Penslave (P.S) This was just a small bit of a larger story I had planned but never really formed. This was the starting piece to get the sort of characters I hand planned down and world setting. The idea is kind of crazy. Honestly, I hope you enjoy it as much as I did writing it.

Ivory Pages, Scarlet Ink

"What am I supposed to do?" Keira questioned the man, feeling the lethgary and false bravery of the whiskey in her hand. The music and lights, so loud and bright beyond the confines of the their booth, pulsed in a maddening haze of liquor and bad decisions. There were so many people, so many things going on in this Dome and Keira had no idea how to keep track of it all… Let alone how to live in the middle of it. Her Haven was spread over so many more miles than this circular city protected by barriers far stronger than the Eco Walls had been. There were so many faces she knew, yet their stories and lives so drastically different.

The man sitting beside her, the woman across from them who slipped out onto the dance floor when he declined her offer, and even the damn man who ran this place.

Krew, her world's Krew, had been the obese Hip Hog Saloon owner that died in his own factory courtesy of Jak and Daxter. He was a greedy, pathetic, albeit intelligent business man who refused to get his grubby hands dirty while others flitted about him like flies and his promises of money when all was said and brushed under the carpet. He had a dirty habit of betting high and winning bigger, focusing his intentions on those whose talent he could extort. This Krew was not that man and yet wholly the same. Being the owner of a bar of the same name and physically similar was where it all ended. The simple fact this man seemed to know what honor and trust actually meant put him in a different category all together… Her eyes fell on him, behind the bar, and watched the charming, muscled, man organize his waitresses in the chaos. He was the scarlet eyed, blonde proprietor of the place where people went to forget their names and spend their money. He was a man that smiled perfectly as others thought (and believed they did) they could out-smart a man who pulled strings like a spider.

And then there was the man seated in front of her.

Erol.

The Commander had been her client, his zoomer repairs had often paid more of her rent than she cared to admit. She had seen him as all the other swooning women had; the dashing, protective, suave Commander who risked his life to defend the city from Metal Heads… How easy, Keira thought, it was not to notice the violence in him. To ignore the way he carelessly drove others off the track, many to their deaths, or the way he possessively demanded attention all while hiding behind good looks and charisma. She hadn't seen, until Jak came back into her life, the sadistic, cruel, and quick tempered man he was. The skilled killer who murdered indiscriminately and cared little for the lives he ruined in the process. The obsessive claim to his 'toys' and that had included Jak... The cyborg he'd become was even worse. World domination hadn't even been on the table for him, simply world annihilation.

The cyborg watching her worriedly, one amber eye false, was so cripplingly different it was hard to keep up. He was a talented racer, she'd been told, it was where he met his wife. He was a skilled solider, a better General, and a honest friend others had expressed. He had never once asked for more than what Keira was willing to do to hide him while he repaired. He had protected her when the others came, pulled her through that portal that had brought her to this bizarre version of her world. He smiled like he meant it and laughed geninually. He was what her Erol had been imitating to cover his true nature. This man was in this to save the people, to prevent another apocalypse like the one he'd barely survived…

But where did she fit in?

She was not, by any stretch, the woman that shared her name and face.

Keira, in this world, was a Commander, a wife, a sister, and a Econectic. She was temperamental, out-spoken, and easily commanded a room just by existing within it. She had been a solider most of her life and it showed in her physical and mental battle scars. Her world had fallen around her, people had died and turned into monsters, and she was ever ready for it to happen again. She was prepared to stand back up and beat it away with her bare hands.

She was brave.

Where did simple, mechanic Keira fit into this world?

"You survive like the rest of us," Came the General's answer, leaning forward to block the lights that streamed line across the floor with a bass that she could feel in her chest. "You live." He told her shortly, voice carrying over the music.

"Live." Keira repeated solemly, not entirely sure she knew how do that anymore. She glanced up to the man, searching his eyes for an answer and when she found none, she smiled tiredly and downed the whiskey still in her glass. There was a mild admiration in his expression as she slammed the glass down with more force than necessary.

"Live?" she raised an eyebrow at him, feeling light limbed and loose tongued. "I lost everything that meant anything to me… How do you live with that?"

He considered her, eyes flashing with something that Keira couldn't comprehend in her slowly deteriorating state. It was gone neigh instantly and replaced with a sad, apologetic smile. He knew he was the cause of it, he also knew she'd never blame him. She hadn't since this all started the day she found him in the wreckage of a Precursor Gate. There was no blame to lay at his feet, Keira had decided, it was to lay at her own.

She slid out the other end of the table, using it for support as she dipped her chin and let her hair fall over her shoulders. "I'm so royally fucked," She hissed without intent, "it's not funny. I'm up a creak without a paddle… but you're right." She drunkenly turned her eyes to the mass of bodies wishing to just escape the night like they did. She was young, Precursors, she was so young. "Live a little… right?"

Before he could stop her, Keira grasped his hand tightly and pulled him after her. He could have easily halted her, she knew, but he didn't and she was more thankful than he'd ever know. She smiled as she spun around to face him. He gave her a crooked smile and an expression that read 'You got me out here, now what?' She felt a familiar flare in her chest, a Cheshire grin breaking the monotony of her sullen smiles and gestures. She hadn't done this since she started working for the FLG... There was no fear of her being mistaken for her doppelganger, at least. She was younger, her hair bluer, and lacking the facial scars.

"Can the General be seen with a young girl?" She wondered, running her fingers up his arm.

He let out a heave of a breath. "You are drunk."

"I might be," she slid her body against his, wrapping his arm around her waist to move against the beat that thumped through the floor.