A/N: Well I'm officially to the point where this looks like mush. There may still be some slightly off wording, but I think I'm in serious danger of overthinking it. I'm also confident enough in the various sections from previous read throughs that I'm going to call the whole good enough for now. I felt the need to totally rewrite one part and expand the others, so this ballooned over 2000 words beyond its original scope... Gotta try and nail that emotional fallout!

It was a morning for firsts. Keira had never traveled very far into Dead Town. She had never known what the Sacred Site was much less seen it with her own eyes. And she had never piloted a robotic exoskeleton.

The Titan Suit was truly an impressive piece of machinery. It stood over ten feet tall, it's torso serving as a cramped cockpit. Double-jointed legs zig-zagged to the ground from its sturdy waist, and three mighty prongs sprouted from its wrists instead of hands. A striking yellow and blue paint job was icing on the cake.

Gripping the controls tight, Keira turned to the left and bashed down a brittle wall. No matter how many times she did it, the exhilaration of demolition amplified so far beyond her body's normal capabilities was just as thrilling as the first.

Tess appeared at her side, morph gun at the ready, and scanned the hallway beyond. Seeing no threat, she vaulted through and completed a sweep before indicating all was clear with a thumbs up.

Keira returned the gesture with a convivial grin, surprised at how easy it was to do so. She hadn't expected to enjoy this mission. It had only been less than twenty-four hours since Jak entered Mar's Tomb, and so much had happened it felt like a lifetime ago. She had been up half the night, which did nothing to help her frayed nerves, and she wore one of Tess' jackets in place of Vivian's. The precious garment, her one talisman, was so torn and bloodied it required extensive mending.

But there was no time for wallowing, a fact for which she was most grateful. As per her father's instructions, the Life Seed must be recovered, and despite the special measures required by the isolated nature of the Sacred Site, the mission was going very quickly. Metal Head activity was low, and with a weapon's expert along to watch her back, Keira could focus on forging a path. Together they snaked around the sun-blanched buildings, Tess sniping the occasional Metal Head and Keira bulldozing through obstacles, but only the latter gasped when they rounded the last corner.

Nothing could have prepared the mechanic for the sight of her desecrated home. Everything was wrong. Its structure was broken and stripped, its interior exposed like abandoned carrion, and it was all the more disturbing for being surrounded by a crumbling skyline and stinking swamp where once there was paradise.

Shaking her head, Keira collected herself enough to take stock of the situation. The hut was on a tall island with a good thirty feet of thin air surrounding it on all sides. The bridge that used to connect it with the shoreline was long gone.

The bridge, she thought as she noticed an immense pillar near the edge. She approached the column of concrete in a few clamorous footfalls, the germ of an idea taking root as she went. She took a moment to judge the angle and with a mighty one-two punch, she shattered its base. The pillar groaned and tilted until it crashed into the island. A flock of small birds nesting in the askew rafters burst into flight, angrily chirping in protest.

After disengaging the Titan Suit, Keira climbed down and led the way across. A peculiar, hollow feeling yawned in her chest when her booted feet stepped on the ground she once knew so well, a feeling that only intensified when she stepped inside and surveyed the ruin.

"You used to live here?" Tess asked, her wide brown eyes plainly incredulous.

"Yeah… This was my workshop," Keira said as she gazed around the room. A vehicle lay in a toppled heap against the wall, every nook and cranny of it covered in dull red rust. She knelt next to it and reached out, gently resting her hand on the coarse surface.

"This looks like some sort of zoomer," Tess murmured.

"The A-Grav zoomer to be precise," Keira pointed out, "my invention."

"Huh. I thought zoomers had only been around for about…" the blonde paused as she counted centuries on her fingers, "Wait, don't tell me you invented zoomers."

The green-haired girl shrugged. "I suppose I did."

Floored by the revelation, Tess examined the vehicle with renewed interest, muttering to herself.

Keira stood and walked into the next room. The skeleton of a dresser sat to her right, the remains of a bookshelf replete with virtually disintegrated tomes to her left. Against the far wall was an ancient bed. The blankets were mildewed scraps, the mattress and pillows punctured where rodents had burrowed inside. The frame, like so much of the wood in the hut, was rotten.

A creak behind her signaled Tess crossing the threshold. Without looking over her shoulder, Keira said, "Here. This was my room."

Getting on her hands and knees, she probed the floorboards beside the bed and lifted up an old plank. It crumbled into dozens of pieces, too weathered to have structural integrity. Unruffled, she reached down and pulled out a small metal box. Though it was badly corroded and its paint peeling, a seashell motif was still discernible.

"What's that?" Tess questioned.

"My box of treasures," Keira replied as she tried the latch. No good. The rust was too thick. Removing a couple tools from her belt and putting in some elbow grease she was able to force it open. Then all she did was stare, and Tess peered over her shoulder.

The inside of the box was pristine, its few contents unharmed by the passage of time. Keira delicately picked up each item in turn, first reaching for a worn plush lambit. "I don't remember my mother, but she made me this stuffed animal when I was a baby. I used to carry it around with me everywhere. It would always get dirty or torn, and my father would always do his best to clean it up like new." She placed the ragged doll back in the box as if it was sewn of gossamer silk.

Next, she lifted up a small wrench, chipped and bent but otherwise clean. "This was the first tool I ever got. Daddy gave it to me when I was five, and I drove him nuts trying to 'fix' all his plants." Smiling at the memory, she returned the wrench to the lambit's side.

Last of all was a tiny bag made of fine, embossed yakow leather. Colorful beads adorned its drawstrings, and a sliver of pure light shone out from its cracked mouth. "And this… this is something from Jak. Something special."

When Keira didn't elaborate, Tess prompted, "What is it?"

"Nothing. Just… something special." She pulled the drawstrings tight, sealing the beam inside, and carefully placed the bag back in the box before closing the lid. Then she looked at Tess for the first time since entering the hut and found the bartender staring at her with a strange expression.

"What?" she asked.

"It's funny. Even with two Shadows, and you and Jak and Daxter all saying you know the older one from the past… and that's where you're all from… It didn't seem real until you opened up that box just now."

Keira ran her fingers along one of the seashells, its texture rough and flaky. "Well, now you know why I kept it a secret. You would've thought I was crazy if I told you."

"That's not true," Tess objected.

"You sure about that?"

"...Ok, maybe I'd think you're a little crazy, but… I wouldn't just dismiss it either. I'd want to help you."

The mechanic raised a sardonic blue eyebrow. "Perhaps with a trip to the Krimzon Asylum."

Tess struck a peeved pose, hooking her hands on her hips. "That's not what I meant."

"I know, I know, I'm kidding."

Keira tucked the box securely in the crook of her elbow and stood, absorbing what had transpired so far. She couldn't help but remember all the times she wanted so badly to unburden herself of the truth of her past. Surely the decision she committed to again and again was the right one, and yet… In the two years she had known Tess, her unwavering loyalty and support had been there whenever she needed it. Surely the blonde meant what she said, and that reassurance was a soothing balm for Keira's troubled soul. She turned toward the taller woman, a grateful smile on her tired face. "You know, I don't think I've ever said this before, but… you're a good friend."

"You're only just realizing this?" Tess teased. Then her attention drifted to Keira's arm, encircled by a gray sleeve instead of a blue one. Though there was no remnant of injury, the bartender's red-lipped grin faded and her brow creased with concern.

Keira's pleasant feelings rapidly soured, and she left the bedroom in a huff. "Last I checked my arm is totally fine."

"It's not your arm I'm worried about." Tess trailed behind.

"I'm fine."

"You don't look fine."

Unable to contain herself, Keira whirled around and boiled over. "I'm not anything! I don't know how to feel, I—" Sharply inhaling, she forced herself to calm down. "Please," she begged, "I don't want to talk about it. Not yet."

Tess looked as though she wanted to press the issue further, but she nodded in acquiescence.

The pair made their way up to the second story. It was there, inside Samos' lab, they found the Life Seed. The name didn't do it justice. For a seed it was absolutely massive, a sprout the size of a baby's arm curling out of its unfurling tip. It pulsed with glittering energy, a sure sign of the power that drew the Metal Heads.

Their charge in tow, Keira and Tess retrieved the Titan Suit and proceeded to make their way back to the city. By the time they stepped through the shield wall gates, the sun was approaching its zenith.

"Phase one complete," Tess announced, "now we just need to make a quick report."

"Can you do it?" Keira requested, "My new communicator isn't the most reliable." When she was arrested, all the items on her person—including her communicator, what money she carried, and her blue eco revolver—were confiscated. The former was at least easy to replace, but the Underground didn't have the luxury of consistent quality control. The device had already proved prone to dipping in and out of connections and would undoubtedly require some form of tinkering before long. She was also drained such that the fewer people she interacted with today the better.

Mercifully, Tess took out her own communicator and made the call without pushing back. "Torn, baby," she purred into the receiver, "it's me. We have the cargo."

Her brain buzzing with exhaustion, Keira allowed herself to zone out for the short duration of the call. She felt the weight of her box of treasures under one arm and the Life Seed under the other, finding neither terribly burdensome. On the contrary, they were both comforting. If it wasn't for how fatigued she was she would be over the moon to find the box five hundred years later, and even wrapped in a protective sack the Life Seed's aura was easily discernable as one and the same with her father's. She gripped them a little tighter, tangible, precious pieces of her lost home.

"Hey," Tess said, breaking her reverie.

"Huh, what?" The green-haired girl blinked a few times before comprehending that the call was concluded. "Where to now?"

"...He's awake."

Keira's stomach did an unsettling flip inside her belly, and she swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. "Oh." She gave Tess a significant look, as though her friend could somehow spare her the inevitable.

"You should go see him."

That wasn't what she wanted to hear. "I guess so…"

Though her smile was sympathetic, Tess took the Life Seed from Keira. "Here, we don't both have to deliver this to Onin. Why don't I finish things up myself so you can head back to HQ?"

"Right," Keira remarked, an acid tinge to her tone, "Thanks."

"Anytime," Tess said with a wink.

They parted ways, each having come in her own zoomer, and it was all too soon Keira found herself standing inside what had previously been the Underground's largest safe house. Now it functioned as a temporary base of operations, and it was an even sorrier sight than the last. The main room, maybe half the size of the old Headquarters, was fit to burst with mismatched furniture and haphazard towers of absconded supplies. The Shadow stood head down over a central table littered with sheaves of paper, and Torn was spooning soup into a bowl over by a meager hot plate in the corner. He turned at the sound of her entrance, dark circles under his eyes. "Keira," he said, sounding more gravelly than normal, "perfect timing."

He beckoned her to his side with a curt jerk of his chin and handed her the steaming bowl. "He's in there." The Underground strategist waved her toward one of the abutting rooms and turned his back to join Samos. They immediately slipped into a hushed conversation and paid her no further mind. Keira was grateful for their lack of attention. It meant no one would question how slowly she walked or how her hand lingered on the door before opening it.

Taking a slow breath in and out, she walked into a room hardly bigger than a closet. There was just enough space for a single stack of beds, and in the bottom bunk, she found a brunette man in old pajamas, his unkempt hair longer than she remembered. An IV drip was attached to his skinny arm, delivering a stable flow of green eco-infused liquid, and his sunken eyes were closed. The moth-eaten blankets did little to mask how bony he was, a sad state of health made all the more crushing to behold by the uneven rise and fall of his chest. Keira hung back, frozen with apprehension before at last summoning the courage to speak. "Knock knock."

Ryker's thick lashes fluttered open, and his golden gaze slowly focused on her. He frowned, evidently confused by her presence, before jolting up in surprise. "Keira!" he croaked.

The movement was too much too fast, and he sagged back onto the creaky mattress with a groan. The mechanic took a hasty step forward, almost fumbling the hot bowl of soup in the process. "A-are you alright?"

"Fine, I'm…" he petered out, his eyes glued to her face, "Sorry, I… I was expecting Torn."

"He was busy with the Shadow, so…" She gave a little shrug. After believing him to be dead for so long, anything she could think to say seemed inadequate. In the pregnant silence that followed, Ryker regarded her with thinly veiled disbelief, drinking in her appearance like a parched man would an oasis mirage. Uncomfortable under such intense scrutiny, she had to restrain herself from fidgeting and self-consciously cleared her throat.

"How are you feeling?" she finally asked.

He managed a weak smirk. "Like hell, but that's better than I've been in ages." His voice was hoarse. Whether it was from his screaming the night before or something else Keira wasn't sure.

Again, words failed her, and so the burden of his stare grew heavier. He hadn't looked away once as if she was an apparition that might disappear at any moment. She awkwardly scratched behind one ear and struggled to maintain eye contact. "What, is there something on my face?"

"I…" he paused, drawing a long breath, "I just can't get over it."

"What?"

"Actually seeing you."

"...It's been a while, hasn't it?" She stirred the soup, unearthing a curling plume of steam.

"You grew your hair out."

Her brow crinkled in response.

"You look good," he said, a glimmer of his old singsong charm returning.

The flirtation was so unexpected that a coy blush bloomed in her cheeks. "Thanks… you look…"

His mouth twisted in a humorless smile. "You can say it, I look like shit."

"You don't—"

"I do," he insisted. Though his volume remained low, his tone was razor-sharp.

Sensing a change of subject was wisest, she took a tentative seat on a rickety stool next to the bed and asked, "Are you hungry?"

"I could eat something."

She offered him his meal, careful to make sure it wouldn't spill, and it turned out her caution was well warranted. Though he managed to grip the bowl with his shaky hands he didn't have the strength to hold it up. Its contents would have sloshed all over the blankets if she hadn't still been supporting it.

"Here." She shifted to sit beside him on the edge of the mattress, readied a spoonful, and raised it to his lips. He reluctantly accepted the bite, but when she prepared the next he turned away, grimacing.

"Maybe I'm not so hungry."

She lowered the spoon till it clinked on the bowl's rim. "If it's the taste—"

"It's not."

She sighed, starting to get annoyed. "What's the matter? Aren't guys supposed to love it when girls feed them in bed?"

A muscle spasmed in his clenched jaw. "...I don't like you seeing me like this."

"Like what?"

"Like a pathetic weakling!" He spat the words at the wall like they were poison.

Keira considered his self-denigration, so excoriating despite his frailty and felt her own defensiveness rise in opposition. She firmly countered, "You're not pathetic. And you're not weak. After everything you've been through, I—" An image of him writhing and wailing in the injection chamber flashed in her mind's eye, and she convulsed. "...I'm just glad you're alive, Ryker."

He stubbornly refused to meet her eyes, an embarrassed flush coloring his hollow cheeks.

"Well, you have to eat sometime, and if it's not me feeding you it's probably Torn."

His nostrils flared in a small snort, and he, at last, looked at her at again. "I guess that would be worse," he admitted.

With that power struggle settled, the mechanic resumed feeding him.

"Sorry it's just canned," she gently apologized.

He swallowed and gave a little shake of his head. "It's way better than what I've been eating."

As she scooped up another spoonful there was a muffled clamor in the ceiling from settling pipes, and Ryker twitched in agitation. "Every damn time there's a new sound… I'm not used to this place," he grumbled, ashamed.

"You don't have to explain. To tell you the truth, I'm not either." Her hand stopped halfway to his mouth, her eyes darting to his. She realized she had no idea how much he had been told since resuming consciousness. "Have you been… caught up?"

"About the raid last night you mean," he clarified, a shadow crossing over his face.

She nodded.

"I have."

Recalling herself to the task at hand, she resumed feeding the invalid brunette and willfully narrowed her focus on the spoon. Maybe then he wouldn't see the turmoil brewing inside her.

"I know that after we were sprung from the fortress the KG hit us hard," he continued. "Forced their way in with a bombot. I know that might have been the end of the Underground right then and there if it wasn't for this… guy… transforming into some sort of monster."

Now it was her turn to refuse to meet his probing gaze.

"He hurt you, didn't he?" The anger in his raspy voice was almost enough to make her flinch.

"He didn't mean to," she deflected.

"So what?" he countered right back.

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Tell me—"

"Drop it, Ryker."

The warning barb in her command was enough to stay his interrogation for a few moments but not his concern for her or his enmity for her attacker. He glared at her, teeming with frustration. "...What's his name?"

She glared back, weighing whether or not she should answer, before deciding it was pointless to withhold information he could easily learn elsewhere. "Jak."

"Well, you can bet that if I ever meet this Jak when I'm awake he'll regret it."

"If it wasn't for him, we'd be dead or worse."

The only sound came from the muffled discussion outside as they stared each other down, their bodies as rigid as their disagreement. When Ryker didn't say anything else, Keira readied another spoonful, scraping the side of the bowl with irritation. This time no steam rose for the soup was growing cold.

When the laden utensil was inches from his mouth he suddenly demanded, "Why did you have to go and join the Underground?"

She nearly spilled on his chest, surprised to find herself the target of his ire.

"What the hell were you thinking?!"

Dropping the spoon back in the bowl with a clatter, the exasperated mechanic responded, "I thought it was Vivian who didn't approve."

"She's dead."

The gravity of his statement pulled her down into the old grief she knew so well, and she felt her throat constrict. She blinked at the half-eaten soup in her lap, her dry eyes pricking with sorrow. "...You two were captured. I was all alone, and the Underground was the only thing I had to go on. What was I supposed to do?"

"You could have left Haven."

"And go where? Kras City? That's assuming I could even make it across the Wasteland without running into Metal Heads or marauders."

"At least you wouldn't end up in the fortress yourself."

Something about his raw tone compelled her to look back up, and she immediately wished she hadn't. The full force of his suffering hit her like an out of control air racer, the agony in his expression so palpable that her heart twisted in answering anguish.

"What if you didn't escape? What if they killed you? What if they pumped you so full of dark eco that you wasted away into nothing?!" A coughing fit seized the distraught man, and he crumpled onto his side, gripping the sheets with a white-knuckled fist. It was so violent Keira feared he would hack up a lung. She hastily set the soup aside, but it was a futile measure. There was nothing she could do. The only recourse available was to anxiously hover over him and wait, and she pressed her trembling fingers against her bared teeth.

When at last the fit subsided he cracked a watery eye at her, his sides still heaving. "Don't," he wheezed, "Don't look at me like that."

"Ryker—"

"I don't want your pity!"

Stung by his vitriol, she swiveled and turned her back, the mattress' old springs whining beneath her shifting weight. She breathed deeply, endeavoring to reign in her wildly beating pulse. Of course, Ryker's behavior would be erratic after enduring unspeakable horrors in the fortress. Of course, this conversation was always going to be difficult. Even so, she didn't know how much longer she could take confronting all that had happened to him… and what it meant for her.

They sat in silence for some time before Ryker spoke again, barely above a whisper, "The one thing that kept me going all this time was the thought that you were alive and safe somewhere. That Viv and I managed to protect you."

Keira inhaled, a final steadying action. "It's not your job to protect me… and if I could do it all over again I'd make the same choice."

When no rebuttal came, she stood, straightened her borrowed jacket, and made to leave without looking back. "I should go."

"Wait."

She halted by the door.

"I just want you to know that I…" he gulped in a vain effort to control his strangled speech, "I missed you, Hagai."

His words, as much a sideways plea for forgiveness as a stark expression of affection, roused such powerful feelings in her that she shivered. Though she couldn't bear to look at him, she responded in kind, her voice thick with emotion, "I missed you too, Ryker."

Jak blinked bleary-eyed at an unfamiliar ceiling. It was made of plain plaster, off-white and peeling—all in all completely unremarkable aside from its novelty. Similarly novel was the firm bed in which he lay and the soft pillow cradling his head. Judging by the lamplight it was sometime after dark, but it was difficult to discern much else. He might have sat up to survey his surroundings if he had the capacity, but as it was he could hardly move. So leaden was his sore body that shifting even a pinky finger took conscious effort. He felt like a waterlogged rock inside a murky aquarium, weighed down and divided from the muffled world around him.

"Jak, my boy, you're finally awake."

He rolled his sluggish eyes toward the voice, and his clumsy lips slowly formed a name in response. "Samos…"

The Green Sage sat in a bedside chair, wearing not a prison uniform but a secondhand shirt, waistcoat, and shorts in various shades of brown. Even with the added height of his old six-inch wooden sandals, his feet dangled without touching the floor.

"JAK!" Daxter cried as he leapt on the bed, "Good to have ya back, big guy! We thought you were a goner for a minute there!"

Samos nodded in relief. "You've been sleeping for nearly a day."

"How do you feel?" the ottsel asked, his excited grin especially toothy.

"Fuzzy… heavy."

"So me if ya put on a few pounds."

The corner of the blonde's mouth twitched in the shadow of a smile. "Funny joke… Why've I been out so long?"

"I'm sure you needed every minute of it," Samos said, "You lost a great deal of blood, and there was some lung damage, but… your body's ability to heal itself is truly miraculous."

Jak frowned, confused. "What happened?" he asked, beginning to wonder if the little green man was being evasive.

"Don't you remember?"

Narrowing his eyes in concentration, it was a few moments before he recalled the searing heat he had felt the night before. "That's right," he murmured, "Torn shot me."

"That he did," the sage verified, awkwardly scratching his white beard.

Jak's green brows furrowed deeper as he struggled to corral his hazy memories. Torn shot him because… "Keira—"

"Is fine," Samos preemptively confirmed, "She's just fine. I was able to heal her and the rest of the injured before we abandoned Headquarters."

Jak threw the old man a questioning look.

"Setting aside the damage to repair, the Baron knows where it is. Staying wasn't an option."

It was then Jak understood that they must have somehow been traced back to the Underground base after he and Lil freed their companions from the Krimzon Guard Fortress. The timing was too close to be coincidental. A tsunami of self-loathing swept over him, fetid and overpowering.

"So where are we then?"

"The Shadow's residence in the South Garden. There's a temporary headquarters near the Water Slums, but it's smaller than the old one and… I'm afraid you wouldn't be welcome there. Torn won't allow it. He thinks you're… unreliable."

"You mean dangerous," Jak corrected, his tone rancorous.

Samos quietly regarded him before rubbing his temples and giving a weary sigh. "Daxter, would you give us some privacy?"

" 'Privacy?' Anything you've got to say to Jak you can say to both of us!" The ottsel's defiance withered under the sage's baleful glare. "But now that I think about it nature's calling. Be back in a few!" And with that, he hopped to the ground and waddled out the door.

Samos fiddled with his glasses and looked at his student with something like contrition, and it dawned on Jak what sort of conversation he was in for. Wanting no part of it, he looked away and stubbornly pretended to fixate on an old poster.

"...You've gone through some changes since I saw you last," Samos began, sounding uncharacteristically gentle.

"That's one way to put it," Jak muttered.

"Daxter tells me you were immediately arrested when we arrived in Haven City two years ago."

"Does he."

"And you only escaped one month ago."

The teenager pressed his lips together in a bitter line.

"You were injected with dark eco, just like what we saw in the fortress. It would kill a normal person, but you, being a skilled channeler, survived. And now you can turn into a berserker."

Samos paused, providing him a window in which to respond, but he didn't take it.

"If there's anything else you'd like to add—"

"What do you want me to say?!" Jak lashed out, unable to contain himself any longer, "That I'm a monster? That the dark eco will destroy me? That I'm fucking broken?!" His volume spiked with his anger, and, to his instant regret, he tried to sit up. White-hot pain lanced from his back through his chest like a poker fresh from the fire, and he fell back on his pillow with a groan.

The sage patiently waited for him to recover and break the silence.

When he finally did it was in a low monotone. "Can you heal me?"

Samos knew he wasn't asking about his gunshot wound. "I'm afraid I can't."

"Bullshit… You're the Sage of Green Eco. You cure the sick and mend broken bones. You can heal anything."

"Not this."

Jak's fingers gouged deep into his blankets. "Would your answer be any different if I was one of your stupid dark eco infected ferns?"

"Perhaps I could help if the poisoning was less severe, but… the dark eco's hold on you is absolute. Your altered blood and body's rejection of other types is proof enough of that. If I tried you wouldn't survive."

The finality of the sage's words snuffed out a last fragile flame of hope Jak didn't even know he tended, leaving behind a tenebrous hollow as large and empty as a cavern. Crushing despair overwhelmed him, sprouting and spreading like toxic mushrooms in the dark, and his head began to spin as he spiraled into an abyss with no bottom. And it was there a terrible understanding seeped into the cracks of his mind.

" 'Find yourself, Jak,' " he hissed through gritted teeth, "That was the last thing I heard you yell in the rift."

Samos sagged a little in his chair, his eyes mournful behind his thick spectacles.

"How long have you known? Since before I was born?"

There was no answer, and Jak began to tremble with rage.

"What the hell were all those years of teaching for if you weren't actually going to prepare me for anything?"

"Do you think you ever would have traveled through the Precursor Ring if I told you your future?"

"I don't know… and I don't care. At least then I would've had a choice."

Unable to deny the truth of his betrayal, the old man held his tongue.

"You knew," Jak growled, his fury building on itself like a hurricane picking up speed, "You knew all this would happen. You knew that I'd be tortured until I turned into a monster. You knew that people would die last night… You knew I'd hurt Keira!"

Samos could only stare back.

"How could you let it happen? How could you let me become this?!"

At some length the sage knit his stubby fingers together, bolstering himself. "Jak, my boy… I meant what I said about the grave nature of my predicament. If I choose differently than I did before, then what I know to be the future may not happen. Even if I was able to preserve the ultimate goal and somehow spare your suffering, there are potentially infinite unforeseen consequences that could wreak untold havoc. Time travel is a tricky, unpredictable thing."

Samos' moralism was the last thing the young renegade wanted to hear, and he scoffed in disgust.

"When I was in the Shadow's shoes... my older self never warned the Underground about the attack, so I didn't either. If only I knew the right thing to say now…"

"Unless you can undo all of it, there's nothing you can say," Jak spat with all the venom he could muster in his weakened state.

The old man exhaled, his face maddeningly composed. "I know I can't ask you to forgive me… I can only hope I'm maintaining a necessary continuum for a reason. Good experiences and bad ones… both shape the people we become. I believe that you were meant to be the person you are now. That when time has allowed you to heal it will all be worth it. I have to—"

Samos's voice broke, and he hung his log-topped head, unable to continue.

Jak didn't know what to say. Since before he could remember the sage had always been there, a larger than life figure of authority, a teacher and surrogate father who invariably knew the answer to all the world's problems. To see him like this, shoulders slumped and quaking, so vulnerable and full of remorse… he seemed so small. And that made Jak feel more alone than perhaps anything else could.

With a loud sniff and a phlegmy cough, Samos pushed off the chair and straightened up, his keel once again even. "Now then," he instructed, "get some rest. You may be out of the woods, but there's plenty more mending to be done."

Jak might have told the sage to shove it, but he felt much more taxed from their conversation than he had realized. It was all he could do to keep his eyes open, and so he stared at the shabby ceiling in silent protest. He managed to hold out until Samos left the room before drifting into a deep but uneasy slumber.

A/N: With this twenty-fifth chapter, I've covered all the material and then some from the original seventeen. In the very last scene I published Keira and Ryker have a conversation after being busted out of the fortress, though the circumstances were different and the plotting far clumsier. The tone was so inappropriate for conveying the horror he's experienced as to be laughable, something which I've done my best to remedy. As such this feels like a major milestone, and if anyone here has read the old TMC I'd love to know your thoughts. :)

That said, I might need to take a brief hiatus. With the holidays approaching there are other things demanding my attention, and my well is running a little dry... Or maybe not, who knows. I had a really bad day at work, so I'm supremely drained right now. Regardless, I imagine a break wouldn't last longer than a couple of weeks. It's always hard to stay away from this project.