Daxter sighed. Dead Precursor Gods, he was tired. And sore. Holy damn, was he sore after getting tossed around like a ragdoll. It was a good thing dark eco was magnetic. In Dark Mode, his paws became practically glued to Jak, the active eco in both bodies drawn so strongly to the other's it was all but impossible to separate once they were close. Between that and his considerable experience with riding on Jak's shoulder plate, there wasn't much worry about getting flung off in the midst of a fast paced action sequence.

That didn't save him as much pain as one would think.

He sighed again and turned his head so that his ear was pressed to Jak's steady heartbeat. The doctors had had a fit about letting him stay, but a few well placed bites had managed to convince the right people that it was better to let him stay with the blond than to force him out. Not that there was much comfort to be taken in winning that particular battle. Hearing that heartbeat was both a relief and nerve-wrecking; being reassured because it was still pumping away, yet ever anxious to hear the next pulse. As long as the heart continued to rhythmically thump, Jak was still alive, regardless of where the rest of him might be.

Ten men and an ottsel had walked into a seemingly benign alley. Ten minutes later, four men walked back out, dragging an unconscious fifth with a spazzing orange rat attached to him. A couple of hours later, one of the remaining men had succumbed to his injuries and died. Both Terran and his lieutenant, a man called Fenris, were alive and conscious, but hardly all right. Fenris had been badly mauled, losing a leg, a hand, and part of his mind. Terran only came out slightly better—his face now carried an ugly set of scars that had partially blinded him and he'd be in the hospital for months for eco treatments since every cure seemed to lead to some other problem. Jak was the only one still in one piece and healthy, if being comatose could be overlooked. No one knew what happened to the remaining man—he had disappeared all together.

The entire industrial section had been locked down, from slums to port, save a small section leading to and around the Power Station. Even that was restricted to only essential personnel, which was basically Vin and a handful of escorts. That was kind of funny in Daxter's opinion. The Power Station had to be one of the safest places in the city right now, though if anyone deserved that extra safety, it was Vin. That man had been through enough already. Not that he and Jak hadn't been through just as much, if not more, their circumstances were just a bit different.

A lot different, starting with the fact that because he was currently covered in fuzz meant no one had to listen to him. It didn't seem to matter that he'd been through the whole ordeal as well, that he was still in a position to tell the tale. Torn, Ashelin, and Samos had argued right over the top of his head like he wasn't even there. The only one who had listened had been Vin, and Daxter had a feeling that was more polite courtesy than an attempt to understand what was going on. Yes, the whole thing was a bit much to swallow all at once and yeah, he had a reputation for embellishment, but it was his best friend lying on the damn hospital bed, one missed heartbeat away from never making it back to the waking world. He had a stake in this, too. He might not be able to tell anyone the why or the how, but he definitely knew what was different.

Like the fact that ten people had been pulled over at once. That had never happened before; never that many and never in a single go. Even if one person within the group had felt the draw of the Otherworld, it should have been a flash occurrence. Everyone looks away for less than a second, and then, "Where's Bob?" A blink, and then you're somewhere worse than hell because there's something corrupted and decayed inside you. And being able to watch the world unravel took a special set of circumstances and the right type of person. He should know—he was one of them.

To make things even worse was the fact that those Ravagers, the grotesque mutant crocadogs from the attack, had been waiting for them. The things had been organized into an attack pattern that had almost cut off all escape, which was wrong on so many levels he almost couldn't count them all. They were dumb animals, manifestations of monstrous fear and therefore were limited in their functions and instincts. Hungry and violent was about as complicated as they got. Most of the inhabitants were like that, driven solely by whatever had spawned them, and those who were sentient enough to want and think about other things weren't exactly free to just roam around, hatching schemes or planning ambushes. Dark was the only free entity with a mind of his own that Daxter knew of.

That was a wonderful though to carry alone. Hell had spawned a new demon—that Shadow most likely—and it had already bested the fiercest warrior, rather soundly all things considered.

Except that was weird, too, because Jak was still alive. The blow that had dropped him could have been fatal. Should have been, in fact, if this thing was as interested in corpses as it had appeared to be. But it had fled after Jak had hit the ground, folding in on itself until nothing remained. Terran had been the one to drag them back through the torn boundary, which had healed itself after they were through. Jak had slowly reverted back from there to what was considered normal; blond hair, tanned skin, and a distinct lack of extra pointies. Aside from being unconscious, he was perfectly fine.

For now remained a constant looming threat. Not for the first time, Daxter cursed being stuck on one side…

…though he had crossed over before. Not pulled as the squadron had, as most were, but a willful, intentional, complete transference from Here to There. He shuddered at the mere thought even as the half-baked idea took shape. He really was the only one who could do something. He had the experience and an inkling of what was right or wrong with things. He cared about the outcome, because really, it was only a matter of time for Jak. He couldn't just leave it to someone else. Not when even Keira wasn't willing to look past their aberrations.

"Can't be any worse than bustin' yer ass outta prison, right?" His voice shook as he looked at his friend's peaceful face, the bravado falling flat. He uncurled, sitting up so he could really look. The innocence that torture had stripped away was gone forever, but this was pretty damn close. All the angry lines had softened. Hardened features were more relaxed than they had been in a long time. No nightmares, no more struggling and enduring and pretending to be something he wasn't. Even if it was a false peace, wasn't that better than nothing?

He could almost see the disapproving look in his mind, making him chuckle weakly. "Never the easy way with you, huh, pal?" Daxter stood and poked Jak's nose. "Then listen up good, 'cuz this job comes with prerequisites. I don't give a damn 'bout whatever ya use to keep yer moral compass in-line. You use every dirty, low-down, absolute asshole move you hafta to keep yerself alive. You hear me? If I'm gonna fry my ass tryin' to save yers, then ya damn well better make it worth my while." He leaned down, pressing their foreheads together. "Don't you dare leave me behind again, ya jerk, an' I'll make sure it's not two years before ya see the sun again."

He hesitated, half waiting for an answer that would never come, half hoping some astronomical twist of fate would wake his friend without having to go through any of it. As usual, fate hated him and refused to give him an easy out. So he brushed some hair back from his friend's face, set his jaw, and turned away.

Without trying to think of anything other than moving from point A to point B without running into a lot of people, Daxter ran out into the night. If he kept moving, then he couldn't talk himself out of this, or feel guilty about leaving Jak behind again. But it wasn't until he was well outside the hospital and nearly lost in the streets again that he realized he needed to think a bit more than that. To pull this stunt off, he'd need dark eco, a thin boundary, and lots of power behind it all so that he could force his way through. In all of Haven, there was really only one place that fulfilled all three requirements.

"Vin's gonna hate me…" he groaned even as he set off for the Power Station.

x-x-x

To his credit, Vin didn't pass out when Daxter told the eco engineer what he wanted. He'd been excited, horrified, manic, and physically ill twice, but never once did he actively pass out or even try to back away from the task handed to him. The ottsel sat in an out of the way place and watched Vin's machine take shape without trying to let the nervous mutterings or bad memories get to him. Even though he'd been purposefully vague with details, the contraption looked exactly as he remembered, give or take a few things. The sterile gray metal wasn't much more relaxing than the copper of Precursor metal, and there wasn't anything to be strapped to, but the repurposed machinery was still terrifying to behold.

"Okay," Vin finally said. "I've added some extra capacitors to keep it stable and created a continuous feedback loop to stabilize the inherent power fluctuations, but… are you sure about this? I mean, the most common reaction to a direct eco feed is—"

"I know, Vin," Daxter interrupted. "Don't give the universe any new ideas on how to screw me over." He took an unsteady breath. "So, which button do I press?"

"This one." Vin pointed to the panel and the big, shiny red button there. "The system has about a ten second delay for charge building, but once the spark ignites, it'll run at full capacity immediately." He paused, fidgeting. "Um… You're my friend, so I have to tell you that the chances of this succeeding are—"

"It either works, or I'm dead a long time. I know." Daxter tried to smile. "It'll work."

Vin didn't look convinced. "At least tell me how you knew how to build this. I've been sifting through the data files for months and found nothing but scraps about the Dark Warrior program."

"Let's just say Jak ain't the only one who survived."

"But no one did—"

"Let it go, buddy." Daxter gave him a level look. "I know there's a madboy spark in ya that's dyin' to figure it all out, but this thing," he jerked a thumb to the machine, "is worse than a thousand slobberin' Metalheads. You keep yer promise an' destroy it after this is done."

"Cross my heart and hope to die."

"Let's keep death outta this, shall we?" He jumped up onto the panels. "Thanks, Vin. Yer a great guy."

"If I was so great," the engineer responded, "then I wouldn't let you do this."

"Yeah ya would, 'cuz we both know this is how it's gotta play out." He patted Vin's shoulder. "Now do me one last favor."

"Anything."

"Take a walk. Go have lunch with Tess, then take a nap or somethin'. If nothin's blown up by then, it's safe to come back."

He was stared at for a moment. "You seriously want me to just leave? Now?"

"What happens next is gonna be horrific enough without an audience. I'm not gonna ask you to carry all that around, too."

"So it's okay for me to build this thing and let you kill yourself with it, but it's too much to watch?"

"Yes." The blunt answer seemed to startle the man. "'Remember people for who they were for the whole of their lives, not how they look at the end.' Don't tell him, but that's the best advice Ol' Greenie ever gave."

Vin looked at him quietly for a long moment. "Okay," he finally said softly. "Good luck."

Daxter watched him walk away, half turning a couple of times as if to say something before continuing on again. The doors slid open and he could hear Vin explain to his escort that he needed a break. The doors closed to retreating footsteps. He didn't give himself a moment to reconsider. His foot slammed down on the indicated button and jumped to the floor, scrabbling to get to the designated spot. The approximate ten seconds was more like five before the eco feed started. Then all hesitation was wiped away by pain.

There was no trying to bear it. Daxter just screamed as the dark eco was forced into his system. Screamed until he was beyond hoarse, until his throat turned bloody and torn, one more pain in a maelstrom of others consuming his attention until there was nothing else but the agony. Sharp, endless agony… And then, the break—a part of his mind stepped back, keeping him safe from madness, but only barely. He curled into himself in an effort to keep as far from the pain as possible since there was no other defense. Tighter and deeper into himself until he felt some invisible wall break. Then he was falling…falling…

…until he slammed into something that had absolutely no give. He tried to cry out as more pain flooded into his system only to have it come out as a croaking cough, only there wasn't enough air in his lungs and he couldn't breathe in. He struggled against panic, pushing and fighting himself as much as he was the immoveable object he'd crashed into. Finally, he managed to twist, releasing the pressure crushing his chest, at last drawing a ragged breath. He coughed and wheezed, throat protesting the continued abuse as his lungs threatened to seize once more. Even though the thick taste of blood was enough to make his stomach heave, he found the whole of his attention consumed by trying to draw another breath. It became the entirety of his existence.

How long he laid there in onset shock, Daxter didn't have a clue. Hours, days, or mere seconds…in the long-term scheme of things, it probably didn't matter much. He drifted through consciousness without really being aware until something wailed loudly and much too close for comfort. He jerked upright on high alert only to collapse back down, head throbbing and stomach promising rebellion. Several deep breaths got him steady again and this time, he went a little slower, opening his eyes to take in his surroundings without moving first.

He was lying on his side on a hard, ruined floor amid a bunch of slagged machinery. Wires and savaged metal was everywhere, so messed up and strewn about that their original purpose could no longer be determined. Not far from his position, he noticed that there was a symbol on the floor, partially covered in rust. It looked something like a broken triangle, the white space resembling a lightning bolt.

Not rust, his mind instantly amended, but blood. Vin's blood specifically, from when Kor had finally turned out his last ace and destroyed Haven's Shield Wall, allowing the Metalheads to infiltrate unimpeded. Trying to protect the eco grid had nearly killed the (rightfully) paranoid engineer. He and Jak had been on the other side of the city helping Keira when Vin's panicked call came, leaving them stuck between loyalties. They had gotten there as quickly as they could, but the Power Station had been completely wrecked by the time they'd shown up. The only reason they had managed to save Vin's life at all was because they had a spare green eco cube on hand, which gave them enough time to get him to the Hip Hog and relative safety and care before the curtains closed permanently.

That must have been the point when this place had become imprinted on the Otherworld. In those scant seconds when his life had almost ended, blood and fear had made the connection between Here and There. The real world's Power Station had been cleaned up, set to rights and scrubbed from ceiling to basement. Vin had recovered from his injuries as best as one could, and then surprised them all by wanting to go back to work. No one could really tell him no since they needed all the help they could get trying to keep Haven alive. So he'd gone back to the job he knew the best and, surprisingly enough, never looked back. He was still paranoid (not that anyone blamed him for it anymore), and he could still work himself into knots that could make him ill, but that lingering edge of fear had evaporated. He might get scared, but he was no long afraid. That alone ensured that no matter how close one reality sidled up to another, the Power Station wouldn't be used as a front door.

Without much thought, Daxter reached out to touch the mark, only to pull up short. Not because he was afraid to actually touch the stain. Hell, he'd been covered nose to tail in Vin's blood by the time they got to the saloon. Rather, it was because he saw his hand—his human hand—stretching out. No claws, no orange fur. Just pale pink skin under hand wraps and gloves. He sat up, staring in wonder at something he'd resigned himself to never seeing again. After a minute, those hands flew to the top of his head. No ears there, only long red hair that fell further than Jak's, his now very human ears relocated to their rightful spots. No fur on his face, no wet button nose, and oh holy damn, he never thought he'd be so happy about bucked teeth he'd almost cry. Normal arms, legs, minus a tail, and actual feet instead of paws. He wobbled a bit unsteadily on his long legs, wincing as he stepped in something cold and viscous. Wraps weren't going to cut it, it seemed. He'd need to find boots sooner than later, if only so he didn't have to worry about picking nasty things from between his toes. That appeared to be his only clothing requirement, however. Pants, shirt, vest, belt—all the things he hadn't worn since Sandover were there.

The sudden joy at being human again was cut short by a rattling hiss which soon clashed with the eerie wail from before. He immediately looked around for something he could use as a weapon, cursing his stupidity for not trying to bring one with him. Never mind that regaining humanity and therefore needing something to defend himself with had been an after the fact matter, he still swore. He finally spied and pulled free a good length of pipe. Not the best weapon in the world, but better than facing whatever was squabbling outside with nothing. Daxter swung it a couple times to get used to its pull, then carefully picked his way through the Power Station ruins. He squirmed past one of the unhinged doors and looked out cautiously.

The industrial area was a jagged and shattered locale, filled with blackened and burned out buildings as far as the eye could see. When the city had nearly fallen, this part and the factory district had been two of the places hardest hit, in no small thanks to Krew's sellout. It had taken months to get the mess under control and it all could have been ten times worse if Praxis had managed to initiate his final plan to blow up the Precursor Stone. This all was probably only a small part of what that bomb could have done. The broken horizon stretched skeletal fingers toward a crimson sky that was only a few shades from red eco. Thin, smoky clouds were scattered across the vista, circling the monolithic Palace as if it were drawing the vapors in. Peering over deformed spires, a white orb that held some kinship with a sun in the forsaken place hung. Fine gray ash drifted lazily to the ground, never quite settling where it fell. Rather, it swirled ambiently about, flowing along some unseen current that overran the uneven footing.

With all due vigilance, Daxter eased out of the Power Station. Whatever was fighting was now further away, still lost among shadows and the crumbling landscape. Feeling it prudent to not wait around for the victor to come back, he left the dubious safety of the shelter he'd landed in and made tracks in the opposite direction. At least nothing seemed to notice his pounding heart as it tried to hammer its way out of his chest. Still, he kept his ears perked, trying to keep his pace even so that he wasn't a running target or a sitting duck.

He was well away from his starting position when he realized that wandering about without a firm destination in mind might not be the smartest thing he'd ever done. Precursors' only knew what may or may not exist in this world, let alone how to get there. And Jak could be anywhere. No, that wasn't completely true. Dark could only go places Jak had been to. Even though they were almost completely autonomous from one another, and Dark was more free-willed shadow than a secondary personality, their connection through the dark eco limited exactly how far away they could be from each other. Ultimately, that meant there was only a dozen or so places he could go where a strong enough emotional attachment would allow them to stay apart. Assuming, of course, any of the rules they had figured out still applied.

Daxter shook his head and started moving again. He wasn't going to think like that. This place had more than enough pain, fear, hate, misery, and desperation to feed on. There was no way he was going to give it more. The Naughty Ottsel was the closest of those places Jak spent a lot of time in. Even though it was extremely unlikely he'd find his friend there (the bar was his place and Jak just spent a ton of time with him), it was someplace to start. That was worth something, right?

x-x-x