A/N 7/17/22: Over six months... I tried. I really did. Thanks to literally everything, I've been skirting burnout for quite some time. There were two extended periods where I just could not write, and this chapter was a bear from the get-go. Action is not my forte, yet I had to tackle the big one, the Championship race. I of course can't promise anything, especially now that my daughter is two and has come down with COVID, but may the next update be far swifter...
I can never say enough how awesome all my readers are. You're so patient and understanding about the long breaks, and I can't thank you enough! The last cliffhanger was a doozy, so I hope this chapter is worth the wait!
And thank you so so much to Meghanna Starsong for being the best beta reader!
Lastly, a reminder to go to the imgur album (htt*ps:/*/*im*gur.c*om*/*a/Hopu6dr) whenever you see an asterisk.
A small noise escaped Keira's bloodless lips. Her wide eyes darted toward Daxter, still fast asleep, but she didn't dare say anything to wake him. She didn't dare move.
The monster was hunched over and breathing heavily, one dagger-clawed hand splayed on the table. His obsidian eyes were unreadable, and only when he looked up was she certain that he actually saw her. He bared his teeth and growled, stray dark eco flickering through his ashen hair and around his black horns.
Keira quivered where she stood. How could this happen when Jak had only just transformed in the sewer mere hours earlier? What in the name of the Precursors was she supposed to do?
He snarled again, making her flinch. Then he straightened to his full height, and his hand slipped off the table, his claws shaving long, spiraling curls off its wooden surface.
"Jak," she said.
Another snarl.
"Jak, calm down. It's me." She raised her empty hands. "Please."
He let loose a short, terrifying roar, and Daxter sat up, snorting and heavy with sleep.
"Please," Keira pleaded, and she took a step forward.
He growled in what she swore was surprise.
Another step. "It's ok, Jak."
Daxter swiveled, rubbing his large eyes, and froze.
Keira was close enough to touch him now. "It's ok." Slowly, ever so slowly, she extended a trembling hand. He watched her with his fathomless eyes, waiting. She could feel the dark eco crackling all around him, stinging her skin and raising every hair on her body. "It's ok…" Her fingers were inches away from his corpse-white cheek. *
The monster howled and shoved her aside. She cried out as she fell to the hard floor, and he sprinted for the door and was gone.
Minutes.
Hours.
It felt like days.
The clock read half-past seven. The championship race was imminent. Keira and Daxter waited in the garage, the former futzing with mindless mechanical tasks and the latter pacing from one wall to the other.
Waiting.
Waiting.
She had always hated waiting.
Keira lowered the work table housing the air racer. She should be prepared to shepherd it to the track at a moment's notice. Jak could walk through the door any second now, after all.
Minutes.
Hours.
It felt like days.
Keira glanced at Daxter, on his umpteenth lap around the garage. If he kept it up long enough, surely his furry feet would wear a visible depression in the concrete.
Why had Jak transformed? She asked herself the question again and again. As Daxter told it, Jak never did so without a reason, a need to defend himself. Especially if the Baron's forces were involved. Especially if there was any chance of him being thrown back behind bars.
So, why now? Why did he transform when he was already drained of dark eco? When he was safe and surrounded by friends and comrades?
She asked if only to pretend she didn't already know the answer—Jak had heard her confrontation with Ryker. He had learned the full scope of her omission, and he must have felt so angry, so hurt, that he lost control of himself. There had been no word from him since he disappeared into the night. No word, and he was without his communicator. Without even most of his clothes.
Keira's gaze settled on his folded shirt and jacket, his gloves and scarf, his gardbrace and baldric. His goggles. Again, he had forgotten his goggles.
Tears welled in her eyes, but she forcefully swallowed them back down. She refused to fall to pieces. Jak would come back eventually. Even soon. He had to. Otherwise, he would miss his chance to take his revenge.
And no matter how angry he was, wouldn't he miss her?
She glanced at the floor beneath the same chest of drawers Ryker had shoved aside two years ago, mentally running over the checklist of items she had stashed inside the secret compartment. Then she did another once-over of the air racer even though she already knew it was tuned to perfection. Last, she checked for the twentieth time that the pocket pistol and TK Jammer were ready to go and hidden in Jak's racing gear.
There was nothing left to do.
Nothing but wait.
Waiting.
Waiting…
She had always hated waiting.
Keira sharply exhaled, stomped behind the patchwork olive curtain into the lounge, and threw herself face down on the lumpy old couch. It was too much. The race, the plan, Jak—all of it. She was in danger of falling into despair, teetering on the edge of a total meltdown, and it was taking a physical toll. The stress of the last twenty-four hours was so great that her insides felt saturated with thick sludge, and she was beginning to wonder if it would ever go away.
The bay doors slid open, groaning against their rails, and Keira's head immediately popped off the couch. She leapt to her feet and dashed out just as doors ground to a halt, and Jak barreled into the garage, half-naked and all wild-eyed.
"Big guy!" Daxter cried. "Buddy! Where ya been?! We've been worried sick!"
"Nowhere." Jak's curt reply was as hard and cold as a frozen lake. He scanned the tables and shelves until he spotted his clothes and made a beeline for them, then the protective gear where it hung on the wall.
Keira approached him, almost as cautiously as she had when he was a berserker in the black of night. "Jak—"
He whirled toward her, his expression raw. He was shirtless, his bandages ripped off. Barring some dirt and grime, his skin was almost pristine, only a few minor burns wreathing his scarred chest.
"Are you… alright?"
He yanked his breastplate and mask off their metal hooks and charged into the bathroom to change.
Keira stared at the empty hooks as if they strung up her guts. She felt nauseated. Ill. The sludge congealing in her heart and rising in her throat.
After a couple of minutes, Jak emerged, dressed and ready for the track. Keira watched as he went to the air racer and fired it up, face hidden behind his skeletal metal mask. She tried to help him guide it, but he was already plodding toward the stadium hallway.
"Wait!" she demanded.
He didn't so much as pause.
"Listen to me, damn it! You don't know how the equipment works!"
That got him to stop.
She reached under each armpit, revealing the pocket pistol and TK Jammer and giving the most succinct explanation possible. All she really wanted to do was shake some sense into him. Some decency.
"This thing shoots out a pulse of green eco?" His voice was rough, devoid of any and all affection.
Keira stifled a wince. "It should be harmless, even for you. My father said the most it'll do is sting a little." She refrained from pointing out that they could have tested it if he hadn't run away.
"So, uh…" Daxter stammered, scratching behind his brown-tipped ears. "We'll be watching from the sky box. You ready for this?"
Jak flashed a stiff thumbs up.
"No matter what happens, we'll rendezvous at Brutter's warehouse," Keira said. She felt like she was talking to a wall.
Without any acknowledgment, Jak opened the bay doors and pushed the air racer forward.
Keira followed and then led, cutting a path through the bustling current of bodies. It was the only thing she could do.
Some time later—minutes, an eternity—they were sliding the air racer into position on the docking bridge. She pointedly stared at him, as if she could will him into engaging with her, but he didn't say anything as he swung into the driver's seat. She looked up and down the bridge, biting her cheeks to maintain her composure. Just three vehicles over, Erol was wrapping up whatever discussion he was having with his mechanic. He caught her staring and his yellow eyes darted to Jak. A wretched smile split his face before he lowered his mask, and Keira shuddered.
"Attention, all drivers," the stadium computer droned. "The Championship Race is about to begin."
"Jak…" She wanted to demand what was wrong, to shatter the bulletproof glass of his silence. But would that make things worse? Would it compromise him during the most important race of his life? Would this be the last time she saw him alive? She shoved the thought away as she searched for something, anything to say. "I just want you to know that… well…" One hand grasped the outer seam of her pants, and the other's nails dug into her palm. "…You're the best racer I've ever seen."
His masked visage turned toward her. Was it the first time he had really looked at her since he arrived at the stadium? What she wouldn't give to see the expression underneath. Or to never see it.
The yellow light in front of his dock flashed, and the starting ring sounded off.
"Leave 'em in the dust, Blue Lightning!" Daxter cheered as convincingly as possible.
Keira couldn't feign the slightest drop of enthusiasm. Not when his stare was fixed straight ahead, as if she didn't even exist.
The fourth ring blared, the dock clanked, and he was lowered to the track below.
Brass fanfare blared throughout the stadium, the dour anthem of Haven City, and the racers took a ceremonial lap around the track. Thousands watched, a roiling sea of screaming and cheering faces that filled every last seat. Some excitedly pointed at Erol, the longtime champion returning to defend his title. Others zeroed in on the mysterious racer who stood poised to take it from him. Above them all flew the Baron's private box, a circular structure that was rendered airborne by four hull thrusters, its rails draped in banners of black and red. There Praxis stood, flanked by two bodyguards, and there Jak's eyes returned again and again as if magnetized.
He forced himself to focus on the track, to memorize each feature. A drifting U-turn ending in a ninety degree corner to the left. An uphill straightaway followed by another corner to the left. A sweeping right corner made treacherous by the outside falling away to a lower level…
He stole glances whenever he could. His entire being strained toward the Baron, the object of all his hatred, his reason for living.
…A straightaway cleaved in two by a long, black trench. A winding s-curve where both sides dropped down, splitting the track in three. A descending series of three hairpins. Another split-track S-curve…
If the Baron had never arrested him… If Samos had never sent him through the rift in the first place… He would be whole again. And Keira—
A muffled snarl tore out of Jak's mask. Focus. He had to focus. Soon the race would begin. Soon the storm in his mind and the pain in his chest would cease to exist. But until then, he would return his attention to the Baron's private box, the track in front, Erol peacocking for the crowd. And he would win. He would win, and he would kill them both.
…A left corner into a dark tunnel. A right corner to exit. And then, after a gentle bend to the right, the checkered line, rendered bright turquoise and inky black by the lights.
One after another, the racers returned and assumed their starting positions over seams of black and blue. Jak and Erol were side-by-side at the front, and the latter revved his engine in a taunting bid for attention. He raised his mask and flashed a feral grin at Jak. "I want more than just to win, eco freak!" he jeered over the clamor of the stadium. "I want your head!"
Jak scowled darkly, a silent promise. It was he who would take Erol's life, not the other way around.
The starting indicator floated into place at the front of the checkered line, the Baron overhead, and the acrid smell of burning fuel perfumed the air. He spread his armored arms wide to signal for attention, and his amplified voice boomed through the stadium speakers. "Greetings, racers! Today your nerve and skill will be tested for our amusement. If any of you should, by some small chance, beat our Grand Champion, Erol, then you will be awarded a month's supply of eco!" He gestured toward the winner's circle, cordoned off from the rest of the track and stacked high with barrels bearing his insignia. "You will also have the privilege of touring my palace and seeing firsthand all that your sacrifice makes possible."
Jak's teeth ground together until his entire jaw throbbed. Breathe, he reminded himself. Breathe.
"Good luck, and die bravely!"
The crowd erupted, their anticipation too great to contain, and Praxis trained his one-eyed glower on the starting indicator.
A long, vibrating moment pressed in on Jak's chest, crushing his nerves, his lungs.
Breathe…!
The buzzer screeched in time with the first blaze of red.
"Ready!" Praxis bellowed.
Two red lights.
"Set!"
Three red lights.
"GO!"
All eight air racers surged forward, bursts of flame and the final green light glinting off their sleek bodies.
The Championship was officially underway.
Jak accelerated perfectly, allowing him to stay ahead of the pack, but so too did Erol. They traveled parallel and mere feet apart until the first U-turn. Positioned on the inside, it was only a matter of milliseconds before Erol pulled away.
Jak's thumb hovered over the cobalt scramble button, preparing to utilize his first precious boost, but was thrown off when another racer bumped his tail. Before he knew it, he was hemmed in by five others, all of them grinding and bouncing off one another. He slammed the brakes, dropping behind the pack like errant cargo.
SKRICK.
One driver's nose was pushed so low that it skipped off the track and into his neighbor. To the delight of the bloodthirsty crowd, both lost control and crashed against the outside wall.
Jak ducked beneath a spinning hunk of shrapnel and slid into the next corner. Boosting at just the right moment, he launched himself out of the sharp turn and past the next two racers. But second place, the same bastard who had bumped him, was already out of sight.
Jak's shoulder blades pressed back, flattening against his bucket seat, and he fully opened the throttle. The course's various hazards flowed past, a series of rapids that he smoothly navigated.
Uphill straightaway.
Left corner.
A flare of eco fire and exhaust fumes.
He skirted the first gutter, his eyes widening as he came up behind the second place racer. He was close, so close he could almost return the favor, but there wasn't enough time. They entered the straightaway bisected by a deep trench and separated, Jak going left and the other going right.
The air whipped past as he pulled even with his opponent, blowing his hair into a wild, fluttering mane of yellow and green. In mere seconds, the trench ended, and both sides of the track dropped away. The narrow lane that remained was scarcely wide enough for one air racer, let alone two.
The other driver veered into Jak with a metallic crunch, and the edge tugged at him like a riptide. He grunted with the strain of pushing back, of navigating the S-curve, of just barely maintaining control. Somehow, neither fell, and the gutters ended, allowing them to break free of each other.
The wall rushed toward Jak, forcing him to brake, and his focus shrank to avoiding a collision. Only when he recovered did he realize he had been left behind a second time.
Cursing, he struggled to reign in his temper. Breathe, he chanted to himself. Breathe, breathe…
All thought left his head. There was only the track, his air racer, the sounds and smells of the stadium.
Hairpins.
Whining engine.
Split track.
Screaming crowd.
Tunnel.
Burning fuel.
Checkered line.
Second lap.
Jak's breath caught as he came up behind second again and spotted an opportunity. Without hesitation, he entered the U-turn high before cutting an aggressive line to the inside.
Breathe!
With gravity on his side, he sliced across the track and boosted. Second tried to do the same—but not fast enough to maintain his lead. Jak hurtled past, a blur of blue and yellow and violet. He pulled further and further ahead, and soon enough it felt as though he was racing all by himself.
It wasn't until the beginning of the third lap that he caught any glimpse of his true opponent. Round corner after corner, there was a brief shock of crimson and orange, then nothing. Only when he reached the three hairpins was Erol consistently within sight. By the tunnel, Jak was riding his tail.
The fourth lap began, and the very air seemed to vibrate. This was what everyone had been waiting for—the showdown between the Grand Champion and the brave upstart who was vying for his title. None of the other racers mattered.
The fervor electrified Jak, horripilating his flesh and supercharging his reflexes. Bit by bit, he gained on Erol. They were nearly even once they reached the inclined straightaway and boosted simultaneously. They were twin comets, flying so fast that they launched off the crest of the track.
Jak's stomach dropped as gravity reasserted its dominance, and his vehicle skipped off the track like a stone off of water.
CRUNCH.
Far more ominous than a splash, but it didn't linger in his mind. His bobbing trajectory stabilized just in time to take the inside on the third corner…
And he was in the lead!
…But Erol remained so close that the shrill roar of his engine was almost as loud as Jak's. They both attacked the long corner to the right with perfect timing, drifting in parallel, their tails hanging over the drop to the track's outer third before the trench divided them.
Accelerating.
Speeding.
Converging.
The trench ended, and the sides of the track fell away.
SKRCH.
A violent bump from behind sent Jak plunging into the right-hand gutter. Dark walls swallowed him whole, blocking the bright lights of the stadium and casting everything in dim shades of grisly red. He wrestled with the controls, frantically grunting and scraping the walls. The margin for error was gone. Now, every move counted, and all he could hear was the sledgehammer of his own pulse as the narrow path banked right.
Left.
Right.
Up.
The red lights of the gutter gave way to blinding white and blue. Blinking, Jak oriented himself just as Erol disappeared around the bend.
He growled, pushing the throttle up to the line of recklessness as he swerved into the final series of hairpins. He swooped back and forth, past the split track, through the tunnel, and over the checkered line.
The fifth and final lap had begun.
Jak gained on the KG Commander a second time, closer and closer past the corners, the straightaways, the trench, searching for an opening. The crimson air racer's fumes began to sting his nostrils as he drafted closer. When they reached the first guttered S-curve, he accelerated, aiming to knock Erol into the most lethal trap of the course, but he couldn't touch his wily opponent… Not until Erol braked to do the same.
Before Jak could so much as register the fresh adrenaline jolting through his veins, he bounced off Erol's rear jet and fish-tailed, tipping over the yawning left gutter. He wrenched to the right, throwing all his weight to counterbalance. His masked face drew so close to the track that he could hear the lower pitch of it whizzing past, feel its proximity…
Only by the barest margin did he correct in time to keep from falling, and as soon as he did he boosted to make up for lost time—and that meant he only had one boost left. After the trio of hairpins, Jak saw an opportunity to use it. The second gutter section was fast approaching, and of course Erol would stick to the top center lane… which meant there was a sure way to take the inside.
Without a second thought, Jak bore right and descended into the gutter a second time. The walls pressed in, a choking, metallic esophagus, but he forced himself to drive faster, to recklessly skim through. He ignored every scratch, every scrape, until he rounded the final corner and was upon the exit ramp. Then he jammed the scramble button and boosted out of the gutter, soaring so high he could easily see the teeming stands all around.
He landed directly in front of Erol, scouring the track with his undercarriage. There came a muffled curse and the smell of smoke. A darting glance, and he saw a charcoal stream billowing behind him, the KG Commander fishtailing.
It worked! It fucking worked!
Flushing with triumph, Jak swerved into the series of hairpins. With every corner, his excitement grew, and by the final one he felt almost invincible…
Erol crashed into his flank, knocking his teeth together. They ground against one another to keep from flying into the walls, somehow managing the sharp left into the dark tunnel, and there was a stomach-churning clunk. Jak's stomach leapt into his throat. He wasn't just grinding with Erol, he was stuck. A claw had swung out of Erol's undercarriage and hooked Jak's chassis. He wrenched once, twice, but there was no breaking free.
Muffled, vicious laughter rose above the din of the air racers, and it was then he knew Erol wouldn't let go until the corner at the tunnel's exit, the best place to get him to fly into the wall and crash. All the blood drained from his face, and he wrenched again.
The laughter grew louder, maniacal. "SO LONG, OUTLAW!" Erol crowed.
He wouldn't kill Erol.
He wouldn't kill Praxis.
He would lose.
A monstrous roar exploded out of Jak, violet electricity surging from his rapidly blanching hand, and he struck, cleaving away the hook.
Erol veered sideways, bounced off the wall, and spun out, the flame of his thrusters extinguished.
Jak zoomed ahead, turned safely out of the tunnel, and crossed the checkered line unopposed.
It took the crowd several seconds to realize what had happened, and then their cacophony rocked the very foundation of Mar Memorial Stadium.
A thrill snapped through Jak, a rush of blood to the head, and for a moment he forgot where he was. He felt light and giddy, weak and hollow.
He had done it.
He had won.
Cannons all around the stadium's perimeter sprayed fluttering clouds of red and black confetti, and the city anthem blared once again.
After all the grueling training, the risking of life and limb, Jak had beaten Erol and won the race. He took a victory lap around the track, so high on his success that he would barely remember any of it in the future. But he would never forget the way those nearest in the stands waved their arms at him, the revelry and admiration in their faces. How he almost felt heroic.
When he returned to the checkered line, the way to the winner's circle was open, a short corridor up to the very center of the stadium. There sat the pallet of precious eco reserves, and there he at last came to a stop.
Thrusters sounded above, and the Baron's private box descended into view.
Jak's jellied limbs flared with adrenaline.
It was time.
The floating structure hissed into a shallow hover just above the track, giving Jak his first good look at his target since the start of the race. Baron Praxis stood between his bodyguards, as menacing and imperious as ever. He bristled with distaste, looking down his metal nose as if he were regarding vermin. "Ah," he sneered, white teeth bared beneath his thick auburn mustache, "a brave man of the people. And who is this worthy opponent?"
Time dilated even as Jak's heart beat faster. He crossed his arms to hide that he was reaching for the TK Jammer.
"Nothing to say for yourself, Champion?"
Jak sucked in a thin breath and remained silent.
"I'm not accustomed to repeating myself." Praxis leaned forward, clutching the railing of his private box in a death grip. "Your Baron commands you to speak."
Jak slid the hidden panel open and pitched his voice lower. "As a 'brave man of the people,' I have nothing to say to you."
The Baron's one brassy eye narrowed to a venomous slit. "In my world, good men are either bought or broken."
Jak's fingers tingled as they closed on the Jammer.
"So which is it going to be?"
He yanked the device from its hiding place, smashing its single large button. A thin bubble of green light expanded from the device to infinity, sweeping through everyone and every weapon along the way. In its wake, Jak felt a spasm, an itchy, burning sensation that almost made him falter. Yet he didn't miss a beat as he took aim with his pocket pistol and ripped off his mask.
Recognition cut through the Baron's steely facade.
"Surprise." Jak's finger constricted around the trigger.
The scream of an air racer reached his ears.
"I win!" Erol bellowed.
Jak instinctively flung himself down and flattened against the track. A series of nicks bit into his armor, and white hot agony sliced one ear, spattering his face with droplets of black. A tremendous explosion rent the air, scorching his skin, and something hard and heavy bounced nearby. He looked up to find a writhing mass of purple flame and smoke where the barrels of eco used to be, a red-eyed mask by his elbow.
Erol was gone.
Jak felt a whisper of grim victory… then a jolt of alarm. He scrambled to his feet, readying his pocket pistol a second time, but the private box was already lifting off. He hastily opened fire, aiming for the Baron's head, but one of the bodyguards jumped in the way, his plate armor denting and charring with every shot. Then the private box rose so high that Jak lost sight of his target.
And that meant the assassination had failed.
His gun arm grew heavy and dropped to his side.
…Run. He had to run.
Jak shoved his pocket pistol in his belt and leapt back onto his air racer. Revving into the red, he sped out of the winner's circle and up to the docking bridge. A pair of Krimzon Guards blocked the way out, shaking their jammed weapons in confused frustration. Jak smashed through them, denting his zoomer's nose with their armored bodies, and entered the long sweep of the stadium hallway. Concession stands and bay doors streamed past in a colorful riot, the great arches loomed ahead, and a familiar weight landed on his shoulder. "Dax!"
"You sound surprised." Daxter's quip was light, but his voice sounded shrill and strained.
"Why aren't you with—" Jak halted, Keira's crushed visage swimming in his mind's eye. "Why are you here? We're supposed to meet back up at the rendezvous!"
Daxter jerked and flailed as they cornered and passed beneath the arches. "Tell me something I don't know! Like maybe where the hell you've been since last night?"
"Nowhere!" Jak immediately spat his earlier answer.
"Yeah, right," Daxter retorted, undeterred, "like I'm gonna let you off the hook that easy."
"There is no way we're talking about this right now!"
"Fuck that! This is just as important as getting away from a whole city's worth of Krimzon Guards. You were MIA for seventeen hours!"
Jak gulped for air and tried to focus on the road. He didn't want to have this conversation. Not when he was driving a vehicle far faster than any civilian zoomer. Not with the sounds of sirens growing closer. Not ever.
"First, you go all Dark Jak and run off like some emo moron. Then you show up at the garage half naked. You're a total dick to me, and you treat Keira like dirt. After you two finally got together! What gives?!"
Five HellCat zoomers and three cruisers turned onto the street ahead, and Jak wrenched into a violent U-turn before hurtling into an alley.
"So what, you're just gonna give me the silent treatment too?"
Jak pictured Keira's face again, only now it was one of ecstasy as she writhed beneath Ryker. "I'm warning you, Daxter," he snarled. "Fucking drop it!"
"But—"
"DROP IT."
Jak made a hard turn out of the alley, and Daxter bit his lip in frustration.
Without someone screaming in his ear, Jak realized that the waves of Krimzon Guards weren't slowing down. The air racer was so fast that he was able to outrun any HellCats he saw with relative ease, and yet they didn't stop coming. Those he passed closest to were barking into their radios, letting every guard in the city know where he was and what direction he went. Catching the Baron's failed assassin would be of the highest priority… and that meant he had to ditch his air racer as soon as possible.
Jak waited until he lost another cruiser before descending into one of the Business District's canals and parking beneath a wide bridge. Once sirens screamed overhead and faded into the distance, he stripped off his racing gear, keeping only the pocket pistol, and climbed up to street level. Scanning his surroundings, his burning glare caught on the jagged palace scraping the sky.
A mutinous rage overtook his limbs, and he started forward.
Two blocks later, Daxter piped up, "Uh, big guy, the rendezvous' that way."
"I'm not going to the rendezvous." Jak broke into a run. The chase had brought him almost to the city center, and even with the going slowed by evading passing soldiers, it wasn't long before he stood panting in the dark mouth of an alley, the palace gate across the square.
Daxter's jaw fell slack, and his ears flattened against the back of his leather cap. "What are we doing?" he demanded.
Jak braced his hands on his knees, breathing heavily. "The winner gets to tour the palace."
"You didn't get a goddamn card, you idiot! And even if you did they'll be expecting that!"
Jak didn't care. All of him was focused on moving forward, on finding a way to take his revenge as soon as possible.
"What are ya gonna do? Just run up to the front door and knock like a good boy?!"
Jak was grinning now. Even with certain danger imminent and no plan, he couldn't repress his base excitement.
Something hard and cold shoved into the back of his head.
"Don't move."
