"Don't ever fight with Lisbeth Salander. Her attitude towards the rest of the world is that if someone threatens her with a gun, she'll get a bigger gun." - Steig Larsson, "The Girl Who Played With Fire"
31
Daxter threatens and cajoles her into finding a place to sleep, but as she plants herself in a Havenite's front stoop, she realizes that she still isn't tired. Hallucinating because she hasn't slept in so long, yes; tired, no.
Evidently Praxis wanted a weapon that wouldn't stop until it absolutely had to. And he'd gotten it.
Jak closes her eyes. It does feel good to rest, but she's not sure she can achieve sleep. Even if she does, there are nightmares waiting for her. The slight drizzle drifting over the city mutes the sounds and the smells. Everything gets just a little foggier; she can hear zoomers racing past and groups of people having loud conversations in the apartments above, but the rain falling on metal (or on wood, or cobblestone, or brick, and each one makes a different type of noise) gives her other things to hear; the scents are the same way. The water in the air dims them a little, leaving her room to think.
The light of the city is a pleasant blue-grey, like mist under moonlight. It's cold, but Jak is used to the cold by now, and it's a prettier sight than she's seen in a long while. Daxter fucked off somewhere, telling her to "stay put, dammit, 'cause gettin' another rescue attempt together will take for-frickin'-ever" as she crept away into the rain. Her absence puts Jak ill at ease, but what can she do? Dax knows the city. She'll be fine. They'll be fine.
Concrete steps are cold under her legs. She curls up tighter, pulls her knees to her chest, and leans her head against the wall. Slowly she works up the courage to close her eyes again.
The clothes help. The smells help, and the sounds, and the lights. But part of her still thinks she's going to wake up back in her cell.
There's a whistle from the lowest step. Jak glances down, and sees Daxter, who has returned with stale bread and pieces of fruit.
The ottsel climbs up the stairs, leaving her haul next to Jak's hip as she climbs the hero like a tree to curl around her neck. She yawns.
"Have at it, baby, I munched all I needed to on the way back."
Jak picks up a quarter of an orange, a little dry but clean-smelling, turns to her friend with a raised eyebrow. How'd you get this?
Her friend scowls with her eyes half-shut in a sleepy, "are-you-an-idiot" face. "I was turnin' tricks on the corner. How d'ya think I got it, dumbass? I stole it. They were gonna throw it out anyways, no biggie."
Jak shrugs. Stealing, even to keep from starving, would have been an affront to her two years ago, but she has experience now with the way a body's desperation to stay alive will spit and trample on its host's morals. She bites into the orange- the acidity has her spitting at first, but her tongue remembers the taste of fruit well enough after a moment.
She isn't hungry either. There's only the sensation of something filling; no hunger being satisfied, no joy at having food after going without: like fueling a machine.
Through the weight of food in her stomach, a switch flicks in her brain, realizing that it's (relatively) safe to sleep.
Her head pillowed on the brick wall of the stoop, cleaner and drier and warmer than her body can remember being, Jak watches the rain until she can no longer hold her eyes open.
She does not dream.
32
The first sound Jak hears when she wakes is the unlocking of a door. On instinct alone, she makes it halfway down the road before her mind is fully awake.
The first sound Jak consciously registers is Daxter, swearing loudly not three inches from her ear; the ottsel's claws are neatly stuck into the straps of the harness for her shoulder-plate. Her orange fur is puffed, tail sticking straight out. Jak reaches up and around, detaching her friend's sharp claws from the tough leather as she listens dutifully to Dax's complaining.
"Wouldja give a gal some warning, Jak?! About gave me a heart attack- it was a loud frickin' noise, whatever, who cares?What were you thinking, boltin' like that?" Jak shrugs; she wasn't thinking, which was most of the problem. The street isn't crowded; a few people walking by that evade eye contact, a guard checking around the corner every so often on his patrol.
Jak looks around, trying to figure out where they are. It's still dark out, clouds covering the early-morning sun; she and Dax had crashed in the first dry spot they found. It's a wonder that the guards didn't ambush them. After their little stunt at the Fortress, she would've been caught on camera and had her image circulated throughout the city for easy identification. It isn't as if she's difficult to spot, with neon green-blonde hair and a bright orange mustelid using her as a perch.
Then again, the KG has its grapevine like any other job, and after her massacres at the Fortress (during her escape, in the alley) it would make sense for them not to want to get in her way.
She watches as the Guard on patrol turns the corner, glances down the road, and turns again. He's gone; she relaxes. She's pretty sure she knows where they are.
Now it's just a question of getting back to the Underground.
Jak stares up, walking slowly to the center of the road. Dax asks what she's doing (colorfully), but gets ignored.
She watches the zoomers as they pass by. One, two, three, four; she chooses her target carefully, waiting...
Closer, closer... She crouches, waiting for her prey-
A man in a battered green zoomer passes close overhead. Jak jumps, grabbing a hold of his arm- he shouts, but she's faster and stronger than he is; he doesn't stand a chance. He gets thrown onto the street, and she uses her momentum to swing her leg up over the seat.
Jak hits the throttle, leaning close to the body of the vehicle. She smiles. Daxter's laughter is loud in her ear.
She's getting the hang of this city.
33
Daxter gripes to herself as they leave HQ. "Delivering cargo! We're delivery girls now! Saved the world once. Best fighters for miles around. Fastest racers anybody's ever heard of. And now we're delivery girls. This Krew had better be a hell of a player."
Jak lets her talk, going to inspect the machinery.
The zoomer that waits for her outside the Underground is much nicer than the one she stole to get there. She hops onto the blue-and-yellow machine (what is it with Havenites and painting their vehicles bright colors? A question for another day, perhaps) and revs it, feeling the hum of the engine through the metal. The balance is thrown slightly off by the cargo, but it's nothing she can't handle.
There's a tiny screen on the dash, about the size of her palm, with a small green light on one edge and a red arrow in the center. She supposes that the red arrow is where she is, along with the direction she's facing, while the green dot is where she needs to go. She can do that.
She speeds away, turning hard enough that she nearly rolls them over before she realizes how much more delicate the steering is. Switching hover-zones recklessly, she avoids hitting people and guards (barely). The guards don't even seem to take notice of her, which seems strange, but citizens duck and swerve out of her way.
Still, they're not fast enough. She needs more room.
A ramp leads upwards, to a walkway that zoomers aren't allowed on.
Challenge accepted; Jak leans into the turn, ending up almost upside-down but going up the ramp with great speed, the wind whipping her hair around. Finally, enough space to move. She races across the walkway, causing innocents to throw themselves to the ground so they won't be hurt, and she doesn't care.
Loud noise sizzles through the air, and a beam of heat passes by her head. Jak scowls, moving to the center of the walkway. The KG have evidently gotten their shit together. She keeps moving.
Daxter yells, "Look out!" and suddenly the air is full of light and heat and noise-
They set up a roadblock. How did they know she would be here? Or if they didn't know, who were they waiting for? Questions later, not dying now. Jak speeds up, swerving as much as she dares to keep the shots wild. The walkway continues; as long as it stays in the same direction as the green dot on the map, she'll stay up here instead of down there with the cruisers. She isn't fond of guns when they're aimed at her.
The cruisers follow for a while, but they can't keep up when she's higher than they are; they lose visual and she's in the wind. Some patrolling Guards take notice of her, but they can only get about two shots in before she's out of range.
But eventually she has to get back to the ground; she's run out of walkway.
Jak jumps the zoomer, riding up as far as she can go before she dives to the ground and pushes it to the limit on speed. The cruisers immediately follow, they're right behind her as she races through the city, the run-down slums giving way to sleek, smooth metal and brighter lights. She takes almost no notice, having a grand time leading the KG on a merry chase.
The little red arrow on her map directs her over a large body of water, which would be much prettier if she wasn't being shot at. She'll appreciate natural beauty later. When she's sure it won't be the last thing she ever contemplates. The Guard vehicles seem reluctant to cross water; they slow, losing her trail.
She goes out further, leaving them behind as she gets lost in a line of commuters around the- lake? Pond? Whatever it is, by the time she's circled around a bit, the alarm has been dropped.
Thank the Precursors for the Guard's collective short memory.
Jak drives for a minute longer, trying to figure out the wheres and whys of this part of the city. And when she's ready, she follows the green dot on her map to the Saloon.
She parks the zoomer outside the pub, grabs the package, and heads inside.
34
The pub is very bright. Neon signs line the walls, along with the heads (and more) of animals, and the lights are top-grade. In front of the bar stands a very large man. She has to look up to keep him in sight as she gets closer; he's got to be over a foot taller than she is. He regards her with cool green eyes, disinterested.
Daxter, of course, takes over negotiations of any kind with the ferocity of a Lurker Shark out for blood. She's loud and obnoxious, but the overconfident ineptitude is charming to most, which Dax knows exactly how to manipulate into getting things to run smoothly for them. Though with this crowd it may take some practice.
This isn't cheating Keiran out of his candied monkey-nuts or getting Jak's uncle to let them see his maps. Krew is dangerous. As grossly huge as he is, he does have a power that comes from experience and ruthlessness.
"... and of course, I'd be forced to collect... ah, slowly. Heh heh. The Underground will take anyone with a pulse these days."
He sinks down on his hover-chair, coming to eye-level just to get uncomfortably close; she knows exactly what he means by "collecting", and it raises her hackles.
"An' you, milady? Working for the Underground, eh? I suppose I could offer you...another line of work. Hmm? Less…strenuous." He chuckles.
Krew assumes she's a whore. It is scratching at the back of her brain, the impulse to tear his throat out difficult to ignore.
(blood on hands on the floor warm and slick how dare he gut him see how he likes being taken to pieces flesh coming apart under her claws)
Using all her attention to keep her monster locked down tight, she misses whatever snappy comeback Daxter fires at him, her sarcasm given a cruel edge by real anger. The men in the room couldn't notice, but Jak knows that sound; as hard as Daxter tries not to be seen as an animal, her shifted form does things on instinct. Daxter's growling, low in her throat, and the rumbling sound is a strange sort of comfort.
As Dax bristles on her shoulder, cooking up a rant of epic proportions, Jak tries to cut to the point; she's not good at charming people, but maybe she doesn't have to.
"We did you a favor, now it's your turn. Why is the Baron giving Eco to Metal Heads?"
Nope. It earns her an implied threat on her life (implied with all the delicacy of a hatchet). He snarls in her face, his breath a thing of nightmares, "Questions like that could get a person killed, 'ey!"
Luckily, Krew then seems to switch his viewpoint on her from "whore" to "weapon", which is a step up but still makes the Dark in her screech for his blood, and he tells his hired gun (Sig?) to give her something for delivering the cargo.
Sig comes closer with a dry scowl on his face, looking down at her. His armor makes very little noise as he moves, he's armed and she isn't- she raises her shoulders, arms out, ready to fight-
The tall man offers her a heavy, dense gun, about the length of her arm and buzzing with what feels like Red Eco. She hefts it, surprised, feeling the balance of the weapon.
This is a development; being shot at won't be nearly as worrying if she can shoot back...
She resolves to get over to the gun course as soon as possible.
35
The scatter-gun looks ridiculous in her arms (it's almost thicker around than her waist), but she's starting to get the hang of it. Targets come up; targets blown to pieces. The first few shots had been messy, unsure of where she was aiming. By now she's hitting three targets at once while running, and it's been maybe an hour.
Sig's voice coming up on the communicator made her jump, but despite his intimidating height and profession, he sounded genuine, and very helpful. He walked her through collecting and loading spare ammo, how to aim with both eyes open (she hadn't aimed much without her goggles before) and the importance of cleaning the gun. Daxter had even listened.
She fucks about in the course for a while, shooting cardboard to shreds, listening to the "dings" go off infrequently when her "score" gets above a certain level, as if she cares; Jak's just there for the explosions. Eventually Daxter got bored of watching the gun or the targets, and starts to smart off again. Jak tunes her out, affectionately. (What? It's not like she can listen to every single thing Dax ever says.)
She could get used to this. Her thinned-out hair is tied back with the red scarf and her goggles; she's got sturdy boots, a steady gun, and her best friend on her shoulder. Bring on the world.
36
Sig takes her out with him to the Pumping Station. Jak does like him, even if his size and heavy armor does make her nervous whenever he's behind her. Together they take down a good dozen Metal-Heads, and as she's carefully collecting the gems, he's checking his gun for damage.
When they stop to rest after he bags their third crab-head, he shows her how to take the scatter gun apart, clean it, look it over for anything that could make it faulty. They sit together, guns resting on the sand, as Daxter tells bawdy jokes and sings rude limericks.
Fighting with a gun in hand is something she's still figuring out; sometimes she does it on instinct, clocking a Metal-Head with the butt of the gun as she turns, or pulling it close when she spins. And sometimes...
Sometimes, one of them catches her off-guard, and she tries to punch or shoot or kick all at the same time, managing to do none of them. Sometimes the damn Metal-Head jabs a shock-stick at her that feels remarkably like the KG's, and she goes ass-over-teakettle trying to get away.
The electric prod goes straight into to her ribs, and she shudders all over as it knocks the air from her lungs and the fight from her muscles. Daxter yelps, reminding Jak of why she can't give up; she struggles to her feet, the beach around her spinning out of view, but the thing is standing over her, jaws open wide-
It screams. Bright red light flashes and it falls over.
Sig appears behind it, sweating but smiling; cheerful from a battle well-fought. "Y'all right, baby girl?"
Baby girl: Patronizing, but affectionate. She doesn't protest the nickname, but she's finding breathing a challenge. She makes a whuff sound, her hand curling around her ribs. Daxter, bless her, is already down and probing at it.
"Ah, shit." Sig has lost his happy tone, sounding worried. "Those things hit you wrong, they can do some damage. I got something for it, you need help?"
Jak coughs. Breathes from her stomach and not her chest; it helps alleviate the stinging pain. She forces herself to her feet, staggering along the beach, away from the corpses. Sig digs through the pouch tied around his waist, comes up with a tin and a roll of bandages.
She sits down on the cold sand, leaning back to take the pressure off her chest. Daxter makes some kind of speech to get the bandages and medicine from Sig, but Jak's not paying attention.
Her friend comes back over, awkward on only two legs, carrying both; but Sig stays close, a little bit uncomfortable, but not as bad as it could be if it was someone she didn't know. Sig talks Daxter through how much to put on depending on the size of the burn, and Daxter works the hem of her shirt free from her pants.
Dax lifts up the shirt and- underneath Daxter's lecture on "this is why we listen to the cowardly best friend- to keep from getting ourselves fried"- the noise of Sig's breathing stops.
Jak closes her eyes. She doesn't want to see this. The ointment is cold on her skin, and it numbs the burn (which had hit straight on top of a half-healed bruise, making it feel even worse) before Dax starts to wrap it. The green-yellow bruises up and down her torso are easy to spot (the work of the guards' steel-toed boots) along with various scars, marks, Dark Eco stains, not to mention her jutting ribs. She sighs.
Sig doesn't say much. He doesn't need to.
"You wanna talk about what happened to you, cherry?"
Even Daxter goes quiet. Jak opens her eyes again, stares at the water. "I was an experiment." She offers nothing more; saying even that was harder than pulling out her own front tooth.
It takes a while, but Sig eventually seems to understand that she's not going to continue. "Takin' care of yourself now?"
Daxter grunts, then nods, pulling the bandage a little tighter. "'S my job."
He nods.
They sit quietly through about twenty minutes, until Jak is pretty sure she has her full range of movement back.
And then they move on.
37
Sig says "You did good, rookie" the same way he said "baby girl", condescending in a you're-new-let-me-show-you-the-ropes way rather than the I'm-better-than-you tone that most would use. Coming from him it seems friendly; maybe because despite the spiky armor, bionic eye, and frankly terrifying size, he acts like a teenager. He's a warrior, but young at heart- if not in experience.
Praise from him makes something small and needy in Jak's brain want to stand up taller; the rest of her wants to leave that part bleeding in a ditch. She lessens the intensity of her scowl, nods at him, and walks away. (She absolutely doesn't run.)
She has at least twenty-five Skull Gems; they're smaller than they looked from far away, and were difficult to pry from the Metal Heads' corpses, but she picked up as many as she could. (There's black blood on them all, but it probably doesn't matter.) Daxter mutters to herself as Jak jogs through the Water Slums to find the Oracle.
The tiny hut would be difficult to find if it wasn't for the hum of the relic inside. The door opens automatically (she finds this creepy) and she steps inside. She's rather unsure of what she's supposed to do; does it want her to lay them out? She gets closer to the statue, her feet settling on the ragged rug in the middle of the floor.
There's barely a flash before her vision turns all purple.
Jak is blown upwards from the explosion of Dark Eco, the electric stream pounding through her body. She writhes in the air; only the lack of restraints is keeping her from receding completely into her memories of the chair. She growls, twisting and turning as she feels the change come over her.
The Oracle starts to speak, but she catches, "You do well-" and then her understanding cuts off, words suddenly becoming unimportant to her as she transforms. There's a strange, new energy humming through her body.
No. Its body. Her mind is still there; even if she isn't precisely in control, she knows what she's doing. This is a start.
It wants to know what It can do now. Jak agrees; together they gather the energy in the palm of her hand, the buzzing in her limbs concentrating into a violet glow. It jumps, claws flashing, and throws the tiny energy-cluster to the ground.
A low-scale explosion erupts, a sphere of Dark energy that would kill or stun anything that wasn't her.
Helpful.
It takes over for a moment, Jak losing the thread of her memories, but all It wants to do is jump around the tiny room, leaving claw marks up and down the walls. It notices Daxter to her left, but pays her no attention. Scared rodent hitching a ride. Makes It feel safe. Makes her feel safe, makes the nightmares go away...
Jak experiences a shift not unlike vertigo, wherein she is somehow two people at once for about twenty seconds; a teenage warrior and the weapon she was made into, two sets of eyes viewing things with the same brain; or perhaps two brains interpreting the same information from one pair of eyes.
Feeling twice over- two minds interpreting the pain, one with dread and the other with bestial surprise- the bone-ridges receding into her skull, her teeth shifting and dulling, her eyes clearing out and skin beginning to feel again.
She gets a little dizzy, leaning down and resting her hands on her knees as she breathes in, then out. Even. Calm. Steady. Don't throw up. The candles flicker in the corners of her eyes, their dim light soothing and grounding.
Once she's not about to empty herself of the little she's eaten in the last few days, Jak stands up straight, rubbing at her eyes and shakes her head.
The door opens in front of her and she sets off at a run.
38
She is so tired of Krew's dancing around a subject. High-class criminal her ass, he only likes to hear himself talk.
So when he tells them to go into the Sewers, and Daxter runs her mouth, Jak chimes in as well.
"We get that you want something done. Tell me who or what you want shot and quit bullshitting."
He explains to her what she has to do- destroy sentries, sure, fine- and leers at her as he promises a gun mod, as if he's promising something else.
Jak grips her gun. He already spelled out that he thought she was a whore. If he makes another pass at her he's getting riddled with holes.
Daxter goes off, simultaneously complaining about going into danger and verbally tearing him apart (she's found a way to combine her two favorite pastimes, Precursors help them) until wrapping back around in a grand finale to remind him of the information they were promised. Dax is a master at this stuff.
Jak plants her feet on the rough wooden floor. "We don't do anything for you until you tell us what the Baron gains in trading with the Metal-Heads."
Krew snarls at them, zooming close; Daxter darts behind Jak's leg.
The Metal-Heads need eco; the Baron needs the war. But if this trade has been going on for some time- Jak clenches her teeth.
Why would he go to such drastic measures to create a weapon if the war was a necessity? Was it an act put on to make the people think he was fighting? Was the entire project pointless, two years of her life ground away for absolutely no reason- and if it was, then why would the DWP have been a secret?
Or is Krew lying? Or could his information be false?
Her head hurts. Jak has never been the philosophical type.
She sighs. "Good enough. Give us the coordinates to the sewers entrance and we'll get going."
Krew is still glaring as he hands her the paper with the location printed on it. She doesn't care; what's he going to do, breathe on her?
39
After her difficulties at the Fortress, Jak's learned her lesson; before she starts off for the Sewers; she quietly pilfers some fruit and cheese from a street-vendor and finds a dry, quiet alley to catnap in. It's dusk, the lights of the city just beginning to flicker on, but she breathes in the foggy air and lets her eyes drift closed against the garish neon. She settles herself in against the back wall, old brick flaking against her shirt.
She mutters at Daxter, "Wake me in twenty minutes", but when her friend butts against her neck with an affectionate insult, she can tell it's been more. The dark sky has deepened to a navy-grey, the zoomer traffic has gone very quiet, some of the signs are off. They're up at an hour that no one is normally awake for.
So they find the entrance to the Sewers ("find" is a little vague; they hijack a zoomer and argue constantly about the best way to get there) which turns out to be a ramp leading down to an unsteady lift. The doors open in front of them and she steps through, pulling the scatter gun from its holster. She taps her trigger finger irritably. The elevator is rattling against stone walls and metal girders, dust falling as the wheels move for the first time in weeks.
The lift hits bottom with a loud clang, opening into a dank hallway. The smell is awful- waste and mold, not a good combination- but she's smelled worse
(waste and vomit and blood all overlaid with Dark Eco in sweltering, claustrophobic heat, one tiny drain choking on its load)
and there's not much she can do about it. There are spots flickering along her vision; she shakes her head to clear it, shoots aside the small lizard-creatures that live on the filthy water, and jogs along the path.
The hallway opens out into a half-lit pool- did a pipe break, or is this city just that decrepit?- and she creeps carefully along the wall, on a narrow shelf of metal. Falling in would be unpleasant.
She jumps onto solid metal, relieved to have escaped the open water, and nearly gets shot. The bullets race over her as she drops to the floor. One of them singes her hair, which she isn't thrilled about.
It takes aim again, and she doesn't want to give it a stationary target; she jumps, runs to one side, jumps as far as she can to the other wall. It's difficult to keep her gun steady, but if she can get an opening-
Jak pulls the trigger as she hears the rough click of the turret locking on.
The explosion is wonderfully loud.
Daxter hoots, grinning, and Jak shoulders the gun. Krew underestimated her? Hell, she underestimated herself. This is easier than she thought it would be.
40
A robotic woman's voice has been programmed to congratulate people leaving the Sewers on their ability to survive that clusterfuck. This city has a very morbid sense of humor.
Jak runs outside, gulping the fresh air with relief. They smell awful, but they're not swimming in it anymore. Daxter shakes herself, disgusted by the state of her fur.
"Lookit this! This is ridiculous! If you don't gimme a turn with that new gun a yours, we are gonna have Words, baby. I deserve compensation for this mess."
She snorts. "If I get it. Krew's gonna try to stiff me."
"Yeah, and he's walking a real thin line. I'll bring the popcorn if he tries. Have I mentioned how much the bastard freaks me out? He's the size of a house and he sloshes over the edges of that chair like water outta the bucket when you tried to balance it on your head and he smells. And he makes faces at us." Dax shudders. "I don't know if he wants us in a bed or on a plate and either way he's a creepy fucker."
Jak sighs. "I'll deal with him if I have to, Dax."
"I know that! And those shrively legs, ugh.." She goes on, but Jak lets it become white noise. She dislikes Krew as much as Daxter and it's a relief to have her best friend putting her vague thoughts into words.
So Krew does his best to avoid giving them anything, but there's still something to be found in the Port. To anyone else, it might be scrap, but they work with what they've got.
Jak spends a while tinkering with the gun (she's never been masterful with machinery like Keiran, but she spent enough time in his workshop to hold her own) until everything works correctly.
She lifts it, fitting it against her collarbone. The laser-point sight searches all the way to the distant wall of the room. Pulling the trigger is easier with this than the scatter gun, and better-aimed. Not as damaging, but sacrifices must be made. It's almost as big as she is.
Four hours later, she emerges into the bright daylight, reeking of gunpowder, but closer to contentment than she's been in a while.
(PARENTHETICAL STATEMENTS YAY)
This was written over spring break, and I've had the hardest time editing it; but I have a new semi-beta coming on board (I think? Are you there, Bex? I gave you my number... I thought you might call... [sherlock reference sorry])
Moar canon dialogue :) Copy-pasting makes me feel dirty and ashamed of myself. But it helps.
Thanks Taru for beta-ing!
(Will probably be edited within an inch of its life later, so check back.)
Blessed be,
S.S.o.D.