Greetings people, good to see you again. Got this chapter up a little sooner than I was expecting, mainly due to the fact that I've been hit with a case of writer's block, and even after proofreading the blasted thing about six or seven times, I can't think of a way to improve it beyond the mundane quality that it possesses, which is irritating me to no end.

Anyway, my writing problems aside, my thanks to those of you who have reviewed.

Light Eco Sage- Yeah, its annoying, as soon as I'm done with this, I have to type up a history report on the Dead Sea Scrolls, joy.

Lunatic Pandora1- Glad you liked it, and I can safely tell you to expect communication between the two to improve over time, and for the creature within our favorite Channeler to make more frequent appearances.

Something Stupid- kind of amazing how little faith I place in my own skills isn't it? But, I know what you mean about movies and plot holes, more of those seem to be popping up every year. Oh well, at least we always have books and stories to retreat to in such times. Thanks for your support. (bows)

Morwen- I honestly can't say that I've done something like that, but I'll assume its fun, thanks for the vote of confidence.

TUG- Yeah, there are quite a few of those games from Square. I'm glad that you liked the approach I took with Onin and Pecker, though I feel a bit of shame at that blatant steal from Monty Python and the Quest for the Holy Grail. As far as the Mar connection is concerned, that was, in my humble opinion, one of the greatest plot drivers for the second game, and one of my favorite parts. I'm also pleased that you like the approach that I am taking with Dark Jak, and hope that it continues to be somewhat non-cliché.

Now, to those lawyers with way too much free time on their hands- I own nothing of this story except what few things I might come up with all by myself, so bugger off!

Now, for chapter nine, may it be up to your reading standards.

&

Found: One Mole

The forest outside of Haven City, with its prehistoric ruins, held the appearance of a calm, tranquil place, especially during the brief transition from dusk to night. However, that false sense of peace was shattered by the cries of bestial fury that echoed through the trees.

Bellowing in rage, the Ram charged at the demon. However, the creature was not unprepared, and vaulted backwards, unleashing a stream of Dark Eco lightning upon the massive Metal Head.

Daxter watched it all from the relative safety of a large tree branch, having been wise enough to realize that a person as vertically challenged as he stood a very good chance of being trampled into an Ottsel pancake like those Grunts that had been attacking them.

It had seemed simple enough, wander around these Precursor ruins, find those three artifacts that Onin and bird-brain had wanted, and head back, where he would catch a nap and Jak would doubtless think of a way to get vengeance on his two nemeses.

It would have been nice if the old seer had gone to the trouble to warn them that this place was swarming with Metal Heads, more specifically, swarming with Metal Heads the size of an Eco Hauler. It had come out of nowhere, and sent Jak flying through a tree as he had been attempting to cut a few Grunts down to size. Instantly, the dark elf had felt his inner demon rise, rushing to protect its host.

Jak had been confused. The beast had seemed almost frantic to come to his aid, and something deep down, told him it had not just been in the interest of self-preservation. Could it be, he thought as he watched the battle, bound within his own mind, that his earlier premonition had been correct? That the creature was actually protecting him out of a sense of loyalty? As a croca-dog would protect its master?

Such were his thoughts as his inner demon once again leapt out of the way of the rampaging monster, before focusing its powers again, this time into the shadowy ball of energy that Daxter had termed a "Dark Bomb." It crashed into the side of their assailant, exploding with the force of a score of grenades, and ending the battle then and there.

As swiftly as it had come to his rescue, the creature withdrew, leaving its host once more in full control of his actions. The former Channeler stood where he was, his breath visible in the winter air, and his body soaked in sweat despite the chill of the season. As Daxter came down from his hiding place and scrambled back up onto his left shoulder, Jak walked over to retrieve his weapons. The morph-gun was undamaged, thankfully, however, it was Kitetsu that truly held his attention. His enhanced vision could tell, even in the darkness, that the ground around the katana was blackened, charred, and the blade itself was warm to the touch. Puzzled, the dark elf stared at the weapon, wondering what to make of this.

Abruptly, he sheathed the sword, and looked at the cave that the Ram had come charging out of. With the sun down, it was only a matter of time before the temperature dropped to sub freezing temperatures. Jak knew, that unlike ninety nine point nine percent of the general population, the experimentation done to him would give him a fairly good shot of surviving the exposure for even an extended period of time, but the same could not be said of Daxter, who was already shivering now that the adrenaline had left his system. The cave would provide sufficient shelter in all likelihood, and possibly even some cover from the equally hostile local animal life.

At the same time that Jak was eating some cold rations and Daxter was huddled up in his coat for warmth, Ashelin was sneaking through the back streets of Haven City. The K.G. lieutenant was being cautious, ducking in an out of the shadowy alleys and looking over her shoulder every so often to ensure that she wasn't being followed. Tucked into her vest pocket was a pair of discs, one filled with vital information on both the Dark Warrior Project, while the other held files on something else that her father and his right hand sociopath were cooking up.

It wasn't much further to the meeting point, where Torn would be waiting for her. This would be where it was most dangerous, as the K.G. patrols could easily discover them if they were careless. Her eyes looking for the slightest disturbance in the shadows, the lieutenant backed into the cover that was provided by an alley.

Torn was doing much the same thing, creeping through the opaque blackness of the shadows. It was all so inherently familiar to him, no different from the countless missions he'd served in under King Damas. He only thing that bothered him had been the urgency in Ashelin's voice when she'd contacted him and told him to meet her on the edge of the Industrial District of the city. As far as his ever calculating mind was able to tell that meant one of two things, either she'd stumbled onto something big, or her position had been compromised and the jig was up.

Abruptly, he tensed. There it was again, the sound of a Krimzon Guard patrol moving in his direction. Cursing himself for his getting lost in his thoughts when he should have been paying more attention, the Underground soldier turned around to leap back into the alley he'd come out of, only to see the point man of the patrol as they came from the next street.

"Speaking of jig's being up." he growled to himself.

There was a curfew instilled, had been for weeks now, so he'd have had about a snowball's chance in Hell of being mistaken for a civilian, even if he hadn't been sporting his makeshift armor, knives, and his morph-gun. Then of course, there were the long odds that someone would understand the markings on his face, damning evidence of what he had been, and in some ways, still was.

He bolted into the alley even as the point man brought up his rifle. However, it was a dead end, and climbing out, while a possibility, would take too long. This left only one option: fight.

He heard the clanking of the troops' armor as they approached the alley, and pulled back into the darkness, while at the same time unsheathing both his curved dagger, and another, this one straight and balanced for throwing. By that time, they had arrived, and he could see them pointing their guns down the dark corridor.

"Call for back up." one of them, presumably the ranking officer of the small squadron, barked to another.

"Back up?" the younger, and probably more inexperienced K.G. asked, his tone one of bafflement, "Sarge, are you sure that's necessary? I mean, it's only one Underground rebel."

"Don't question my orders, rookie!" the sergeant snarled. "Didn't you see the marks on his face? That rebel was a Delta!"

Torn allowed a bit of surprise to work its way into his mind. So this sergeant, did, know what the tattoos on his face marked him as. With that knowledge, also came a raw, searing hatred, as he realized what else that meant.

"A Delta, I thought they were all wiped out in the coup." one of the other squad members said in a voice filled with awe.

"Yeah, well apparently we missed one!" the sergeant remarked before turning his head back towards the rookie he had been addressing earlier. "Now, stop stalling and call for reinfor…"

Knowledgeable as he was, the sergeant had still underestimated Torn's abilities. He had made a fatal error as he had turned his gaze away from the alley that the Underground fighter had been hiding in. Those under his command watched, horrified, as a throwing knife seemed to just materialize in his throat. The trooper dropped his rifle, and brought his hands to the dagger, as if by pulling it out of his windpipe he could somehow save his life.

Just the distraction Torn needed. Like a blitzing linebacker, the rebel shot out of his hiding place, grabbing one K.G. soldier before the others had realized what was going on, and spinning him around, using the unfortunate Guard like a human shield. In the brief instant the rest of the patrol spent wondering what to do regarding this situation, the ex-Delta brought his curved dagger up, and cut the elf he was holding open from groin to sternum. Not pausing for even a moment, he spun about, reaching down to rip the throwing knife out of the patrol leader's throat as the sergeant hit his knees, before throwing it yet again, sinking it up to the haft in another trooper's chest, while the one that was closest to him received a first hand introduction to his left foot. The last surviving member of the patrol watched in disbelief as his comrade's face was caved in. With reflexes honed by years of training and actual combat, Torn rushed over to the other K.G. that he had skewered and once more retrieved his throwing dagger.

Before tossing it right into the hand of the last patrol member, and more importantly, the radio he had been fumbling with. The elf screeched in pain, before looking back into the ex-Delta's eyes, which were burning with some feral hatred. It was then that the rookie soldier noticed something else as well: the gun that Torn had strapped across his back. This guy had had a rifle, but had taken out his comrades and his patrol leader with nothing more than a pair of knives.

Torn noticed the stare, and he pulled the stricken guard close placing the curved blade against his exposed throat.

"Too noisy." the Underground commander hissed at him, before swiping the dagger across his throat.

The ex-Delta looked about, briefly admiring the carnage he had just unleashed. Greatest of all had been the death of that unnamed sergeant, one less back-stabbing bastard drawing air. However, his training did not allow for this small sense of victory to cloud his senses, and Torn realized that even if the trooper hadn't gotten off a distress call that he'd have, at most, twenty minutes before the central command realized the patrol hadn't reported in.

A fast as he could, Torn grabbed the bodies, one at a time, and hauled them off into the alley and out of sight.

For several minutes, she waited in the darkness, wondering where in the Precursor's name the tattooed resistance member was supposed to be. For a few brief moments, the dark thought entered her head that something might have gone wrong. On cue, the rhythmic marching of a patrol reached her ears, and she ducked down behind a few old barrels of waste. As she hunkered down, she forced herself to banish the thoughts of Torn being captured while trying to link up with her. He was far too smart for that, far too crafty, which was to say nothing of the training that he had been through during his own time in the Guard. He'd been in the armed forces back before her father's coup-d-etat' had abruptly taken the rule away from the Queen. Worried as she was, Ashelin knew that the normal Krimzon Guard members traveled in patrols of about half a dozen, give or take a couple of elves. Which against a former Praetorian Guard like Torn, especially one that had belong the Delta Squadron, would be piss-poor odds for them.

Abruptly, she felt something tap her on her right shoulder. She spun around, and saw nothing, only to hear a slight crunch come from the pavement in front of her. Barely suppressing a growl at the acrobatic performance she had just been the victim of, she slowly turned back around, and saw the resistance fighter standing not five feet from her.

"About time you showed up," she hissed at him, her voice barely above a whisper, "what took you so long?"

"I ran into a little bit of trouble." he answered, his voice having its usual harsh edge.

"What kind of trouble?" she asked, even though deep down she was fairly certain that she already knew the answer.

"Let's just say that sometime tomorrow, your father's going to be receiving a report about a quintet of K.G. that were found cut open in a back alley." he told her, a grim smile making its way over his face as he fingered the blades on his waist.

Ashelin mused for a moment over a possibility of her having some sort of gift of foresight like Onin, before her friend snapped her back to reality.

"So, what was so important that you called me away from planning the biggest raid we've done in six months?" he inquired.

"You remember back at the pumping station, when Jak…" she trailed off, unable to summon up the words to describe what the dark elf had done.

"Yeah, what about his little anger problem?" the Underground commander asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"I did what he told me to do," she responded, pulling out the disk that had his file on it "I found this." She finished, extending it towards him.

"What is it?" he asked, taking it from her hand.

"Every single bit of data regarding the Dark Warrior Project, from its conception to information on test subjects. Jak's file is number twenty six." she told him, pausing for a brief instant before withdrawing the second one from her pocket as well. "This one's got schematics for some type of combat droid that Errol and my father have been cooking up, thought you might want to have a look at them too."

Torn said nothing, but merely nodded his head and took them from her, before walking past her and jumping up, where he latched onto a fire escape ladder that had been dangling about six feet off the ground.

"So that's how he did it." the K.G. lieutenant mused to herself, realizing now how Torn had gotten behind her.

Before her contact had made his way back up out of sight, he turned his gaze back to her, his eyes locking with her own.

"Ashelin, take care of yourself." he ordered, but she did not miss the slight waver in his normally steel-hard voice.

She nodded an affirmative before heading back towards the palace. With any luck, she'd be back before anyone had even figured out that she was missing.

What both she and the Underground soldier did not see was the tiny, floating observation driod that had been hiding in the very back of the alley.

It was some time later that the hardened commander quietly entered the private sanctuary. The Shadow was in a lotus position, his breathing deep and even. Around him, were various different flora that Torn had seen him look after with such care. The result showed in the life that these plants radiated, so different from the cold and dead feeling that the city itself seemed to possess.

Seeing that his leader was in a very deep meditation, Torn debated within himself, pondering the wisdom of disturbing his superior, versus the urgency of what Ashelin had given him. Eventually, that urgency won out over common sense, and the commander walked over to where the Shadow sat. Carefully, he placed his hand upon the elf's shoulder, and shook gently. Instantly, the older elf bolted awake, and turned to gaze at him.

"Torn, you know better than to interrupt one of my meditations." he told the commander with a frown.

"I know, Sir, but Ashelin just delivered these to me," he responded, holding up the data disks, "and I thought you had better take a look at them."

"What's on them?" the elf asked, his voice still holding a bit of irritation in it.

"Top secret files on a couple of projects the Baron's been working on." Torn answered, his tone respectful.

"Very well then, let's see them." the Shadow said, stepping briskly out of his meditation chamber, and into a more conventional command room.

Torn hurriedly went over to a consol, and inserted the first data disk, the one with all the information on the Dark Warrior Project. The file was uploaded, and the information that was stored on it began to be displayed across the large central computer screen. The Shadow's eyes darted rapidly back and forth, absorbing all of the theories and experiments, before shaking his head in disgust.

"What they are talking about is an impossibility, it can't be done." the Underground leader stated, his voice laced with bitter resignation as he stared at all the "volunteers" list. "Those lives were wasted, those people murdered."

"Not entirely true, Sir." Torn told him, before opening Jak's file.

As it had been with Ashelin, the first thing that shocked and infuriated the Shadow was the age at which the boy had been indoctrinated, and the various different "disciplines" that had been unleashed upon him, chalking them up as additions to his already long list of "reasons to overthrow current despotic regime." However, he quickly returned to reality, and realized what Torn had told him.

"What do you mean?" he asked, his voice deathly quiet.

"This one's still alive, Sir, and he's working with us." Torn responded gravely.

The Shadow heard what he said, while at the same time he read through the boy's file in great detail, doing a double take when he read the part about Jak being a Channeler. However, an endnote mentioning the apparent loss of the teenager's Channeling abilities dashed the older elf's hopes before they even got off the ground.

"So all their "experiment" did was rob the world of yet another Channeler while making that kid's life a hell." the Underground leader spat.

Torn frowned, and tried to calculate the best way to break his first hand knowledge to his commanding officer. Eventually, he settled on the way he did it most of the time: no sugar coating, just the straight, harsh and brutal truth.

"Actually, Sir…" he began, before launching off into his tale of Jak's unique "abilities."

Ashelin walked down the corridor to her private quarters, her posture relaxed and at ease. She had gotten back without so much as having to hide out in an alley again, and now she finally allowed herself to calm down. Ironic really, that the one place she should be most on guard for people watching her was just the place where she felt the safest from prying eyes.

"You're up a little late, aren't you?" came a snide voice from behind her.

The K.G. lieutenant whirled around, her twin pistols clearing their holsters while a pair of clicks testified to the safeties being switched off. Not even batting an eye at the two guns that were currently leveled at his heart, Commander Errol stared back at her, leaning calmly against the wall of the hallway.

"A little jumpy too, I see. Too much caffeine, Ashelin?" he inquired with a smirk, before shaking his finger in a chiding way. "You know that's not healthy."

"Do that again, Errol, and I swear by my father I will make sure that you never have children!" the daughter of Praxis growled, lowering her weapons and returning them to their holsters.

"My sincerest apologies, lieutenant," Errol retorted with a mocking bow, "but as your father's second in command, it is up to me to look out for your safety. I shudder to think what might happen to me if anything were to become of you."

Ashelin just shot him a look, before heading for her room. However, as she turned the corner, a most wicked smile came over the face of the Krimzon Guard leader.

"Yes, it is my responsibility to watch out for you, Ashelin, though I wonder what will happen when daddy finds out that his little girl has been having midnight rendezvous with that despicable little Underground member." he muttered, before cackling in a clichéd and villainous way.

The Shadow sat down, and rubbed his eyes wearily, as if he had just pulled a double shift on guard duty. It was a lot of information to take in at once, being told not only of this fiendish experimentation, which was little more than murder with a fancy scientific spin on it, then the knowledge that one of the people, a Channeler no less, had survived the horrific testing, and was now a member of the resistance. To top it off, said Underground member apparently had something inside of him that gave a whole new definition to the term "inner demon."

"And that's pretty much it." Torn said, clasping his hands behind his back.

"By the Precursors." the Shadow muttered, before staring up at the ex-Delta. "If anyone else had told me that, I have summed it up as shell shock and ordered them put on support duty."

"I know it's hard to believe, Sir, but it is the truth." Torn stated, mentally recalling the unforgettable images of the creature as it rampaged its way through the Metal Heads "That…thing…took on fifty of those monsters, and wiped them out like they were nothing."

Before anymore could be said, there was a knock upon the door. Torn looked at the Shadow, and his superior nodded. The tattooed fighter then strode over, and opened up the door, revealing it to be none other than Kor.

"What is it?" Torn asked, his voice once again harsh as it ever was.

"It's Prince Alex, Torn." the old elf responded.

"What about him?" the Shadow inquired, his tone indicating that he was worried about their charge.

"I'm not entirely sure, but I do believe that he has had a nightmare of some sort, possibly some memory from that day sprang into his mind again." Kor told him, leaning heavily on his staff.

Torn sighed, and looked over to the Shadow once again, his eyes asking for permission to take his leave. The Underground leader nodded once more, and the commander started out the door. However, he paused briefly just before he left.

"By the way, old man," he said, waiting for Kor to face him before continuing, "when were going to let the rest of us in on your private joke?"

"I beg your pardon?" Kor asked, genuinely confused.

"You told us that Jak took out a two dozen elf patrol with his bare hands." Torn said, his tone accusing. "When were you planning on adding the part about the five inch claws that had been attached at the time?" he said as he gestured up to Jak's profile

"I though it would perhaps be best for him to come forward with that on his own, it seemed a rather personal thing, after all." the wizened elf replied with a shrug of his frail shoulders.

Torn merely shook his head and growled, before heading off in the direction of the young monarch's room, his hearing barely registering the Shadow's order to "keep this quiet."

When he finally arrived, Alexander was there, his eyes wide with fright, staring blankly at the wall. However, once the boy heard the clanking of Torn's boots upon the metal floor of his room, he swiveled about. As usual, he said nothing, but a hopeful look came over him as he stared at the Underground commander, as if Torn was the very person who could banish the monsters from his nightmares back to where they belonged.

Torn just gave a weak smile to the boy, and sat down next to him, while at the same time being careful not to awaken the sleeping croca-dog at the foot of the bed. Almost immediately, the young prince threw his arms around the tattooed elf, hugging him like he was an elder sibling. The hardened warrior blanched inwardly, and it took every ounce of willpower that he had not to recoil.

Somehow, Torn had never been able to figure out why, his mere presence always seemed to be able to calm the child down. And before long, the young boy was once again asleep, in a realm where the Baron's despotic regime could not harm him. Watching him, Torn sighed bitterly. This was a job that should have been his mother's, or his father's. But, little Alex didn't have either of those, now.

And it was all because of him. He had failed those he had sworn to protect, those that he should have given his own life to save.

As he always did when he thought of those times, Torn let his gaze wander down to his left leg, and let his hand trace it. He felt just above his kneecap, where living tissue and nerve abruptly became metal and cold circuitry, a painful reminder of just one of the many prices he'd paid for his inabilities.

"Why?" he suddenly asked the sleeping child. "Why are you looking to me to protect you? I'm the reason you're here right now…so why?"

&

Okay, glad that's over with, now if my writers block would just go back to whatever hell it crawled out of, maybe I could write something with a little better quality to it.

Once again, I hope I'm not getting Torn too OOC here, with all these different sides to him that I keep showing. And I promise to go into more detail on where he's coming from in the story.

To all of you who are still reading, I would like to ask for you to please let me know how I am doing with this, as feedback and constructive criticism helps me improve, so I can write better stories in the future. Also, please leave me any ideas that you might have, I would be happy to hear about them.

Thanks, and have a great day.