Author's Note: Special thanks go out to my inner for rescuing my story from Erol in this chapter. Really, you don't want to know what Crazy Ginger wanted to do in this one—lucky for me Vin was there!

OOOOOOOO

OOOOOOOO

Four: The Dark Place Inside

It had been a week since Erol last came to see him, and Jak was more than grateful. There was nothing he wanted more than to never seen that disgusting man ever again, never feel his fingers on his face, never have him close enough to smell, so close it made the youth want to retch.

He knew he was past due for a visit from the Captain, though, and dreaded the moment when the man would walk through the door and offer him another reason to be grateful to be a part of this.

"Scream for me. Scream."

Jak shuddered at the memory, a chill seeping into his skin as he wrapped his arms around himself in an attempt to banish the cold. This frozen sensation came from inside, though, deep inside—somewhere Jak never wanted to be again, a place within his spirit where something dark and twisted waited to be let loose. The place he had hidden while Erol taught him to be grateful.

There was something else there, besides his own anger and confusion. Something chaotic and terrible, something that tasted like darkness. He could feel it when he slept and taste it when he breathed, hear it when there was silence and see it when he cried. He reached up to wipe a hand over his eyes, grinding his teeth to fight back the tears; he was a hero, a warrior, he wasn't supposed to cry…

That dark thing within him whispered that all he ever did was cry, that there was nothing he could do to fight back so long as he pretended he was still clean. He hadn't been clean since he came here, since the first of his treatments—as soon as he accepted the fact that he was filthy, that no one would ever want to touch him again once they found out what had been done to him, he would be able to take down both Praxis and Erol.

He hated Erol more than he had ever hated anyone—in fact, Jak felt that this was the first time had ever actually hated at all—but it was because of Praxis' orders that the Captain was in a position of power that allowed him to run mad like he did. If he killed Praxis, then Erol would lose his claim to power and Jak would be free.

The Captain was filthy, a disgusting man who had no right to breathe the same air as even Gol or Maia, but it was Praxis that gave him his power. It was Praxis that allowed him to be a murderer, a torturer…a rapist.

Jak shuddered and fought the urge to gag, focusing his thoughts. Kill Praxis, remove Erol from a position of power. If he could just do those simple things everything would be all right again. Everything would go back to how it had been before.

The door hissed and slid open, and when Jak lifted his head blue eyes met yellow.

Erol grinned, a predatory expression that made Jak want to run away as fast as he could, screaming with all the strength his atrophied vocal cords would allow. "Praxis was starting to ask about why I wasn't visiting you as much as I used to; I'd hate for him to get suspicious." He stepped into the room and Jak realized that he was alone. A week ago he might have taken that fact as an opportunity, but now it made his blood run cold.

The older man shuffled through the papers he held—he always seemed to come in carrying paperwork of some sort—and chewed his bottom lip thoughtfully as he read over the one he had been looking for. "You're seventeen, correct?"

Jak's eyes narrowed, a little confused, and apparently Erol took that as an affirmation.

"Tiny, too. I wonder why you're so short." Erol marked something down on the paper. His tone had changed to one of a man who was strictly business—today Erol was not here for his own enjoyment, and that allowed the youth to relax slightly. "We took your weight last week, that shouldn't have changed…much…" His eyes narrowed. "Although I do wonder where you came from, it isn't really necessary knowledge for this procedure." He chuckled, raking a hand through his fiery-colored hair; Jak realized that the man had apparently opted not to wear his helmet today, and that made him tense. The only other time he had seen him without his helmet was last week, when he—

Jak forced down the memory, determined to block it as much as possible without losing the anger and humiliation it left behind. The intense emotions would be a valuable asset when he finally faced Praxis. He needed this rage to remind him why he was willing to kill another elf, a man untouched by the twisting darkness Gol had toyed with.

"Then again," Erol continued, chuckle trailing off, "we don't really know what is necessary for most of these treatments. Trial and error, you know."

Jak knew, probably better than anyone, how correct that phrase was. For the first time since his initial shower he responded to Erol's words with a short nod, averting his eyes.

OOOOOOOO

Jak blinked at the middle-aged man standing before him, confused in so many ways. Apparently the older man was equally as bewildered, because he turned his goggle-eyed gaze from Jak to Erol, the latter of whom was currently smiling for all he was worth.

"W-What's all this?" the unnamed man inquired, a slight stutter in his voice and twitch to his features. The youth observing him wondered how old he was, and settled on late thirties—certainly not old enough to have those streaks of white and grey through his light brown hair, the lack of lines on his face and the youth in his voice proved that much—but the way he moved made Jak wonder just what this bizarre man had seen in his lifetime.

For some reason, though, Jak was reminded of a sage when he looked at the older man. There was an aura of knowledge, of understanding about him that was all too familiar to the youth. He had a feeling that this bizarre man and Samos would get along wonderfully, and for some reason that made him feel better.

This man, apparently, was yet another of Praxis' workers, just another lackey like Erol, but Jak felt safer looking at this sage-not-sage from over Erol's shoulder than he had since he fell into this bizarre place so long ago. There was something in him that was simply good, and Jak could feel it strongly among the evil all around him.

"This," Erol replied, "is precisely why I needed your assistance."

The sage shook his head, reaching up to pull up his goggles and show ice-blue eyes. "N-N-No, you s-said that it was an experiment. This is a p-prisoner." He gestured at the tunic Jak had been presented, emblazoned with scarlet characters, and the numbered cuffs on his wrists. Then his pale eyes narrowed, confusion flitting over his too-weathered features. "And a young one, t-too. W-What did he d-do?"

Erol shook his head in dismissal at the sage's inquiry. "He's helping the Baron with an experiment." His grin darkened. "A few of them, actually. But we're having some problems." The blue-eyed older man cocked his head to one side and his goggles began to slide back down his forehead. "You see, we know that green eco is the most restorative material on the planet, but we also know that dark eco can mimic those effects at an accelerated rate, if left in contact with green for long enough."

Jak didn't like where this was going, and gave the sage a furtive glance.

The sage, however, gave a simple nod to the Captain. "Y-Yes, that's true. But why a-are you t-t-talking to me about this?"

"Because we were wondering whether it would be possible to…say…jump-start certain parts of the body that weren't working properly using the green-treated dark eco. Any ideas?"

"W-Why do y-you want to know?"

"You sure are asking a lot of questions today," Erol said, his yellow eyes narrowing slightly, grin faltering.

The sage gave a twitch and his mouth worked silently for a moment. "I-I'm just c-curious, Erol. Th-That's all…"

"Like I said, we're doing some studies," the Captain waved one hand, looking at the papers in his hand. "Now I know Precursor technology is your specialty, but seeing as I know you minored in Eco Studies the Baron thought it would be best to consult you about this one."

Jak mentally labeled the man the Sage of Precursor Technology at Erol's words; if this place had sages, he was certain that this strange stuttering man would be one of them. The presence of a person similar to the sages from back home was comforting to the youth.

At least until he remembered that Gol Acheron had been a sage.

The man shook his head slightly. "W-Why not one of the e-e-eco technicians?"

Erol sighed, and Jak wondered where this version of the Captain had come from. He was civil, even decent—so different from the maniac Jak had grown accustomed to. This was a mask, certainly, one of the many Jak had seen him wear. He was a lunatic when alone with Jak, a loyal subject when in the presence of Praxis, and apparently a decent person when speaking with the Technology Sage. Which one, the youth wondered, was the real Erol? In the end, when he was at last removed from his position of power and Praxis was dead, what would be left? "There are no more eco techs," he explained, his tone mildly apologetic. "The Baron did a…personnel cut, remember?"

The older man nodded slowly, wincing slightly, and Jak wondered what exactly was meant by the phrase. Judging by the Technology Sage's reaction it was considerably worse an act than the youth normally associated with such words. Knowing Praxis, a personnel cut meant slicing his workers to pieces and throwing the remains out for the Lurkers.

"I-It should work, I th-think." The sage's eyes narrowed further and the goggles at last slid back into place, though he didn't seem to notice. "The best way to make sure make sure the treatment takes to whatever subject you're working on would be to give it a bit more kick, maybe an infusion of blue eco—not red, that would do more damage in conjunction with dark eco than it does on its own—yellow might work too—the best way to combine the three types would probably be in something similar to a power core on a smaller scale, although a direct injection might work too—" He broke off, quirking an eyebrow. "H-Hey, w-w-why do you need to know?" His stutter had returned with full force, and once again Jak wondered what kind of trauma he had been through. "Y-You aren't actually going t-to try it, are you?"

Erol looked back up from the papers to the professor. "Thank you very much, that's all the information we needed." He turned around, grabbing Jak by the cuff on his right wrist and pulling him along behind as they left the room.

The youth looked over his shoulder and dared to mouth two simple words, words he was incapable of speaking aloud but longed to scream. Help me.

The sage's eyes widened behind his goggles and he took a step back, lowered his head and gave a whisper. "I-I'm sorry," he murmured, just loud enough for Jak to hear. "I can't."

OOOOOOOO

Jak was torn between struggling as the guards strapped him down to the table, fighting back yet again, or simply allowing them to do their jobs and steeling himself for whatever new torture Erol had devised. It had something to do with using dark eco as a healing substance, he knew that much from Erol's conversation with the Technology Sage, but beyond that the youth had no idea what was happening.

He settled on elbowing one guard in the face—mask, rather, though at least these masks were face-like—and letting the other strap him in. A severely dysfunctional medium, of course, but Jak had no other choice. No matter what he did Erol would just beat him and throw him back in his cell—or maybe even a new one, with a new treatment, if he felt angry enough—and Praxis would try to devise some better way of making the youth comply to their demands.

Once he was strapped down completely—and after a hard blow to the skull from the guard he had hit—Erol's men left. The Captain leaned over his prisoner, looking him up and down while his fingers toyed absently with a narrow silver blade. "We have to wait a bit before the fun can start," Erol explained with a smirk. "The Baron said he wanted to be here to watch this one."

Great. If Praxis wanted to watch, then this was sure to be hellish. It might even kill him—the Baron had a habit of complaining that Jak wasn't dead at the end of any intense treatment. Every time he was present for a regimen he would inevitably shout in the boy's ear about how he should at least be dead by now, and every time Jak wished he could have fulfilled the man's expectations.

Jak heard the door slide open, and his stomach lurched when the familiar limping footsteps of Praxis registered in his memory. It was odd, but he had never wondered what had robbed the aging man of his eye—half his face, even—and his ability to walk properly. It had just never crossed Jak's mind to wonder.

Now though, as before every treatment, Jak's mind raced through the inane, random questions and speculations ricocheting around his skull until they formed a none-too-pleasant hum between his ears. Under the hum another voice, another thought whispered, taunted Jak's weakness and flaunted its own strength. It whispered of the tortures he had already suffered, kindled a rage within him that burned his insides until he wanted to scream.

He clenched his hands into fists, grinding his teeth, but the whisper only strengthened. It told him of Sandover, of the terror he had unleashed when he activated that massive Precursor Ring. It told him what those shimmering black creatures did to the villagers, one by one; how they crawled through the Fire Canyon and tasted the people of Rock Village with their claws and their smiles…

"I see you're still alive."

Jak had never been grateful for Praxis' presence before, but as he opened his blue eyes ands stared dazedly up at the Baron he wanted to smile in gratitude. Praxis had spoken, and words from the outside silenced—or at least dulled—the whispering inside.

The Baron turned and looked at the Captain. "Mind explaining to me what good this will do our project?"

Erol's grin turned smug, eyes half-lidded as he spoke. "What good is a warrior that can't shout orders? Or better yet," he lifted the slender knife again, the light catching on the short blade, "what good is a monster that can't growl?" He handed Praxis the knife. "Intimidation is nine-tenths of the battle, Baron Praxis. Without that this is pointless."

The older man looked down at the knife and his eye narrowed slightly. "This is all starting to feel pointless."

"You'll see, Baron. Just give us some more time," he gave a bow of his head. "After this we can change to another treatment method."

Praxis sighed and nodded, turning back to Jak. "Are we going to put him under first?"

Erol smiled. "He'll pass out eventually, it doesn't really matter."

The Baron nodded again, leaning closer to the youth. "So, little boy, ready to scream?"

OOOOOOOO

OOOOOOOO