muttered.

Daxter took hold of Sig's empty glass, glancing up at him while he eased it into the sink on the other side of the bar. "What is your strange obsession with food? Can't you be more original?"

Sig sent him another icy look. "Chili pepper, I could always use another throw rug. Want to volunteer?" Daxter gulped and ducked behind the counter, mumbling something about fixing a bottle of Haven Port (3) for some incoming paying customers. The Wastelander stood and nodded to Torn. "I'll be in touch. Let's go, Zaacha." His armored shoes clanked against the floor as he walked out the bar door, the girl in tow.

Smog-infested air filled Sig's lungs as he came out of the Naughty Ottsel. This city may be where he was born, but it sure wasn't home. Truth be told, he was glad Zaacha had come in when she had. Haven City just wasn't as exciting as it had been when he was undercover for Damas. The walls seemed to close in around him, trying to strangle him, cage him in. The Wastelander was jerked from his thoughts as Zaacha nudged him with her shoulder. "What were you guys talking about?"

"They want help defending the city." Sig admitted, walking closer to the edge of the walkway, watching the zoomers fly by on the oily water's surface.

"And what'd you say?"

"I said I'd consider it."

He carefully watched Zaacha's reflection in the water. Her lips were pursed, eyes narrowed. She may not have been kicked out of they city like him, but she hated the walled city as much as any other Spargus citizen. Maybe that was why Sig looked after her. Or maybe it was because he felt sorry for her. Considering her family was the way it was, anyone would feel sorry for the girl.

"Hey, Spargus to Sig." He blinked. Zaacha was waving a hand in front of his face. Apparently he had been lost in thought again. "Come on. The transport is going to leave soon. And it's a long ride back to the desert."

Sig nodded and looked away from the polluted water, keeping his eyes on the path ahead of him. "Let's go then."

They walked for a few minutes, silence only disrupted by the sound of buzzing zoomer engines as the whizzed by. "Are you ok?" The girl asked, disrupting the pseudo-silence again.

Sig looked back at Zaacha. Her lips were turned down at the corners, her forehead wrinkled with worry. Despite the unfriendly setting, Sig found himself smiling. He put a hand on her head, ruffling her hair. "I'm fine, blueberry. Don't worry."

Zaacha ducked out from under his hand, glaring at him. "Sig, now you messed up my hair." She whined, running a hand through her indigo locks. He chuckled and shook his head, letting his hand drop to his side. Her glare softened, a mischievous gleam in her eyes. "Hey Sig . . . I'll race you to the transport!" She yelled, taking off down the bridge over the dirty port water.

"Hey! You cheated!" He called after her, taking off, armor jangling with each step.

Ducking under arms – or in Sig's case, trying to but actually just bowling people over – the pair finally crossed the unofficial finish line, the ramp into the blue transport. Sig bent over, panting. "No fair. You got a head start."

Zaacha lifted her head, chest heaving for air. "Whatever it takes, right?"

"Looks like I trained you well, blueberry." Sig laughed, hitting the glowing Close Hatch button before plopping down onto one of the benches.

Zaacha fall back onto the bench next to him, as the engine roared to life and shook the floor beneath their feet as the transport bucked, taking off to the desert.

The panting eventually died down, leaving only the buzz of the engine breaking the ever-pressing silence. Zaacha looked down at the floor, shuffling her feet against the cold metal. "My father came by yesterday."

Sig looked up in surprise. "Your dad? What did he want?"

"He asked me to move back in with him." She replied, not lifting her eyes.

"Do you . . . want to?"

She shook her head furiously, hair whipping out around her. "No." Not that anyone could blame her for not wanting to go with her father. He was the reason Sig was looking out for Zaacha, and the reason she was born in Spargus.

Zaacha's father, Pallecht, was always eager to make some quick and easy money. Gambling rings, illegal street races, gun course records, anything that could put some spending money in his pocket. Unfortunately, that would be his downfall. An illegal zoomer race that ended in a fatal crash and the death of a Council Member's (4) son, and the banishment of Zaacha's parents.

It was all right at first, Pallecht and his pregnant wife were shown the ropes of the city, taught the ways of the Spargan, eagerly accepted by the citizens of the desert city. A few months after they couple "moved" into Spargus, his first and only child, Zaacha, was born and became the city sweetheart. The curious, energetic, and eager to please child quickly wormed her way into even the hardest warrior's heart. The family seemed happy, and everything seemed to be looking up for the gambler and his new family. But the years of desert heat began to take theirs toll on Pallecht, making him irritable and violent. Even Wastelanders would steer clear of the man, casting sorrowful glances at his wife and six year old child, who now walked his shadow, cowering in fear.

But cowering didn't save them.

A cloudless sky reflected the gambler's wife lying in the streets, blood splayed around her, not even the hot noon sun warming her dead body. Pallecht was not punished; no one could prove it was he who killed the woman. But the child was taken from him, and entrusted to Damas' best Wastelander, Sig, to care for.

At first it was a hassle, but Sig grew to care for the girl like a little sister, carefully watching her as she learned how to handle a gun, how to drive Kleiver's strange desert cars, how to race Leaper Lizards, the basic controls of the turret (5), and other such things that every Spargus citizen should know.

Shaking himself out of his own thoughts, Sig threw an arm around her shoulders. "Don't worry, blueberry. You don't have to go with him. Damas told me to keep you with me until you could live on your own. Your dad doesn't have any right to take you if you don't want to go."

Zaacha sighed and leaned onto his shoulder, resting her forehead on the edge of his shoulder pad, the cool metal pressing against her warm skin. "Thanks, Sig."

He smiled. "No problem." The transport jerked, the engine suddenly becoming silent. "Guess we're here." Sig gave her a one-armed hug and stood, pressing the Open Hatch button. The hot desert sands swept into the transport, wrapping around Sig's ankles, tugging at his tattered, pointed ears. "Home sweet home." He looked over his shoulder at Zaacha. "Come on. We'd better get inside the gates before the Marauders see us."

1 : A made up alcoholic beverage served at The Naughty Ottsel.

2 : The blue table that Torn is standing over in The Naughty Ottsel.

3 : A made up alcoholic beverage served at The Naughty Ottsel.

4 : Advisors to the ruler of Haven City. Count Veeger is a Council Member until stripped of his title.

5 : The gun on the beach, by the marketplace of Spargus City.