Author's note: "With style!" is my sister's standard response to any question along the lines of "how did they pull that off?" It fits Razer very well, doesn't it?

Chapter two, Lock

Two weeks after Sig and Kleiver's discussion in that dingy restaurant, they could breathe out. Nobody but Sig even knew that Kleiver was as relieved about Jak's victory as the winner's team. And Rayn had the antidote ready just in time.

As he raised his own glass in a toast together with Jak and the others, though, Sig couldn't help but feel a niggling doubt. Why had she not handed out the antidote before the race, when she could clearly see that several in the group were beginning to feel the effects? It might have blown her cover, but by then she should have known that all of them were so far invested in the race that they wouldn't back out. At least, Jak wouldn't ever have, and he was the best of them.

And how had Mizo known about the antidotes? He must have, because why else would he have grabbed and raced off with them?

Nobody else seemed to question it, but Sig could see the obvious hint. She'd laid a trap for her enemy, and made sure that Jak had to pursue him.

Manipulative to the very end, and it sat ill with Sig. But then again, she would have to be like that if she wanted to survive.

Looking at his friends helped dispel the bad feeling. All of them together, smiling, talking, relieved. Torn and Ashelin even allowed themselves to hold each other in public. Samos was as restrictive with his praise and expressions of joy as ever, but he could not mask his pride for Keira, while she with every word and motion responded with a cheerful "I told you so." Well, as much time as she had to focus on her father, at least, with how she was busy sharing the good news with Tess, whose cheers came for all of them through Keira's communicator.

Daxter was flailing about talking and laughing about how he saved Jak from Mizo's exploding car, and how Mizo's goons must be scurrying for the boats like lizrats on a sinking ship. In between that, he argued with Pecker. Of course Jak hovered close by Daxter at all times, gently giving him a push when he almost tipped off his chair. Little touches exchanged between both of them, much like Torn and Ashelin, relieved that the other was still there.

They would all go home, safe and sound.

"Sig."

He looked around and put down his glass at the sight of Rayn. She smiled warmly at him.

"So sorry that I'm late, I had to take care of a few things," she said. When his eyebrows twitched, she shook her head and added in a low voice, "Nothing to worry about."

"Hey!" Daxter hollered. "We were wondering when you'd pop in!"

Still smiling, Rayn stepped away from Sig, walking closer to Jak she thanked all of them for their help. As she spoke, she absently setting the data disk she carried on the table.

"This town will be better for it," she promised, before turning to Jak.

Something about that struck a chord with Sig, but he was distracted by the sight of Jak giving Rayn a friendly hug. He'd never seen Jak do that to anybody before. In the background, Daxter plopped his chin on a fist and threw a quick, mock-jealous grimace, but he let that little moment pass.

With a nod to them all, Rayn turned to leave.

"Be better than your father," Sig said. He knew it was wishful thinking, but he thought it needed to be said, and out of everyone present, he felt like he ought to be the one to make that comment.

Rayn met his eye and brushed her hand against his as she passed him. Something slipped in between his fingers and he looked sharply after her, but she disappeared out the door and was gone. Looking down, he saw that she had given him a small piece of paper.

"Hey, she forgot Krew's diary," Daxter commented and reached to pick it up.

But instead he pushed a button and the living image of Krew's at his most smug, smirking self flared up in the bar's air to deliver a punch to the gut to every last one of them. Revealing that they'd been had. For a moment Sig's insides froze, thinking that Krew would reveal his part in it, but he did not.

"Like father, like daughter, eh?"

In that stunned first moment, when everyone else stuttered their disbelief, Sig felt his heart sink. None of them looked at him as he unfolded the message from Rayn.

We have business to discuss. Come see me.

And an address.

"Like father, like daughter, eh?"

The words spun around in his mind.

A few hours later found Jak and Daxter pretty much alone in the Bloody Hook, as the night wore on and the party – browbeaten by the ugly truth – had dispersed to digest and do away with the bad taste that had fouled their victory. The boat back to Haven wouldn't leave until noon the next day, though, so the Demolition Duo didn't worry about going to bed. Just sitting by the bar in each other's company, one as loud as always, one hardly saying a word.

Waiting, perhaps, for some other sign from Rayn to reassure them that things weren't so bad after all.

Of course that didn't happen.

What did happen was that somebody else walked in and ordered a drink, rousing the bartender momentarily from her idle glass polishing. Somebody in a red jacket, who headed straight for the two young men as soon as he had his drink.

"Hello, loser. Here to mope?" Daxter said, grinning from ear to ear.

"No, just looking for a good time," Razer responded. He sat down one stool down and lit a cigarette, easy smile unsuitable for somebody who was standing on top of a sinking ship.

"Look elsewhere," Jak grunted, glaring his warning. Daxter took the cue to slink over on the other side of the blond, to get a hero between himself and the former champion. Even though he had to fight the urge to stay and keep himself between Jak and Razer, instead.

The way that Razer eyed Jak, starting from their first conversation and onwards, made Daxter's fingers twitch. And he knew that Jak didn't like it at all, but he wasn't going to let it show. Being protective helped.

"And here I was going to thank you for getting me a free evening," Razer said, plucking the cigarette from his lips to watch Jak with his eyelids just the slightest bit lowered. Curious. Interested, in more than a weakness to exploit on the track. It took all Daxter had, to not throw his drink at the guy. "It doesn't happen often. I've been Mizo's man for… too long."

"Well, I would'a figured you'd be on a boat speeding out of here by now," Daxter said, seeing that Jak didn't want to respond.

Razer blew out a cloud of smoke and watched it spread into the already heavy air. He threw a glance at the bartender from the corner of his eye, and the woman wisely backed further away.

"I wouldn't reach the shore alive," he said and sipped his drink, staring off at nothing. "The dear Miss Rayn wouldn't let me."

Jak straightened.

"Rayn wouldn't—"

He cut himself off and squared his jaw. They had all been made to see that they had not known her at all, in the end. Nobody could decide what it meant, that she actually left the data disc behind so that they could find out the truth. It didn't make sense – Ashelin's guess that it was a definite good-bye was the best they could come up with. Ashelin appeared to be satisfied with that explanation, choosing to rejoice that they would soon leave this neon lit whumpbee nest forever – a sentiment shared amongst the racing troop. They could all shake it off, move on, and don't care anymore. In time.

Daxter only cared because he could see how angry Jak was about the betrayal. His trust was too easily gained, sometimes. Nobody else was as surprised, not after the first shock.

The redhead's foot gently tapped against Jak's beneath the edge of the bar. After a moment, Jak returned the slight bump. Then, to Daxter's dismay, he turned his head towards Razer.

"Is she going to be worse than Mizo were?" Jak asked in a low voice.

Razer shook his head, holding his drink up by his fingertips along the rim. The ice cubes daintily clattered against the glass and each other.

"I couldn't say," he told the drink. "Of course… her problem, which will unfortunately be our problem, I assume, is that as a young lady she will have a lot of proving to do to get started. Which means that she will need to do things in a nastier way. And she'll need weight behind her, which is why I'm not getting away – one way or another."

There was no humor or warmth in his smile. Jak shook his head, staring at the drink in front of him, and only Daxter knew that he also sighed.

"But what do we know, yet?" Razer suddenly said, turning his head towards the duo and giving a slanted smile. "She might just as well take better care of Kras than Mizo ever did."

No reply, though Daxter tried to coax some reaction out of Jak by staring at him. It should be Jak's line here, he had to try to say something to prove that he wasn't the least bothered about it, and didn't do something stupid like wonder if it was his fault. Which they couldn't honestly say it wasn't… but then, Jak wasn't the only one who'd helped her rise to power. And it wasn't like they'd had a choice.

"Yeah, well, at least she won't be shouting at the whole city from every TV screen in existence," Daxter finally said to fill the silence.

No verbal reply, but Razer's eye roll and smirk said that he did think that that was an improvement.

This conversation was ruining the last hour of cheering Jak up and distracting him, so Daxter decided that the only way out was to change the subject. So he did, unfortunately unaware of where he steered them.

"Anyway, former hotshot," Daxter said and smirked at Razer's dry look at him past Jak, "since we're on sorta non-enemy terms for the moment, mind if I ask about the name?"

The pause before the response was almost too short to notice. But it was there.

"My name?" Razer said, perfectly calm.

"Yeah, see," Daxter went on, blindly heading straight into a minefield, "all of ya goons came in a set. It's not Racer like zoom!" He made a sweeping motion with his hand. "It's 'Razor cuts to the bone', isn't it? And all your buddies are named after sharp things too."

Razer said nothing, just watched Daxter and let him go on. Jak looked up somewhere in the middle of all of this, glancing between the two of them.

"I know your ex-boss was a few cars short of a garage, but it seems way out there to hire people based on their mamas and papas' taste in baby names," Daxter finished up.

Silence.

Razer took a deep draw of the cigarette, making it flare up as the final bit was consumed.

"Very perceptive," he said, smoke billowing out of his mouth as he crushed the remains of the cigarette in a conveniently placed ashtray. "We had a laugh when Kleiver joined up. It was such an amusing coincidence."

"Really? 'Cause for a second I thought that was the only reason he got into your club."

"You really could think so, yes."

Razer took out another cigarette and absently knocked the butt of it against the bar.

"The name," he went on, looking at both of them evenly, "is not the name my parents gave me, but it's my name." Turning his head slightly and closing his eyes, he took out a lighter and lit the cigarette. "You may have gathered that Mizo was a bit of a control freak, who loved his power trips."

And he looked Jak in the eye and, for a moment, seemed to know everything – understand how it was to be trapped in the dark and given a number instead of your name.

"What's your real name, then?" Jak heard himself say, numb and unable not to ask. In the background, Daxter was still wincing.

"Razer," Razer replied, with a bland smile. "It's far too late to change, now."

The cigarette painted a delicate wisp of smoke as he gestured with it, waving their words aside.

"It doesn't matter anymore," he cut both of them off. "But there…" he leaned his chin on the back of his hand, the glowing end of the cigarette precariously close to his cheek. "… There was just one more person who ever asked about it, actually."

The corner of his lips stretched a little as he watched Daxter.

"Is it the hair color that makes you stop and think?" he said. When they stared at him, uneasy, creeping realization struggling not to dawn in their eyes, he gave a final push. "Oh come on, now. I've seen the footage of your race against him, Jak."

Jak's fingers squeezed his glass so hard that his fingers turned white, and Daxter made a disgusted noise.

"Ah, there we are," Razer said, too amused all of a sudden. "Actually, I've been told that I can make a very good impression of him. Want to hear it?"

"No!" Daxter snapped.

"Oh my, maybe I should have tried that during the races. You look like you would've gone off the road."

"Did you race him?" Jak's sudden, quiet question stopped Daxter's angry retort.

Slowly, letting out another cloud of smoke from his mouth, Razer nodded. After a second he took the cigarette from his lips and put it out in the ash tray, returning the half-smoked stick to his pack.

"Years ago, yes," he said, turning on the chair so that he didn't have to twist his neck to look at the two of them anymore. "Officially, it was a friendly race between the champion racers of Haven and Kras." His lips quirked. "Unofficially, the Commander was here to try to find out who Mizo was. The late Baron Praxis wanted to have a piece of information that Krew would kill for."

Daxter shifted, wanting to cut it off, but Jak moved his hand the slightest bit in a signal to wait. That primal, ever revenge-seeking part of him found itself mesmerized with the question of how that race had gone. If that meant that he had to listen to Razer talking about Erol first, he could handle it – for a little bit, at least.

"Mizo knew that, of course, and he knew I was the best person to keep the Commander busy and waste his time – and keep my mouth shut."

Razer's mouth twisted into an unamused sneer.

"Most days Mizo said you're a racing champion, and sometimes he said you're a hooker," he said.

His eyebrows twitched as he said that, not from his own words but from the effect it had on Jak. Daxter saw Razer's reaction and knew what he saw – those wide, blue eyes had never been able to hide a thing, and Daxter knew that he himself only felt half the disgust roiling through Jak in that moment.

It surprised both of them that Razer didn't comment on it. Instead, he shrugged.

"Well, the thing was… Erol's orders were to get information out of me, by any means possible." He snorted. "I know it sounds strange that we… mostly… got along well. It's quite easy to bond when you're both so very angry at your superiors."

"Yeah, well, spare us the details. Cut!" Daxter waved his hands about, glaring murder at Razer for going there in the first place.

Razer raised an eyebrow.

"Not even about how I called him a prostitute to his face?" he asked in a smooth tone.

Daxter's hands fell. So did his jaw. And Jak's too, for that matter. Razer watched them, raising a hand to his lips as he gave a low, soft chuckle.

"How…" Daxter managed, eventually. "How are you still alive?"

"With style, I suppose you could say." Razer chuckled again. "And he started it."

It had been an eventful day. He wasn't surprised that Erol was angry. Erol was always angry, that much Razer had learnt very quickly, but usually the anger was an ever present undercurrent of everything the man said and did. It didn't control him.

Usually.

In retrospect, he could have been a bit more perceptive, and counted on the Commander having more skills than expected. Even though he was taller, and bulkier, Razer hardly expected to be able to win against Erol in a fight – the much smaller man was built for speed and had military training. He'd have plenty of counters to the motions of one raised on rough street brawls.

Razer had kept that in mind, as well as Erol's intelligence, which had forced him to guard every word more carefully than usual at all times.

He had not, however, considered the idea that Erol might be a pickpocket. Which was why Razer now found himself against the wall with his own butterfly knife to his throat.

Part of him had to marvel at the Commander, though. Perhaps a larger part than he wanted to admit. Erol had launched on him before the door even closed behind them, dragging him into a rough, furious kiss that demanded repayment for what had transpired a few long hours earlier – excruciatingly long with speeches and celebration and useless handshakes and Blitz's grinning face mere inches from getting smashed in.

But Erol had taken a second to tear away and close the apartment door. Razer had noticed it but not taken the chance to bolt. He knew he wouldn't get away, and it'd only get worse. And he was curious, morbidly, foolishly. Then Erol launched on him again, tearing at the red jacket and Razer helped shake it off, taking a calculating step away in case there would be blood splatter.

He always planned for the worst. Knew he at least had his knife if he'd need it.

Or so he had thought.

He wasn't sure, afterwards, if Erol played a part or if it was honest, the single-minded way in which he tore up Razer's shirt, and kissed, and bit. If it was just a part, then it seemed odd that he let Razer's lightning-quick fingers undo the zipper on the Commander's jacket and the buttons of his shirt. They had done this before, however this time Erol was fueled by more rage than lust.

And then Erol shoved Razer against the wall, and suddenly he had the butterfly knife.

"If you wanted to play with that, you could've just asked," Razer said, but he dropped the smooth, seductive tone he would have normally used for a phrase like that.

"Enough!"

The knife pressed harder, enough to let Razer feel his own thundering pulse against the thin, icy edge. He didn't quite manage to hold back a wince, but did not look away from Erol's thinned predator eyes.

"I don't have time for this," Erol snarled. "And don't think I won't slash your pretty face to ribbons if you try to be sassy!"

Playing dumb would be very foolish and very painful. Razer raised his hands a little bit in a pacifying motion.

"Alright, alright," he murmured. "I'm listening."

"No listening. Talk. You know why I'm here."

Razer pressed his palms against the wall. Not his wall – not his apartment. Just something set up to look the part for the Commander, so as to not give him even that grain of truth. And there would have to be another lie.

"Erol. I don't know who Mizo is," Razer said, calmly, holding the glare from the yellow eyes. Erol studied him, unblinking, waiting for a continuation. "He only communicates through distorted recordings of himself."

"I don't believe you." And yet he stood still, only his lips quirking into a scornful sneer. "Are you really that loyal to somebody who doesn't even let you keep your name?"

Razer's eyebrows twitched at the sudden question.

"You noticed. Why, I'm touched."

He got a shove for that.

"I said no sass!" Erol growled.

Razer would have wanted to sneer and make a "Touchy, touchy…" comment, but didn't feel like pushing his luck.

"Listen," Razer said. "Mizo is everywhere in this city."

It was the first time Erol's glare left Razer's face since putting the knife to the older man's throat. A suspicious glance ran across the wall and ceiling, towards the adjacent rooms. Then back.

"Even if I knew, and let it slip," Razer said, "you don't have time to do anything worse than what he'd put me through."

"I could kill you."

"So would he, if I don't do what he says." He dared a small smirk. "Some such things are better than others."

"You're a goddamn whore."

"And you're not?" Razer shook his head and quickly added, as Erol's eyes thinned further, "Our bosses have wasted both of our time, I think."

He felt the pressure of the knife relent as Erol scoffed.

"You didn't seem to think it was a complete waste," the Commander commented.

"I cannot lie to you," Razer said, smoothness returning to his voice as he lied through his teeth. "Now, a question for you, Commander."

Razer reached up and ran his fingertips feather light along Erol's arm. Erol shifted involuntarily, eying the other man. There was a crack in the defense, though.

"Would you like to play with the knife?"

They watched each other. Erol smirked, and Razer returned it.

Later, as Erol left to head back to Haven, he would take note of the inescapable TV screens showing reruns of the races, and Blitz's grinning face. And he would remember that thing Razer said about Mizo being everywhere in Kras City.

It was Razer's little revenge.

Erol's revenge was that he didn't pass that on to Baron Praxis.

"Well, you did call him… but that's cheating," Daxter commented.

He had yelled "Cut!" several times during the brief recount, again and again making Razer spare them details about the discussion with Erol. The bartender was throwing the trio strange looks.

"Perhaps, but I will still count it as a victory," Razer said. He studied his glass, which he had been sipping at throughout the story. Only a thin line of alcohol remained, along with the ice cubes that lazily slipped against each other. "Well, suppose I must be off. I expect somebody will call me about a date at any moment."

Saying so, he drained the last of the drink and set the glass onto the bar counter as he slipped off the stool. With just a flick of his hand as goodbye, he shifted his weight to turn around and leave.

"Razer," Jak said.

"Hmm?" the older man said, stopping.

Jak stood up to face him, though of course Razer had to look down to meet his gaze.

"You don't have to stay," Jak said. "Rayn can't get you if you're on the boat with us tomorrow."

For just the briefest moment, Razer looked surprised. But then it vanished as he softly snorted and shook his head, eyes closed.

"There is nothing for me anywhere else," he said, turning to leave. "But you are a darling for offering."

Daxter groaned at the compliment, but Jak didn't even acknowledge it. When he spoke, it was as if he hadn't even heard it.

"How did your race against Erol end?"

Razer looked around with a shrug.

"There are recordings, and they're easy to find if you want to see them," he said.

"I'm asking you," Jak shot back, eyebrows lowering.

For a moment it looked as if Razer would just slip out and leave them hanging, but he paused with his hand on the door.

"The way you race in Haven," he said, "you'd say it's very different from combat racing, yes?"

Looking back at those first races, Jak had been very glad that he had practice from the Wasteland with having wheels on the ground, and with shooting while driving. He nodded, mutely. And Razer gave that smug sneer he hadn't shown since the Blue Eco cup.

"Well," he said, "let's just say that the late Commander was so very, very angry with me for a reason."

With that, he disappeared into the night.

He walked along, gazing up through the neon halos of the street lights and advertisement boards. It was a quieter hour than usual, brief as it was. There were still plenty people out and about as well as cars zooming past on the road, but there was a confused tension in the air that was almost tangible. The conversations were not as loud, the honking of car horns from near and far sounded quick and fearful rather than annoyed.

He didn't really have any particular place to go, hadn't for the whole day. All of his associates were either hiding or fleeing as best they could, or waiting it out like he was. Some more resigned than others. Razer didn't really feel much at the moment. He'd thought that the world would feel more rocked off its pillars the day Mizo died, but after the Blue Eco cup he had found himself waiting for it. Mizo had been furious, and he'd have to make a move.

Having butted heads with Jak on the racetrack, Razer had seen that Mizo could very well meet his match.

And now what?

Rayn was an unwritten story, and at the moment everyone was scrambling to figure out what was happening. Not all the families would accept her readily, but she'd had supporters even before the races. Without friends, she'd have been dead long before she could rope in Jak and the others to help her win the bet that her father had made.

Not having met Krew, Razer still had to admire his ability to plan ahead.

He wandered on, until he realized that he was being followed. It was just a feeling of being watched, then an occasional glance over his shoulder revealed that a tall shadow was tailing him. Didn't try to be very sneaky about it, either.

So it was going to be like that, after all?

He slipped into an alleyway and waited, hand drifting over the pocket where his butterfly knife was. If it came to that, he at least had enough dignity to not go out without a fight.

A huge silhouette blocked out the street lights outside the alley.

"You have a meeting with Rayn," a deep, rumbling voice said. It was more of a growl.

Razer squinted at the shadow and tilted his head to the side as well as up. The snarl unnerved him, because he wasn't stupid, and yet he had a strange feeling that the underlying rage wasn't aimed at him. The moment he made out the silhouette, that feeling grew stronger.

A spark of intrigue flared up.

"Hm," Razer said. His hand drifted to his side to rest at his hip. "I wasn't expecting you."

There was no response. With his jaw set so tight it hurt, Sig waved at the former champion to follow him.