Hello people, it's good to see you all once again, and I do hope you're having a good day. This is just a quick update before I go back to studying for my upcoming math test, but hopefully, you will enjoy it.

To those of you who have been kind enough to review.

Shakai- Yeah, poor Jak's in a pretty bad mood right now, and things are only going to go downhill for a little while, but don't worry, he'll be back to his old self before everything is said and done.

Farr2rich- I'm sorry to hear about what happened to your story, I had that happen to me once, and it is not a pleasant experience. I am glad that you think I'm doing alright, and as far as D.J. is concerned, he's changing simply because he is watching the interactions of his host and everyone around him, almost like how an infant learns if you will. Dark or Light Eco have nothing to do with the changes occurring with him, though I can tell you that a large influx of Dark Eco will at one point have a very profound effect upon him.

Lunatic Pandora1- Ahh, so you have also played DMC 3, and yeah that scene was frigging hilarious, to watch Dante then start to use said scythes to beat the crap out of those demons while chowing down on a slice of pizza, that scene had me laughing till it hurt. As far as his butt kicking for goodness is concerned, just give him a little bit of time, and he'll come around, but he's going to be bitter for the next few chapters.

Evil Manic- Hmmm, I suppose that when put in that perspective, one might say that the Arbiter did have an influence, as far as the whole revenge thing is concerned. Thanks for the grapple beam idea, I won't say much about it, but I will say that it's going to be used, and I'll try to think of a way to put that limit break into the story as well. Thanks again.

SeventhSpanishAngel12- Hehe, glad that you liked it, and I hope you enjoy this chapter as well.

Light Eco Sage- Sleep, the one thing we never can seem to get enough of. Oh, well, glad that you liked the chapter, and I hope that you enjoy this one as well.

Dude- Well, it's great to know that my first reviewer is still hanging around and reading this, and even better that you like the twists and such that I'm putting in here. As far as updates are concerned, I try to keep mine to about a week or two, provided writer's block doesn't get in the way (growls softly).

DarkStarPhoenix- Glad that you like the approach that I'm taking with D.J. And yes, I have played Jak 3, started (and beat) it last weekend. I must say, I think that the second game was much better. This one was just to short (beat it in under nine hours) and easy (the only mission I ever really failed was the ones where you were driving around in that little Precursor hover car). There were also a few plot holes that I noticed, such as Errol's unexplained return from the dead, and the whole Precursors are Ottsels thing (don't get me wrong, I thought that plot twist was funny as heck, but that doesn't explain what the 'Glow Boy' was who came out of the Stone at the end of number two). Not to mention the ending left me a little disappointed. At any rate, I'm ranting again, so to get back on track, the dream that Jak was having was his mind trying to psychologically put his memory of the coup back together, but things got a little twisted. As far as the "dark elf" and other such things, I had an English teacher (nut) back in about the forth grade that used to make my essays literally swim in red ink because I kept using the same word to identify something, and my current writing is a result of that. As to why I keep calling him a dark elf, I've actually heard him referred to that several times, probably due to the Eco inside of him. Anyway, glad you liked the story, and I hope you like this chapter too.

Something Stupid- Ahhh, the MA5B assault rifle, the only rifle in gaming history less accurate than a shot-gun at long range. But you're right, a high rate of fire weapon would be a good thing, and I think I know how to incorporate one into this story. You're right about the Vulcan, though I can tell you that it will make an appearance here, in the "old painless" style (hint for anyone whose seen the original Predator movie). You're pretty much right about the whole Dark Eco taking over thing, and you're spelling is fine, I don't even want to know what mine would look like were it not for that miracle called spell-check. Glad you liked it, and please let me know what you think of this one.

To everyone else, I hope you have found this to be worth you're time and effort, and that it has not caused you to vomit in disgust at the lack of quality found here.

To the lawyers, look guys, if I owned anything here, you can better believe that it would have been in the game, so can you please understand that? Good.

Another word of warning, Keira will likely enough be OOC during this story, as I think that she probably would have changed considering that she spent more than two years alone in Haven City.

And now, on with the story, may you find it worth your while.

&

A look Within

With one eye staring through a magnification lens, and her tongue stuck out to one side, Keira deftly went about the painstaking process of micro welding the last circuit into the computer chip. Once she was done, she smiled, and carefully put it into a holder, which would ensure that noting ill fated befell it.

She smiled, proud of her accomplishment. There was just something about building things, it gave her a high, almost as if it were a drug. While not nearly as harmful as a narcotic, it did have the positive effect of causing her to be able to temporarily forget the hell that she was currently in. While constructing machines, be they zoomer or gun, she found herself whisked away to a blissful limbo, not distracted by the harshness of reality, or the longing she felt for her lost companions.

Painful as it was for her to admit it, she was beginning to lose hope. In a few months, she would have spent a grand total of three years in this Precursor forsaken dump. Where was Jak? Where was he when she needed him? Had he died, been taken by the K.G. on some trumped up offense? And what of Daxter and her father? What cruel fate had befallen them? Which was to say nothing of the hardships that she had been through prior to her managing to land a job as a mechanic.

Oh, how she cursed the day she had ever found that accursed machine that had brought them here.

Keira sighed bitterly, resolving to herself that she would be strong, that she would persevere, no matter what. They had to be alive, they just had to be. The little group that she had been a part of had been through too much together to perish in this wasteland called Haven City. Forcing herself to think in a more positive manner, she imagined a reunion between herself, Jak, her father, and even Daxter. There would be tears, embraces, and more than a few wisecracks on the part of the smallest member of the quartet. She'd pull her father close, give Dax an affectionate pat on the head, and lose herself in the eyes of a certain blond haired Channeler.

Her thoughts were most rudely interrupted by a knocking on the door that led from the garage to her apartment. Grumbling at this distraction from the one hope that she clung to, she made her way her way to the portal. Arriving amidst more knocking, she looked through the small viewing hole in the door. On the other side, was a heavily clothed figure. A muffler was wound around the elf's face, and a hood pulled low over his or her visage. Abruptly, the person looked up, and she recognized the eyes instantly.

Letting out an inaudible sigh of relief, she opened the door, and the person hastily stepped inside. Closing the door behind him, Kiera stared back as Torn removed his scarf, allowing her to see the tattoos that covered most of his face.

"What brings you here in the middle of the day, Torn?" she asked, wondering what could be so important as to yank him away from the raids and such, in broad daylight no less.

"New orders from the Shadow." he responded, his voice controlled and even.

"Okay, shoot." the mechanic responded, leaning against a wall of the hallway.

"Scouting reports are coming in about major league Metal Head activity in the forest around Haven, and the Shadow wants em not too kindly removed." he told her.

"What types of monsters are we dealing with here?" she asked, cocking an eyebrow at the Underground commander.

"According to the reports, which the Shadow has backed up, we're looking at a full scale combat force. Grunts, Drones, Centurions, Scouts, Crab Heads, and a few Cloakers are all running around out there." he responded, his voice grave.

"And our boss expects me to take these guys on single handedly?" Keira asked incredulously.

"You won't be working alone this time, Keira." was Torn's answer, and she could detect a bit of uneasiness within his voice.

"Don't tell me I'm gonna be babysitting a bunch of newbies, please, Torn, I don't need anymore stress right now." she groaned, massaging her forehead with her fingers.

"Just the opposite." the Ex-Delta said, causing her to stare up at him, her brow furrowed. "You're being paired up with a proverbial one elf army for this one."

"Hard to imagine that phrase coming from you." she said with a smirk, "But if that's the case, why are you sounding so uneasy?"

"Cause this guy's combat skills are matched only by his personal issues." the haggard soldier answered.

"One of those mad at the world types, eh?" Keira said, frowning.

"In a sense, yeah, but I think it's more complicated than that." Torn responded, earning him yet another look. "Just don't make him mad, whatever you do." he explained.

With those cryptic words, Torn covered himself back up and was out the door, leaving the mechanic to her thoughts. These once again drifted to those that she had lost. However, they were quickly placed within the depths of her subconscious. From what the Underground commander had told her, she would need all her wits about her, and more than a little luck, if she wanted to make it out of this one with the least amount of pain and suffering possible.

As the young mechanic detached herself from the wall, she went over the possible list of equipment combinations that would be the best for this given scenario. Torn had said that there were Cloakers present, so that made thermal goggles priority number one, as well as a smaller weapon, as she would need to kill one of them without messing up its gear too much. Scouts, well, those flying freaks were fast, and they had incredible senses, which made getting close enough to shoot them quite difficult. Fortunately for her, she had just finished a mod that would quickly turn her into their worst nightmare. And she had a strong reason to believe that it would work quite well on the Crab Head commanders as well. As for the Grunts and Drones, they were standard front line troopers, so a sub-machinegun ought to do well enough against them. Add to that an RPG launcher in the event of much needed crowd control, and a battle rifle for dealing with the Centurions, comboed up with a DCs-15 pistol for the Cloakers, and she would be covered as far as ranged combat was concerned.

And if the enemy decided to get a little friendly, they would find that this soft-spoken little tech-head had a very mean left hook, thanks to the ingenuity of her talents. With her choice of arms decided, Keira made her way to that locked room in the back of her apartment, and after dealing with the security measures, stepped inside.

She quickly grabbed the long barreled morph-gun, and searching about, located the chips that she was looking for, slapping them into the weapon. Switching the weapon to its sub-machinegun mode for easier concealability, she walked over to another workbench, taking a couple of pairs of infrared goggles, one for her, and another in the event that her mystery partner didn't have one of his own.

Her attention was then drawn to a somewhat crude manikin in the corner, upon which was a set of armor that she had made for herself. It was a style of lightweight ballistics shielding, not affording as much protection as the K.G. suits, covering just the upper chest, shins, and head, but it allowed for considerably more flexibility. Which was just fine in her book, as she considered the best defense not getting shot in the first place. It also had the hidden advantage of being able to be concealed in the average large backpack.

However, it was the gauntlets that came with the suit that were what she considered to be among her greatest technological achievements.

But she would get more than enough time to use them later, so right now she busied herself by packing everything up inside the backpack that she had stored in here for just such occasions. Once the armor, ammo, and her primary gun were inside, she headed back out to the main area of the apartment, stopping just long enough to nab a pistol and her latest mod-chip on her way out.

Once back in her living room, she donned a heavy winter jacket, stuffed the pistol inside, and grabbed her jet-board. Zooming around on that thing, the average Krimzon Guard would think her nothing more than a typical, every day teenager going to hang out with her group of friends, as such things did happen on a regular basis, despite the current political state of the city. They would have absolutely no clue as to the deadly nature of the person who zipped past them.

Meanwhile, in Haven Forest, a speeder bike came to a halt, and the imposing figure on it got off. Leaving the zoomer where it was, Jak drew both of his weapons and marched forward resolutely, his knuckles white around the grips of blade and blaster, as he prepared himself to deal out some very brutal deaths to the creatures running amok in the woodlands.

Behind him, Daxter followed, the loyal friend that he was. Though the Ottsel never voiced it, he was seriously concerned about what was happening to his best friend. If, three years ago, someone had approached him and told him the change that would come over the dark elf, try to convince him that Jak would become this icy, stoic person who seemed to exist only to bring about his enemies' downfall, regardless of the cost, he would have given that person a strange look and assumed that they'd been hitting the Juma Juice a wee bit much.

But then, reality could care less what he thought. That lesson, if nothing else, had been driven into him time and time again. Still, he determined that he would stick around no matter what. He knew that he was not the bravest individual, despite his big talk and bravado. However, regardless of his cowardice, the furry former elf knew that he would be there when Jak needed him, knew that he could do no less for the one who had gone to such lengths to try and restore his humanity.

His thoughts also went over to Tess. He had only known the blond haired female for a short while, not counting their first, somewhat awkward meeting, but there was something about her that drove away his depression over his current physical form. Not to mention, there was a faint, inexplicable flutter in his heart every time she laughed at one of his jokes, and answered with a few on her own. It was an emotion that the rodent couldn't explain, and it honestly scared him to a slight degree.

Jak's mindset was also drifting, much as the warrior tried to prevent such things from happening. Ironically, at almost the same time Keira was thinking about him, the thought of her occupied his mind's eye. Once again, he wondered what she would think of him, what her reaction would be once she discovered that he wasn't the innocent little boy that he used to be. He was a different person now, changed by this hellish place, and he knew that the change was not for the better. He was a fighter, a killer, someone who had forsaken his innocence completely and utterly.

But, was there no turning back? Had he fallen beyond the point of redemption? His mind was of two points about it, one part of it, a small remnant of the boy that had grown up in Sandover, seemed to be pleading within him for him to give up all of the hatred that he had created within himself. The other, clichéd as it was, seemed to want him to embrace the darkness within himself, to use the hatred as a weapon, to let it lend him strength as it had when he had nearly struck down Praxis.

For once, Jak was at a loss for what to do. He certainly didn't like what he had become, but then, he knew without a shadow of a doubt, that had he chosen to remain the boy, rather than evolve into the warrior, he'd either be dead, or worse, he'd have been broken at the hands of Errol.

Errol, his hatred for that tattooed psycho was almost arriving at the point where it would surpass Praxis. Yes, Praxis had been the one to authorize the abduction of his humanity, to first flip the switch that started the injections, the one to rob him of his gift. But Errol, he had been the one who had tried to break him.

The sociopath's way of doings things had started off simple enough, the usual sicing of lackeys upon him, letting the Krimzon Guards who got stuck on prison duty vent their frustrations upon his body in the form of their fists and whatnot. However, once he had started to heal quickly due to the treatments, things really started to get bad. While Baron Praxis may have just shrugged and forgotten about it after the novelty of watching near instantaneous healing wore off, Errol had come to realize that his little play-toy wouldn't be dying on him any time soon. This had rapidly lead up to some rather sophisticated and very much more painful means of trying to crush the former Channeler's spirit.

Though the skin and flesh had long since healed, the dark elf had memorized where every scar had been, where every blow had been struck, where any blade had pierced his skin. Sometimes, in his mind's eye, he drew up the image of what he would have looked like had he not been "blessed" with this unnatural regeneration.

The image never failed to call forth a burst of pure, unadulterated fury and raw, passionate hatred towards those he despised.

Still, in the end, would it make a difference in what Keira thought of him, would she see past the stone and ice that he had surrounded himself with, or would she condemn him for what he had become? For that matter, would he even want her to see him? Could he even run the risk of attempting to rekindle what was once so dear to him? Dropping into Haven City had been a very cruel lesson to him, and the dark elf had learned well the harshness of this world. He was a warrior now, could he allow someone to love him? Could he let another elf feel for him, could he allow Keira to get that close? After all, both Praxis and Errol would be gunning for him even more now than they had previously. Was the joy he would feel at her embrace, the soaring his soul would experience when their lips touched, be worth the risk of putting her in harm's way?

So distracted was he by this dilemma, that he almost didn't notice a Grunt attempting to get the drop on him.

Torn was nearing the slums, and that couldn't have made him happier. Normally, that sector of the city wasn't as heavily patrolled by the K.G. as the rest.

After all, Praxis had eventually grown weary of loosing his men to snipers hiding in the ramshackle buildings and from back alley ambushes.

However, his relief suddenly evaporated, and was instead replaced by that strange tension that all soldiers got when they saw the enemy. For a reason he wasn't able to fathom, and was quite suspicious of, Commander Errol was waltzing about all alone, un-escorted and seemingly weaponless, within spitting distance of what was largely rebel held territory. Wary, his training kicking into overdrive, the Ex-Delta approached his target, his eyes constantly roaming about. Much to his amazement, his enemy actually began to walk over towards a darkened side street on the "wrong side of the city." Naturally, Torn was no fool, and knew that Errol wasn't one either, mental as he was. His thoughts quickly went back to his first few lessons as a member of the prestigious Delta Squad: if an enemy known for its deviousness does something incredibly stupid, it means he's setting a trap for you. That had been rule number six. Rule number seven also came to mind: a trap is only a trap if you don't see it coming.

Torn's eyes combed the buildings, looking for snipers, while a rudimentary scan around him showed no K.G., armored, or plainclothes. As for how he knew about the latter, well, Delta's had been trained to be highly observant, and he had been no exception to that rule. He had long ago realized that the "undercover" division of the Krimzon Guard had a rather unique way of carrying themselves when they walked, and most also suffered from the crippling problem of all having the same damn haircut.

He reached the alley that Errol had ducked into and very cautiously stuck his head around the corner, unconsciously registering the feeling of his morph gun tucked inside his jacket. Errol appeared to be alone, and had his back to him. Torn could see nothing in the alley, and let his ears focus on the world behind him, which again detected nothing out of the ordinary.

It was then that Torn made a decision, one that was very un-soldier like, but that he would do anyway. Errol had a lot to answer for, and the Ex-Delta had decided that he would gladly give his life, just to bring his dagger across this backstabbing traitor's throat.

With a flick of his wrist, said knife fell out of its sheath, and neatly into the palm of his hand. Quietly, with all the years of stealth training making him invisible to the ear, he snuck up behind the sociopath, a smile showing in his eyes. Errol was completely oblivious to his presence, taking notice in what appeared to be a bloodstain on the ground. It was only then, that Torn realized that he was in the very same alley that he had left the bodies of those five K.G. members that night he had met with Ashelin. Did this mean that Errol had returned here to look for some sort of clue as to the identity of their killer?

It was no matter, he thought, it wouldn't save him in the end. With a single movement, he clapped his hand over Errol's mouth, and placed his curved knife against the throat of his enemy, apply just the right amount of pressure to nearly pierce the skin. He was taunting the sociopath, letting him know that he was about to die.

He was thus very much surprised when Errol responded in a calm manner.

"Oh, hello there Torn, I was beginning to think that you'd never show up." the commander said snidely, his voice surprisingly clear, considering there was a hand muffling him.

"How'd you know it was me, Errol?" the Ex-Delta inquired.

"Quite simple, my overly-loyal friend," his soon to be victim responded, once again apparently heedless of the hand over his mouth, "only a Delta carries that kind of dagger, and since you're the only one left, well, that rather does limit the list, does it not?"

"I'm touched that you remember me," Torn spat, "and I'm grateful you've gone and made my job much easier."

"Now, now, let's not be too hasty, Torn," Errol said, and something his tone put him on edge, "I've taken a great risk coming all the way out here, alone and unarmed, within a stones throw of where your uncouth friends hang out…"

"Then maybe you should have considered bringing a weapon," Torn hissed, "rule number three: never enter enemy territory unarmed."

"Rule twelve," Errol countered, "never go the bargaining table without a trump card."

"What the hell could you possibly offer me?" Torn said, slightly increasing the pressure that he had on the K.G. commander's throat, and a small line of blood began to seep over the blade.

"Because if you finish that stroke, I can guarantee that you'll kill two people with one swipe." his enemy shot back, cool as ever.

"What are you talking about?" he growled.

"Let's just say that if you value the life of a certain red-haired lieutenant, you will get that dagger away from my jugular." Errol responded, his voice finally showing irritation.

"What?" Torn muttered, trying to keep his voice neutral, trying not to give his foe anything.

"Oh stop with that already." the K.G. commander said with a groan. "We know that you've been meeting with her, and that she's a spy. Now, unless you want her to meet an early demise, get your hands off me!"

Errol was instantly rewarded with the feeling of the blade being removed from his throat, and the hand taken from his mouth. He immediately backed up and turned around, where he begrudgingly admired Torn's disguise, had he not been familiar with the dagger in his hand, he would have never even recognized the former covert ops soldier.

"Now, then, I'm afraid that Praxis doesn't take kindly to traitors," Errol began, earning him a snort from the tattooed Underground fighter opposite of him, "but in the case of his own daughter, he is willing to make an exception, provided of course, that, you, are willing to cooperate."

"If you want me to sell out the location of the Underground base, then I suggest you make your peace with the gods, Errol, cause it's not happening!" Torn exclaimed raising his dagger.

"No, no, my old friend, we could care less where you and your squalid comrades decide to take up residence." the sociopath said with a wicked grin. "The Baron isn't a fool, he knows that you are after the same thing we are, and unfortunately, that you are significantly closer to finding it."

Torn remained silent, his eyes screaming hatred towards Errol, his free hand twitching, every nerve in his body wanting to kill this bastard in front of him.

"So," the K.G. commander said, and with no small amount of flourish, pulled something out of one of his pockets, "when you find out where it is, simply turn this on, and place it near it."

"And if I refuse?" the Underground fighter snarled.

"Then the Baron has given me specific orders to put a gun to Ashelin's pretty little head, and splatter her brains all over the nearest wall." Errol responded darkly as if he would very much enjoy doing such a thing, forming his hand into the shape of a firearm, and pretended to pull the trigger, an unnecessary attempt to drive his point home.

"You know," Torn seethed, "just as soon as I think you guys have hit rock bottom, you go and dig a little deeper, this is a new low, even for Praxis!"

"Perhaps," his foe responded with a shrug, "but then again, that's why we're going to come out on top, because we have no qualms about killing people to get the job done." he said, before a disgusting smile made its way to his face. "Now, if you will excuse me, there is someone I plan to drop by and have a surprise visit with."

With that, the commander actually began to hum a tune, and walked by Torn, taking special care to bump into him as he passed. This left the Ex-Delta standing their, his fury building by the second, demanding an outlet. A cry left his throat, and he slammed his dagger into the dura-crete side of the building on his left.

Once again, it seemed that he was faced with a dilemma to chose between loyalty to his heart, and loyalty to his charge, and this time, Torn had no doubt in his mind that whichever one he chose, he would be damning himself.

&

Okay, hopefully this was a nice break from the action, as that had been going on for long enough and needed a rest. As we can see, things are starting to get a little nasty for the good guys. It always bugged me how the people at Naughty Dog never explained how Torn knew about what the Baron was going to do to Ashelin, and so that's where that came from. On another note, if anyone starts to get really, really, OOC, please let me know and tell how they are so that I can correct it, thank you.

Now, feel free to leave a comment, be it criticism, flame, or anything of that nature. And also remember to have a great day.

Thanks again for your time people,

Red Mage 04