This has not been beta'd yet (Jak fandom where did you goooo) and will be prone to frequent edits; same with the first chapter. If you read the first chapter already, I would suggest going over it again; I've changed or added a few things.
"But who knows what she spoke to the darkness, alone, in the bitter watches of the night, when all her life seemed shrinking, and the walls of her bower closing in about her, a hutch to trammel some wild thing in?" — Gandalf on Eowyn, The Lord of the Rings
11
It's been a long time since she was taken in the transport (she doesn't know why she was being moved, possibly something to do with Nusair; she'd smelled him on her clothes when she woke up) and she's starting to think that Daxter's voice was a hallucination.
Jak has given this extensive thought before; the likelihood of a two-foot-tall mustelid surviving, on her own, for however long she'd been stuck here, seems hard to believe. (She hadn't a clue exactly how long it was, but her hair had grown back in, down to her shoulders; she knew, after that disastrous first time, that her bleeding came on the moon's cycle, but it came twice more, then stopped, for an unknown reason.)
Dax was hardy, but she could be cleverer than the Precursors themselves and she'd still look like an animal, not a person. Jak shudders to think of it, but there was a good chance that, had she been caught by someone with the right interests, Daxter could have been caged and experimented on, too.
They've been best friends since they were tiny, and when Dax got catapulted out of that Dark Eco vat three feet shorter it changed both of their lives... surprisingly little. But Jak has felt at least a little guilty protectiveness anyways. Daxter could be hurt so easily- she'd never been wonderfully competent, tripping over her own feet, but at least if a Lurker came straight for her she could hit it with a branch, or something. But after she became an Ottsel, they both knew she would always need her big blonde best friend to protect her. Without Jak's shoulder to stand on, there were so many things that could go wrong.
That, by now, probably had.
Her conviction that her best friend is dead or near to is most of the reason Jak is ready to die. She's made her peace, she's done. Nothing to care about anymore. A flame of hope is a fragile thing, and once snuffed, the darkness seems all the more suffocating.
Her body won't cooperate, though, determined to survive; keeps plodding on even when all she wants is peace.
She's been reduced to taunting the guards or Erol, trying to anger them enough to hit her, but they don't react; Erol looks at the cameras often, glancing out of the corners of his eyes. He still looks at her with want, but he hasn't touched her in what feels like a long time.
The project is on its last legs; she's either going to be sent into the field on a suicide mission, or summarily executed. Either way, she's done for, but the decision is on a knife's edge, and no one involved wants to risk the Baron's wrath with another failure. The doctors are edgy, slowly decreasing in number.
The night before the Baron's final trial, the little green light in the corner of the cell blinks out. The camera has turned off.
Erol is in the room within seconds, his eyes on fire and his smile very sharp.
12
They have evidently hit the highest level the machine can go to, and she's still conscious this time. Twitching, yes, unable to move of her own accord, yes, but conscious. She can hear what's going on above her; it's blurry-sounding, and her brain is struggling to keep up, but she knows the gist of it.
The Baron wants her dead or useful; Erol wants her alive, but can't argue outright because the Baron is mad as a box of frogs. They're playing the same tug-of-war they have for months, the one where both sides lose.
Her hair is grabbed, her head shaken; if she could move, she'd bite their hand off. Bastards, the both of them. There's not much point in staying awake, really. Erol wants to keep her, has promised her countless times that whatever Praxis decides, she'll end up as Erol's property. He's either going to connive his way into being her field handler, or fake her execution and squirrel her away, somewhere dark and hopeless. She's heard it all before. The chair is cold against her back and she wants to die.
Sliding into half-pleasant grayness, Jak doesn't realize she's been left alone. No guards. No doctors.
One by one, the camera lights in the walls go dark.
13
A solid weight lands on her chest; she coughs. She wants to go back to sleep; her eyes flutter and roll. Nothing matters. She's done. There's a sharp impact on her diaphragm that knocks the air from her lungs.
"...An' it turns out you been in one a' the most heavily guarded places in the city? I risked my tail for you, girl, and I don't even get a thank-you? Jak, wake up! I found you, it's me! Say something- please, for once!"
She'll say something all right. Bolts upright- as far upright as the chair will let her, at least- bares her teeth, and snarls. She doesn't care what she says- "I'm going to kill those motherfuckers" comes to mind- but the small furry thing flies off her chest.
The aggression she's suddenly forced through her system turns out to have been too much right after a treatment, and Jak fades as she lets her monster take over.
It is very aware of what It's doing. There's something small in front of It, and It hasn't eaten in a long while.
It advances slowly, savouring the fear on the little one's face- Its claws ready for skinning the beast-
And stops.
There's a smell. A miniscule impulse making the lizard-brain light up with sense-memory. A smell of comfort, of companionship. The closest thing Its mind can come to understanding is mate? but even that's not quite it, the little thing is just... There. Safe, home, nothing to kill, content. The memories feel right.
It, reluctantly, fades.
She comes back to herself disoriented, the world spinning. The broken remnants of the restraints are on the floor, and she's loose. Nothing makes sense, it feels like her entire idea of the place she's been stuck in has been toppled. Like her feet have been kicked out from underneath her. She's torn between hysterical laughter and collapsing in tears; Daxter's alive, she's okay, her best friend came to rescue her.
Two years, she'd said.
Was that all?
14
Daxter is more resourceful than Jak gave her credit for; she brought clothes. Jak tries not to think of how sick Dax looks when she glances at the prison jumpsuit- obviously she brought them because of how much easier it will be to escape if she doesn't look like she's supposed to be in a cell. She shucks the uniform without a care in the world (body shyness having been beaten out of her somewhere in the stretch of time she spent denied clothes by the doctors) and dons the garments that Dax had... procured.
The shirt and pants fit perfectly, the ring and its harness feel as familiar as anything's felt since she got here. Her goggles are her own; they smell like Sandover, like the ocean and the trees. She can only wonder at how Dax found them. The shirt's even bright blue; leave it to Daxter to remember her favorite color even in dire situations.
Jak pretends that wearing normal clothes doesn't feel strange at all. She sets off at a run.
15
By now she knows the halls she's traveled by heart, and the ones she hasn't by smell. Daxter guides her sometimes, and others she just instinctively turns, drawn by the smell of moving air. Climbing is easy, muscles sore but eager for movement, and fighting is downright joyful.
The guards are in an uproar. An alert has gone out, and they're trickling in, but she can smell the panic on them. They know exactly how dangerous she is. She knocks them down as they come near, and one by one, they stay down. Bullets- she senses them around her, but she moves fast and none of them can aim. Luck is not on the side of the Guard.
A few necks are snapped in the chaos. Daxter flinches at the sound of it, and it will give Jak pause, later, when she thinks of how much she's changed in two years.
But for now, finding her freedom is all that matters. She's almost high with it; no one tells her where to go, or what to do, or how to fight. She just does, acts without an order or a plan. It's wonderful. She can get out; and she'll take on the world if she has to, but she will get her revenge.
16
Fresh air is wonderful.
Outdoors is blinding.
Her eyes stinging, she stands in the doorway for a moment, forgetting how much danger she is in while she marvels at how open everything is. The sky is cloudy, but huge. The air, on second thought, is not that fresh, but there's wind, and space, and sky, clouds, light that doesn't come from a degenerate, flickering eco-bulb.
Jak steps off into the shadows, trying to recover herself. Rubs at her eyes. She can smell people- lots of them- and grimy water, and oil. Thousands of crossing trails. It's so visceral that it feels like a whole new sense; she tries to ignore it until it's needed.
Pushing herself off the wall, she tries to move with purpose. No one makes eye contact with her. Daxter chatters in her ear, the joking easy to treat as soothing background noise. She holds her head up high, barely noticing the scowl on her face. There isn't much to see on the ground. Walls, streets, signs. A few passers-by; an old man, with a child and a dog. How sweet.
She looks up, wondering at the sheer number of zoomers in the sky; Keiran would be fascinated. They spew a ghastly-smelling smoke into the surrounding air, a cloud of it descending onto the street.
The man grabs at her sleeve, and she turns on him; without giving him a chance to react, she backs him up, being as intimidating as possible.
"You look smart." She says, coolly, "Tell me where I am, and I won't break your neck." He looks alarmed, but not outright frightened.
Daxter jumps off her shoulder, making smart remarks to the toddler. She tunes her friend out.
The old man seems to have a dark sense of humor, sarcasm evident in his "praise" of the Baron. Luckily; if his irony wasn't as obvious she might have flown into a rage. She doesn't need to lose control right now.
Or maybe she does; guards are closing in. They've found her. She snarls; they won't take her, not without the fight of their lives.
"Protect us, and I can introduce you to someone who can help!" The old man ushers the little girl close to him, getting behind Jak. Dax jumps back on her shoulder, sensing trouble.
She smiles. Now that, she can do.
17
This time, the transformation is painful.
She could feel her nails growing, sharpening into claws; her teeth becoming angular and serrated; there was even a filmy, disgusting feeling that slid over her eyes as they turned pitch black. Never before had she been conscious during that, It always having seized control of her mind before anything else. She shudders. Her arms go around her middle; she feels nauseous.
Daxter, oblivious, says, "Jak! How did you do that? That was so cool!", and if Jak didn't feel like her arms being tucked around her stomach was the only thing keeping her upright, she'd smack that little wise-ass.
But it's Daxter, so she just gives her friend a sidelong glance as she manages to grind out, "I don't know what they did to me, but it wasn't good. Something in me is changing." The ottsel glances over her, sensing her distress; she seems to realize that this isn't a joke, it isn't a neat new trick. She scampers back up to the shoulder-plate, her closeness reassuring and her scent helping to keep the monster at bay.
"Thank you for your help." Jak pulls herself out of her thoughts, turning to face wizened old Kor and the little girl next to him. "I cannot begin to explain the service you have done; this child is incredibly important." The toddler gives Jak a shy smile, waving clumsily.
"Hey, old guy, you gonna skimp on us? We were promised information, now cough it up!" Daxter, of course, spoke Jak's mind without a second's pause. Having her best friend back is a blessing.
"All right, voices down!" Kor speaks in a raspy whisper; following his lead, the green-haired girl puts a finger to her lips in a shush! motion. "There is a rebel movement called the Underground; its leader is called the Shadow, and he could use someone like you. In the Slums, there is a dead-end alley near the city wall. Ask for Torn; he can help."
He rushes off. The child claps her hands to catch the dog's attention, and they follow at a run.
Jak turns around, looking at the fast-moving passers-by. They haven't even noticed anything.
"So... Where're we going?"
18
Precursors bless Daxter's amazing sense of direction.
She directs them around the city, and Jak gets them there. She sticks to the shadows, freezing on reflex whenever the Guard passes; Dax tells her to get a move on, and it helps her concentrate on where she is. The city is lit up for the night, the lights of the buildings turning the cloud-cover a dark blue, but the brightness is unfamiliar to one used to either torches or starlight. Jak constantly feels like someone is watching her, but they aren't; no one so much as glances at them.
Eventually they find the alleyway Kor spoke of, by stumbling in mostly on accident. The blonde woman approaches rapidly with an intimidating glare, and a man backs her up; he's dressed in a modified Guard uniform, with Guard command tattoos, but something in his demeanor doesn't put Jak on immediate defensive, not like the others do.
Knocked a little off balance- he's too close, back up backupbackup don't let him touch you- Jak regains her footing, looking him straight in the eyes when she says she's looking for the Shadow.
So this is Torn.
What an asshole.
She's supposed to take down some stupid flag for entry into their little treehouse club. Because evidently the Underground movement can afford to be choosy. The knife in his hand doesn't frighten her, the twirling he does is clearly an act; he's trying to put her off, trying to scare her into going home.
But home is worlds away.
Ruined Tower it is, then.
19
Out in the ruins, the air is buzzing. In the city, it feels flat and lifeless, but out here it smells of eco-pollution and mutated... creatures. The whole atmosphere is defensive and wild, whispers sliding through empty spaces- get out, out, ours, not yours, don't touch, will bite . But it's nice to feel dirt under her boots, something with give, something organic. As organic as things get, in Haven.
The stones of the old tower are rotting, dust falling like snow everywhere they turn. Daxter jumps when they get pelted with sand from above, wondering aloud if there's something big tramping around above them.
Jak is more at home than she's been in ages. Climbing old rock, scaling cliffsides, avoiding monsters- these were things she grew up with. No matter where they happen, she's an adventurer born and raised. Her eyes light up at the prospect of something large and mean to fight, and while Dax crouches lower onto her shoulder with every stone that comes undone beneath her feet, Jak feels like laughing. She breathes deep, runs fast, jumps high. She's unstoppable, in this moment.
They reach the banner, towards the top; it's red, ripped to shreds by the wind, and the design on it is all too familiar. Jak tears the pole out of the ground with as much vehemence as she can muster.
Unfortunately, she seems to have been a little enthusiastic with her efforts. The dislodging of the pole is as much excuse as the tower needs to finally give up on holding itself in the sky, and the floor drops from underneath them.
Jak rolls, curls around the flag, holding herself very still. There was an awning, she remembered it- yes, underneath the very spot they'd fallen from. She's bounced back into the air, and angles herself for a cable. By some miracle, Daxter grabs a hold of her again, screaming all the while.
Holding tight to the flagpole, she balances carefully- too much either way and she'll fall, snap her neck, game over- and as she reaches the cord's tether, she jumps, turning a flip in midair.
With a ten-point landing, she plants herself back in the sandy dirt- right in front of a very impressed Torn. He looks the both of them over with wide eyes, and nods in approval.
"How long have you been here?" Jak surprises herself with the harshness of her voice. She wasn't expecting him to be there, watching, didn't know he was looking at her, she didn't realize, didn't check her surroundings- she swallows down a sudden nausea.
Torn takes a long look at her, measuring her up and down. He doesn't regard her like Erol did, all want and wandering eyes; just clinical, is she useful, can she fight. It's easier to think of it that way. The memories surge at her, battering at her defenses, and she locks down tight.
"Long enough to see you're pretty impressive. You gotta problem?"
"Yeah." She's snapping, almost growling, because anger will get him to leave her alone. "I don't appreciate being stared at."
His expression changes. Jak realizes, too late, that she's given herself away. He's looking at her now, not as a soldier, but as a... a child. He knows she's been hurt; he may not know how, but he knows she has been. There is some measure of compassion to the look he's giving her, but Jak refuses to let herself see it. She won't be that pitiful girl he takes in because he feels bad for her. He doesn't owe her anything, he doesn't know anything about her.
He nods at her. He turns to go, turns back. Rubs the bridge of his nose like he's getting a migrane. "Kid- you got a place to stay?"
"No." It isn't anything but a statement of fact. Show no emotion.
"Underground barracks back at HQ are open to you, then. Find a bunk, shower off, don't let anybody push you around. Stay out of my way. You'll be fine."
"I will be."
She won't allow herself to believe anything else. She can survive.
20
They part ways with Torn without a word, just run off into the city and get lost in the crowds that are coming out as the sun rises. Daxter keeps a running commentary on the people they pass, and instead of tuning her out, Jak listens; the ottsel gets a few precious smiles out of her best friend, even.
She's not hungry, she's not tired, she just... is. Her goal is revenge against the Baron (and Erol, but she feels like if she says his name out loud he'll appear, like the faery legends that the older boys in the village used to scare them with) but there's no way to get to him right now; the best bet she has is the Underground.
And she can't face that at the moment.
She exposed herself, unwittingly. She won't let that happen again.
They spend a few hours together, Jak shaking off the humiliation of being seen as damaged, Daxter trying to re-learn her best friend. They function as a unit again, Daxter interspersing her humorous monologues with directions and advice. Jak starts eyeing the zoomers speculatively, wondering if she could drive one without it blowing up underneath her.
(Or having an unfortunate attack of sentimentality; the A-Grav was Keiran's heart and soul, but Jak had always been the driver, and the shaky little zoomer had almost been a friend to her, a very faithful mount. She didn't know if she could stomach replacing it with one of these sleek, heartless things.)
The sun rises in the sky, slowly, the bright light glinting off metal buildings as they explore the city. Faded colors come out on displays, people setting up roadside stands or opening their houses to the rare sunlight.
Eventually, childish pride gives way, and under the slanting light of the late morning sun they trudge back to the Underground to see how they can be useful.
.
Chapter two done. I have three done as well, I just need to clean it up (a lot).
I feel as if I should justify Torn's characterization here; he's not as openly hostile to girl!Jak as he is to canon Jak, mostly because, well, he gets a lot of arrogant, fucked up teenage boys looking for a fight, whereas if the Underground gets young female applicants, it's mostly because they've got something to escape from at home. He has enough experience with each that he uses different approaches- he has probably gotten too close too fast to some poor girl, and gotten a punch to the nose for it. He'll get closer to his canon attitudes as she survives and becomes his favourite thing to throw at a problem.
Also, just as a side note on something I couldn't fit into the story; Ashelin ends up avidly convinced that Torn is attracted to girl!Jak, but he resolutely isn't. She's all straight lines, dammit, and she looks like Tess when she was about twelve. He mostly wants to smack her upside the head and give her a stiff drink; he sees her as just another soldier. Ashelin will never believe him about this.
All my love to long ago,
S.S.o.D.
