Author's Note: This chapter went quite differently than I expected, but I'm basically playing this entire story by ear—pardon the pun—so I'm not surprised. Again, constructive criticism is greatly appreciated.
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Two: The Crackle of Electricity
Jak was dizzy, his vision a blur as the two crimson-armored guards strapped him into the chair, removing his gloves, goggles and the ring against his chest as they restrained him. One faceless guard turned to the Captain. "Sir, should we leave his tunic on? It might impede the absorption process."
The Captain thought for a moment, squinting in thought. "We might as well take it off—this kid might be our last chance."
The guard nodded and drew a knife, slicing open the front of Jak's tunic, then the back and sides, pulling it off in quarters. Jak's immediate thought was that it was a very sharp knife the guard used, and he wondered where he could get one. It would be helpful, he was sure of it, though at that moment he wasn't exactly sure why.
His tunic was taken away and the guards both stepped back. Green flared at the base of the chair and it was the light that brought Jak back to himself; the chair legs were set into indentations on the ground, he realized, through which circulated green eco. It ran up fine wood wiring—he had never seen wooden wire before, but that was what the designs on the metal chair were—and channeled into the soles of his feet, his palms, and his back where it pressed against the chair. Why were they pumping him full of green eco if—
They were going to shower him in dark eco. The green eco was constantly circulating through him to keep him alive. He wished fleetingly that he hadn't gleaned so much knowledge of eco from Samos, at least that way he could be horrified without the knowledge of exactly why all these things were being done.
"Bring it down."
That was the Captain. Jak's head shot up to face the man just as the massive glass cylinder he had seen earlier came down over him, cutting him off from the tattooed man and his guards. He heard a hiss as hydraulics set to work bringing up a rubber seal on either side of the glass, making sure that not a particle of the horrid black liquid could leach out. Another hiss, more distant, signaled that the same had happened above.
Machinery began to hum, and the familiar sound of liquid running through pipes—a sound Jak had only ever heard in conjunction with irrigation—reached the youth's pointed ears. He ground his teeth and clenched his eyes shut as the sound grew louder, drawing nearer and nearer, and at last progressed into a singing hiss as it began to rain.
The green eco around him flared as the black eco hit; he threw his head back, eyes wide and frenzied, mouth open wide and breath heaving in near-silence as the liquid flowed over his bare skin. It burned and froze and tasted like electricity and death and light, smelled like blood and destruction and power, oh the power—but no, the green doused the black and the pain and power faded, only for the sensation to return almost instantly. Burn—freeze—light—death—blood—power. The power sent a shudder through the youth, bringing all his senses to a level of clarity he had never felt before, but in an instant they dulled once more as the green eco went to work. Then it was back, so great and so terrible it brought tears to his eyes and tore a silent scream from his throat.
He didn't see it, but the Captain smiled as he watched.
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When Jak came to he found himself laying down, and realized instantly that he was not alone. Voices that were vaguely familiar but not quite within his ability to place reached his ears, barely audible over the ringing in his skull.
"All that and nothing?" A gruff voice, worn and aged, ragged.
"Nothing, sir." This one was higher, smoother, more recent in the youth's memory. "No changes, no severely adverse side effects—he didn't even make a sound through the entire treatment!"
Jak opened one eye and tilted his head to the side, realizing suddenly that he was strapped to a table. He winced at the metal in contact with his skin—he knew it should have simply felt cold, the bands were molded to have no sharp edges, but the contact was painful. He was reminded on the burns he sustained when he stumbled over toward the Fire Canyon in his youth and been scalded by the superheated air; his entire body had been red for weeks, and even the slightest brush against his skin was enough to bring tears of pain to his eyes.
This felt worse.
He ground his teeth and focused on laying completely still; listening intently to the voices. The younger one was the Captain, he was sure of that, and the older one much have been the man who called himself Baron Praxis. Baron—that was interesting. Jak had heard of Barons and the like in stories Samos and his uncle told when he was little, but he was under the impression they only existed in those stories.
This Praxis character, whoever or whatever he was, was frighteningly calm as he leaned over the wounded youth, a slight smirk curling his lips. "Awake?"
Jak remained still, eyes closed, but could hear Praxis' breathing over him, feel the shifts in the air as the Baron moved. A fingernail scraped along Jak's forehead and he ground his teeth in pain, breath ragged as he drew it.
The Baron pulled back and the pain faded slowly, leaving Jak to let out a long –and nearly silent—sigh of relief. Praxis' eye narrowed. "Still quiet. Are you just stubborn, boy?"
Jak looked up at the man and forced a smirk, eyes narrowing in challenge.
Praxis and the youth stared each other down for a long moment, and Jak felt a swell of triumph when the Baron turned away first, facing the Captain. "Run some more tests, do what you have to do. I'll be back to check on him tomorrow."
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To put it bluntly, Jak felt like shit. Not long ago he never would have even thought the word—that was Daxter's job, he was the profane one—but that was the perfect term for how the young elf felt at the exact moment. According to the Captain, who Jak had learned just a week ago was called Erol, he would be changing treatment types soon. The other subjects had started dying off at a faster rate lately, leaving Jak to be Praxis' favorite. He had been limited to the shower for the last several months—how many, he couldn't say—but today he was being moved to a different cell for a new treatment, and it had been only an hour since his last shower.
So, he felt like shit.
His skin didn't burn right after a shower anymore, and he rarely if ever passed out, but it still hurt like he couldn't describe. On occasion, though, he would find himself hoping his next treatment would be soon, if only so he could feel that surge of power again. It was more than a little addictive, and he was beginning to understand what it had done to Gol and Maia, why they had gone to such lengths to control it. To be able to control such power would be enough to make Jak feel like a god and he knew it. He feared the certain insanity that waited for him at the end of this road.
Was this what had happened to Gol? He had grown addicted to the power that dark eco granted him, if only in flashes and fragments, and sought to control it completely, thereby bringing about not only his own destruction, but madness such as the world had never seen?
Jak had begun to wonder if it was an attempt to harness dark eco that had destroyed the Precursors.
The door creaked as it was opened and he lifted his head, reaching up to brush back and errant lock of green and yellow hair. It had grown out considerably since his capture, now long enough to brush his shoulders when he moved and considerably messier than he would have liked. He wished they would at least give him back the strap for his goggles, so he could use it to keep his hair out of his face. Or cut his hair. Or something to make this living hell a little less…annoying. He wasn't by any means expecting them to make him comfortable, but if he ended up with his hair in his face much longer he knew he'd be going insane much quicker.
"So how's the strong silent type doing today?"
Jak glared up at Captain Erol for all he was worth, lips sealed tight.
"We go back some of your tests from the lab today," the man continued, hissing like he always did. "They tell me that your vocal cords are atrophied. How did that happen?"
He shrugged.
Erol tilted his head. "So all this time we've thought you were holding your tongue, playing it tough, when actually you're…" Jak winced in preparation for the word. "You're dumb?"
He hated that word. Loathed it. It wasn't his fault he didn't have a voice, he had nothing to do with it. He had always been like this. There was no reason to use a term that had long ago come to mean stupid to describe his condition. Just because he couldn't talk didn't mean he couldn't speak; Daxter, Keira, Samos and the villagers of Sandover understood him perfectly.
Erol came closer, leaning over the young man and folding his arms over his armored chest. "Looks like I touched on a nerve there. Don't like being called dumb?"
Jak ground his teeth and something flared in his chest, giving a surge of strength he hadn't been expecting and a flare of rage he hadn't known he was holding back. He lunged up from his cot and tackled the Captain. Electricity crackled behind his teeth and purple flared in his eyes, blinding him for an instant as his rage took control.
Then, as suddenly as it had come, the strength was gone and Erol had thrown him off, slamming a knee into his midsection as he rose and turning his foot to kick the youth in face as soon as he hit the floor.
Jak knew there would be bruises, no amount of green eco would be able to heal away bruises created so soon after such severe trauma as a dark eco shower, and didn't want to think about the abrasions that would go with them. If he was forced into another shower with broken skin…
That had happened once; his third treatment. He hadn't woken up for two days after the oily violet-black liquid came in contact with the abrasions. He could only guess it was because of direct contact with his blood or something equally odd, but regardless of why he had been unconscious for so long the thought still made him wince.
Erol glared down at him, running a gloved hand over his cheek. Jak was more than surprised to see not a bruise but claw marks marring his tattooed features. The wounds were sharp and fine, like a wild cat had struck at his face. He brought his hand down and stared at the sticky crimson on his glove for a long moment.
Then, dropping his bloodied hand to his side and baring the smear across his face, he hissed out an order. "Get up and follow me. I have something special for you today."
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