Sorry for the delay, and thanks once again to Varethane for betaing.

I don't like using Deus ex Machina. How about a Deus ex Mechanic? :D

Chapter 9, Witness

Even with all the weeks that had passed, Daxter still caught himself starting to say "let's call the big guy," whenever a hairy-looking mission was laid out before the two of them. Jak never got far enough to form the words before the memory struck again, but it always left a sick feeling in his stomach. And Daxter knew, of course. He felt it too.

In between missions they turned Haven and the whole desert upside down searching for any clue.

Damas had only brought it up twice since they realized that Sig was missing. It was probably an honor for Sig, the duo suspected, because Damas hadn't ever talked about lost warriors before. It was just something you didn't do in Spargus. Death was a part of life, and moving along and staying alive was the best way to honor the dead, not dwelling on them.

But Jak wouldn't, couldn't. He felt it the worst out of the two of them, Daxter knew – back when Jak needed it the most, Sig was the first person in Haven who had been accepting and friendly from the very beginning, as soon as Krew was out of earshot. That friendship had never wavered since then.

All they could do was continue the fruitless search, because Jak wouldn't give up, and Daxter wouldn't tell him to. Not about this.

The clue they desperately needed appeared suddenly, and from an unexpected source.

It was an early morning in Spargus, while the air was still cool and the sky still dotted with fading stars. A good time to head out into the desert. Technically. Daxter was yawning so wide his jaw could've fallen off as he trailed behind Jak in the car pit. He'd rather still be sleeping, cuddled up together, and Jak probably felt the same, but the worry burnt too strong to allow such relaxation.

"Hey…!"

It was a hoarse call, like the man speaking wasn't sure he wanted to be heard. Daxter wasn't sure it was even for them, but Jak stopped dead in his tracks and turned around. The redhead followed his gaze, and he blinked in awkward surprise at the sight of a dark-skinned mechanic leaning against a car for support. His left leg was limp, obviously unable to support him properly, but he made do.

Even with his dark skin, the gray tattoos covering his face were painfully obvious. Daxter didn't need to see them to recognize the man, though, and his stomach churned at the memory of a marauder torture chamber.

The ex-KG stared at the ground, twisting an oily rag between his hands.

"What?" Jak said, his voice strained. None of them had any idea how to handle speaking with each other.

Zem Tower didn't look up.

"Friend of mine asked…" he said through his teeth, "is it true Sig disappeared after the contest?"

"Yeah," Daxter slowly said, dragging out the word as he eyed the fidgeting mechanic. "Why?"

"Kleiver dragged me along to fix his cars between races," Zem said. He spoke quickly, at first still examining the ground. But as he spoke the next few words, he scrounged his eyes closed, then met the hero's gaze head on. "Sometime before the Blue Cup, Sig showed up and walked off with Kleiver to talk about somethin'."

"What?" both Jak and Daxter said, in completely different tones of voices – but with equal amounts of disbelief.

"About what?" Daxter demanded.

Zem shook his head.

"I dunno. I stayed in the garage." He looked away again. "Sorry. Dunno if it even means anythin'."

"Only one way to find out," Jak said in a low, dangerous voice. Zem flinched, even though Jak was already turning away as he spoke and obviously not aiming his anger at the ex. "Thanks."

The gratitude was distracted, and Zem winced even harder at it. As the Demolition Duo hurried off, he heavily thumped against the hot side of a nearby car for support, combing at his fringe with shaking fingers.

The last thing he'd told Jak was "Go ahead. It's okay", and now he found that having those cold, blue eyes glaring at him still sent his heart into his throat. There was too much there.

He'd learnt to live with the shame and terror – but only if Jak and he had nothing to do with each other.

But he knew he owed Sig a big one… and on the same subject, Sig was important to Junn because he was Vida's friend. More than that, Sig was Jak and the gangly redhead's friend, everyone knew that. And when it came to Jak, there was no end to Zem's debt.

A heart-rending wave of dread and panic was a small price to pay, for the hope of offering aid to any of those people.

It took less than five minutes for Jak and Daxter to home in on their target, thanks to him being easy to find in the car pit. Every mechanic was keenly aware of their boss's location at any given moment, so it didn't take much asking.

For an added bonus, he was talking to Damas.

"Kleiver!"

Damas too looked around at Jak's snarl as the two young men came stomping across the sand. Far bigger Wastelanders along the way took one look at the blond's face and moved out of the way.

"Whut? Ya lost yer nappie, nipper?" Kleiver said with a sneer.

"Oh good, you'll make it easier to put the squeeze on the big guy, chief," Daxter commented to Damas.

The joke was ignored, drowned even, in Jak's louder demand.

"What did Sig want with you in Kras?"

Kleiver's smirk fell and a dangerous scowl dug into his forehead.

"Dunno what yer on about. Mebbe you should cut your fancy hair again, that brain of yer's getting' overcooked."

"Yeah see, we got somebody who saw you," Daxter said, folding his arms with a sneer. "Smack dab during your time playing for the other team."

Kleiver's eyes thinned and he muttered something under his breath. Something about "wringing that hobbling bastard's neck." He didn't get far though, as Damas grabbed his shoulder and with what seemed like eerily little effort spun the huge man around to face him.

The King's voice could have stopped a metal head in its tracks with its intensity. "What are they talking about?"

The ferocity had its desired effect on Kleiver. It was the first time any of the observers had ever seen him recoil. He caught himself quickly, however, and straightened up.

"Sig 'ad some pers'nal business that time," Kleiver said, looking between the three of them pointedly. He did not quite manage to hide the tension in his voice, though. And since it was a new experience, it was blaringly obvious. "Ask him, I ain't gonna spill his stuff."

"We can't ask him, 'cause he's gone," Daxter said.

Kleiver blinked.

"Whaddaya mean gone?" he spat.

"He's been missing for three months," Damas said, glaring at the man. "I told you to keep an eye out!"

"Yeah, Your Lordship, but I didn'a hear anymore 'bout it so I supposed he'd turned up in Haven or somethin'." Kleiver's voice was distracted, as he scowled and massaged his mustache with rough, rolling motions.

When it became obvious that Kleiver wasn't feeling the least bit helpful, Jak spoke up again. Less angry this time, but his voice remained just as hard.

"Anything might help, Kleiver. What did he want in Kras?"

"It ain't got nuthin' to do with anythin'," the huge man snapped. "It's over an' done with." He glared at Jak and Daxter. "Yanno, ye ain't such babies that you can't figger he might be metal head droppings right now. Or buried in the sand. People go missing all the time out here."

Jak's shoulders rose for every word on the last three sentences, and his hands balled up. Those were forbidden thoughts. He worked his jaw, but he had nothing to say. He never had anything to say when it mattered.

But Daxter did. At least, he tried.

"Y-ya know, ya really should have a bit more faith in your pros around here," the redhead said. But he couldn't keep the stutter out of his voice.

"Ain't nobody 'pro' enough to never slip up," Kleiver countered, hard, merciless truth crashing down around them.

Daxter looked at Jak. Jak looked at Damas. Damas let out a slow breath through his nose and gazed at the walls, at the defense against every deadly thing out there in the vast, unforgiving desert. The metal heads knew about Sig. So did the marauders. His head would be a coveted trophy.

Such dark thoughts ran through all their heads. But in Daxter's case, something clicked.

"Wait!" he piped up, a defiant grin spreading across his face as he raised a knowledgeable pointing finger. "I ain't buying it!"

That got all the other three's attention, with varying mixes of surprise and annoyance.

"We've gone chasing beasties and marauders together with Sig lotsa times. So they know we're a tag team," Daxter said. He patted Jak's shoulder. "There ain't no way they wouldn't let us know they got him, just to mess with the top pro here. Heck, if Sig fell down a cliff they'd climb down to get proof."

It was a cruel, and not exactly flawless logic. But it did make a lot of sense the more you thought about it. Because Sig might be known to their enemies, but he wasn't the only one – and the top spot on their enemies' hit lists was reserved for Jak (shared with Damas). Any way to get at Jak would be jumped for. Probably.

It was some comfort, at least.

"Which brings us right back to you, Meat-hacker," Daxter declared, turning his pointing finger on Kleiver.

This was only met with a roll of the eyes. Unfortunately for Kleiver, his attempt at playing it cool backfired simply due to it not being his usual tactic.

"Kleiver," Damas said in that very special, royal tone. "I order you to tell us what you know."

"Lordship, it ain't got nuthin' to do with anything here!" Kleiver snapped, exasperated enough to raise his voice even at his King. "Sig just had some business in Kras—" His eyes widened and he stood stock still for a moment, then slapped a meaty hand to his forehead. "Unless— bugger. Hoshit—!"

"What?" Damas, Jak and Daxter snapped at pretty much the same time.

"Err… hm." Kleiver cleared his throat and took in a deep breath. "Fine, okay. Ya got me. Sig needed help to git ingredients fer yer antidote."

They stared at him for a moment.

"But Krew had prepared…" Daxter started, but faltered when Kleiver shook his head.

"Nope. Sig told me so. He'd only cooked up enough for his girl, just in case. But she wanted ta save all'a yer hides, for sum reason."

"What does that have to do with Sig going missing?" Damas demanded.

"That's where it gets sticky, Your Lordship." Kleiver pulled at his mustache. "See, when Sig was scouting to work for Krew, he needed ta prove himself useful. And Krew said, if he could scrounge up some black shade, he'd be in. So it was his fault the kiddies were all about to keel over."

Silence.

"But Sig told me the poison used was— oh, of course." With a grunt, Damas pinched the bridge of his nose. "He was covering up." His hand fell and he scowled. "We seem to have figured it out."

"Why'd he go and think we'd get on his spikes for that?" Daxter huffed, folding his arms.

"Ye ain't got no clue, ratboy," Kleiver grimly said. "He was getting his jammies in a twist worry-warting 'bout you kids findin' out. If that lil' viper had that on him with proof , she'd have him doing the tango for her any day."

"And I believe I only increased that fear when he told me about the poison," Damas said.

Daxter opened his mouth to make a comment about the epic shouting of fatherly worry that had followed when Damas first learned the truth about them racing in the championship, but thought better of it. He'd only heard part of it because it had largely been reserved for Jak alone; even that had been enough to set his ears ringing afterwards.

"We're going to Kras," Jak said, and started to move away.

"Jak."

Damas's voice stopped the young hero in his tracks and he turned around, meeting his father's gaze. The king's thin lips quirked in a cold, hard smirk.

"Tear that city apart," he said.

"Yessir," Jak said, grinning from ear to ear as he hurried off to make a call and pack what little they would need, Daxter hot on his heels and whooping.

The sky was overcast with heavy clouds, so much that it was hard to tell that it was even dawn at all. The street lights began to go out as they were programmed to do, leaving the walkways in bleak obscurity. Islands of light floated in the shadowy world from windows and passing cars, but that was all.

Sig felt more than ever like he was trapped in a realm of the dead.

Compared to the outside, the vibrant colors and lights of Rayn's apartment cut into his tired eyes. There was life and warmth in there, as if she drew what little good this city had to herself and hogged it like a jealous wyrm.

Tired as he was after the late night, he was for a moment surprised that it was some random thug and not Chilton who opened the door. Then he remembered, and inwardly groaned at what he knew would be expected of him soon enough. He'd never liked Chilton. But dislike didn't make him want to break a helpless man's bones.

Chilton had done something horrible, and wanted worse to happen to Rayn. Sig wasn't so far gone, though, that he thought two wrongs made a right. He still had integrity, even if Rayn had taken away everything else.

Razer was already waiting with Rayn in the office. At some point there would probably be a new secretary, more carefully chosen than the last. Another one to raise his nose and scoff at Sig while Rayn smiled and ordered dirty job after dirty job.

Perhaps Taraxa had been a mistake. That little breather, that glimpse of companionship and compassion made everything feel so much more raw where he had almost gone numb.

He didn't get far in those thoughts, because Rayn struck the moment he was inside and the door was closed. She twisted her mouth in disdain and regarded him coldly.

"I don't know what you did to her," she said, "but Taraxa was so beaten up after seeing you that she can't work for at least two days."

He couldn't take it in, at first. Could just stare at Rayn in disbelief, at both the news and the implication.

"I didn't—!"

"Then who did? She was fine when she was brought to you. Explain that to me."

And her lips quirked the slightest bit in a cold smirk, telling him that she full well knew that he hadn't laid a finger on the poor woman.

Sig had only considered that Taraxa would be more leverage, which would not have made a difference. His mistake had been that he still had believed that Rayn was like Krew. But Rayn wasn't like her father, who had struck immediately and directly against anything that displeased him.

She was unforgiving, and her cruelty was petty.

"I'm not letting you have her, or anyone else, ever again if you're going to be like that," Rayn said, sounding grim though a smirk laced her voice.

Behind her, Razer's brow twitched.

Rayn held Sig's gaze for a moment, completely unfazed by the raw disgust and hatred he didn't even bother trying to hide. It was as if she was blind to the fact that the limit was dangerously close. But Razer saw it, in plain view. His hand drifted over a pocket at his hip, pressing against it with feigned easiness – making sure that the weapon he hid was there.

It made him feel marginally calmer. Experience told him in no unclear terms that this would be a very trying day.

"Well then, I trust we have cleared that up," Rayn said, half turning away with a smug, pleased smile while Sig stood there, silently boiling.

She glanced back and tilted her head.

"Now then, order of business," she said. "Chilton has some explaining to do. And since you're so fond of punching people, Sig, let's continue with somebody who deserves it, shall we?"

The day didn't get any better from there.

The room smelled of eco burnt cloth and flesh, a stinging, sulfuric scent. Familiar, heavy, tired.

It was more of a windowless bunker than an apartment, but it had still been made into a makeshift office and sleeping quarters. Now the desk was overturned, and the bed wouldn't be used to sleep in.

The screaming and cursing had stopped. There hadn't been nearly enough thugs to stop them from reaching this room. Now there was just the strained, wet breathing of a woman trying not to sob, and the throaty, hungry snickers of the men surrounding her as she pressed herself against the wall. They hadn't struck yet, savoring this hopeless terror like an appetizer.

Sig was – dully – surprised that something like this hadn't happened sooner.

He was tired. So damn tired. For a moment he closed his eyes, and his fists clenched at his sides.

This would be the end.

Sig looked back to the woman. The makeup had crackled under the sweat breaking on her face. It gave a hint about that she was a lot older than she looked at a glance. Rayn had mentioned her name, but he hadn't been listening that closely.

This was Chilton's mother.

The son's screaming still rang in Sig's ears, but no matter what Chilton couldn't be made to spill the location. However, Rayn had other ways, and an informant had found the mother out.

Those news had been the very last thing Chilton heard.

From the way she had managed to hold them off for a bit, she had probably wanted to go down fighting. Knew there was no way out alive, but death would only be a release from what she knew would happen first.

ENOUGH

Sig forced his way past the other thugs, deaf to their protests.

The woman's eyes widened as he towered over her, and her knees gave away. She sunk to the floor, a destitute moan whispering past her lips. Sig hunched down.

"Hey, I wanted to go first!" Shiv grumbled in the background, but Sig threw a snarl at him over his shoulder.

The thug threw his hands up in a calming, but annoyed gesture as he took a step back. Rolling his eyes. The others muttered too, apart from Razer who just watched from the door. He caught Sig's eye and casually blew out a cloud of cigarette smoke. Content with watching. This was just business as usual to him, and the rest of them.

The woman before Sig reminded him of how Rayn had looked just when he broke through the door to rescue her from Chilton's thugs. But this woman had nobody to come and save her.

Sig took a firm grip of her head and met her gaze. A tiny light sparked up as he gave the smallest nod. He couldn't say anything, they would realize what he was doing and might be able to stop him. For this, he couldn't take that risk.

Her lips formed a silent "thank you."

Before anybody behind his back realized what was going on he changed his grip, and with a hard twist, he snapped the woman's neck. The dissolving powder and rouge on her cheeks smeared his palms and fingertips as he let her head slip out of his grip. In that first shocked silence she slumped down, dead.

The silence didn't last long.

"What the fuck?"

Sig stood up and turned around without a word, staring the furious thugs down as they yelled at him.

The shouting and swearing melded into a white buzz in his ears. Pointless and predictable, and he just stood there weathering it, waiting for the actual explosion. He didn't lash out, expecting one of them to strike first.

But then Shiv jabbed a finger at Sig's chest, and snarled:

"Think you can do whatever, just 'cause Rayn can't get enough of your big, black—"

He almost got to finish the sentence before Sig's fist smashed into his face. In the brief, shocked silence, Shiv tumbled to the floor.

But the thugs were used to violence, and the shock was only because Rayn's seemingly well-trained attack dog had finally bit back. Shiv hadn't even stopped falling before his friends fell over Sig.

For the first time he felt just how out of shape he was. His motions had no fluidity, and punches he should have been able to block instead hit. But blind rage carried him through, and even in a bad state he was a better fighter than any of them.

One stumbled back and hit the back of his head against the bedframe, slumping down. Another fell forward, screeching for air after getting a knee in his stomach. No time to knock that one out, there were still three more trying to land a blow.

"Sig!"

Razer's voice was like a whip crack, alien amongst the cursing and shouting for its controlled, strict tone. It made Sig glance up.

He saw the gun in Razer's hand.

Instincts told him to duck.

But his heart said "I don't care anymore."

He met Razer's gaze, and the other man fired.

It stung.

Then, nothing.