A/N: A thousand thanks go to Bree and Alex for helping me with the first few lines of this chapter. As any writer knows, that is the hardest part!

A huge, warm thank you goes out to all the reviewers, especially the newcomers, ersay123 and Sock Monkeys. Leia, thanks for being my muse and pushing me to work on this, and EcoSeeker247, thanks for being just plain awesome when you beta-read! You guys are all kinds of awesome.

Disclaimer: I do not own the title "Jak and Daxter." Naughty Dog does! They rock so much.

At any rate . . . on with the chapter!

P.S. Has anyone seen Wicked? It was freaking awesome.

Part Two: Chapter 11: Difficult Decisions

"Who cares who the freaking leader is?" Daxter cried with fury. Precursors, did that thing ever shut up? "I can name one ottsel and a dozen explosive-wielding Krimzon Guards that probably don't! Now, would you two stop throwing words at each other and start throwing punches at them before our bones are reduced to the same solidity as these boulders that are getting blasted to smithereens every second we spend talking?"

I was too angry to look at either of them, so I quickly complied, snatching my gun out of its holster and firing madly. Jak vaulted over the rocks that offered as cover and whipped out his scatter modification, which was much more effective. Show off.

"Got a plan then, leader?" I called.

"We could run away, beg for mercy and then hitch a ride when they're gone," suggested Daxter. I rolled my eyes, deliberately ensuring the rodent saw the motion. He stuck out his tongue.

"Got a plan then, Jak?" I repeated.

"Yeah," he replied. "Grab what you can, get back out, and kill everyone who gets in your way."

This plan worked well for me. Oh, the fun we two have in the middle of dire situations.

My mind switched to its theoretic "auto-pilot" setting. The entire scene was a blur of fast moving men in red suits, and even faster moving adolescents with guns. The only thing I contemplated was the best route to attain the bombs.

Duck under that bush, pause to breathe. Dodge the incoming bullets, sprint again. Roll behind the loading dock. Shoot the three guards in range. Keep moving.

This was the sort of activity for which I had trained in the last few years, no matter how unwillingly. Every movement became habitual, mechanical. I was into the action, and nothing snapped me out.

Until my pistol clicked empty.

No, no, no, no, no, no. . . .

There were several things that passed through my head in that instant, most-if-not-all of them profane words and curses. But there was one coherent thought that was in fact relevant and useful to my current predicament:

I was not going anywhere without those bombs. And now I did not have shooting to lend part of my attention to. Just avoiding shots directed at me.

Rolling behind the landing platform, I re-holstered the Eco pistol and scooped several small stones in my arms. As I continued towards the container of shining, pristine explosives, I tossed the rocks haphazardly over my shoulder, hoping a few would hit their target.

In no time I had arrived at the deposit site and gathered two individual cases of explosives in my arms. Then there was the trek back, which would be considerably longer when the weight in my arms was brought into factor. I began it anyway, slowly but surely. Upon further examination, the explosives looked like little tin grenades. They clattered as I ran.

Once again, I was back in no time at all. I shouted a quick, "Let's go!" to Jak and his shoulder plushie, but there was no reply. "Come on!" I reiterated.

Then came a, "Can't really right now!"

Oh, Precursors. Jak and Daxter were cornered by most of the platoon, disregarding the ones that lay dead on the ground, bullets wedged in their bodies. And each KG had a gun directed at the dynamic duo.

"Come on, Ginger! I take all the insults back! Just help me!" Daxter implored.

It came down to my decision again. Stay, help, and likely die, or run away and make do on my own. With Ty, I had chosen the latter option. Once again, this was a matter of life or death. Trap or escape. To prove myself or do what I do best and flee.

I needed to redeem myself; I knew that. But something tugged at the back of my mind, reminding me that I did not make this sacrifice for my best friend. So why should I make it for a stranger I loathed?

Still, did I want to live with the regret that I had let someone die when I would have been able to stop the outcome? I hated Jak, but it was a simple contrast of personalities in a bad predicament. We might have become friends in another reality.

I asked myself one question I knew would give me the true answer: Would Jak have done the same for me? Would he stay and help if I was about to be killed?

I glanced at Jak, the one blond head in a mass of crimson. His face was set in a fierce snarl, his hands trying to find an angle for the gun where it could hit all the KG with one shot. He caught my eyes, and his narrowed angrily. Get over here.

The answer to my question was right there, subliminal in his eyes. Without a second thought, I turned and ran back through to the tunnel entrance.

The decision was notably easier to live with the second time.

I sat at the opening of the cave, eyeing the ever-present assembly of Metal Heads, waiting to hear something, anything, from behind me. Maybe Jak, maybe the KG. For once, I actually wished for the former of those options. And I got my wish. I grinned sheepishly and stood as he approached me. This was going to be an interesting conversation.

"Hey, Jak—"

Wham! A large, solid object collided with my jaw, so brutally that I was knocked right back to the ground. My teeth clamped down on my tongue and bit down hard, surely drawing a substantial amount of blood. I coughed repetitively to clear it from my mouth , hating the metallic taste, then looked up at Jak incredulously.

"You punched me!" I gasped. My voice was rough and gurgling. "Precursors . . ."

"You self-serving, pretentious, disloyal brat!" Jak shouted.

I scowled as best as I could through a mouthful of blood. But it sickened me so much; it emptied itself from my mouth, along with the other contents of my stomach. I needed some food that would stay down, and soon. "You punched me," I repeated.

"Was that not clear enough?" Jak cried. "Should I do it again to refresh your memory? It probably wouldn't help; you're too stupid and naïve to understand it either way."

I was still in shock, but regaining some sense. "What the hell? You just punched me!" I was starting to sound idiotic, but nothing else was forming itself into words.

Daxter hopped onto my stomach. "Is it not entering your thick head, sweetheart?"

"Ugh!" I exclaimed. I looked up at Jak, hauling myself to my feet and knocking Daxter to the ground consequently. "Jerk!"

"You left us to die!" Jak shouted. He shot me that death glare, but it was a bit different when we were right next to each other. I was taller, if only fractionally.

"If I'd stayed, neither of us would have survived! At least I had the bombs! What did you bring back?"

"You better watch your tongue," Jak snarled. "Bad things tend to happen to you when you lose your temper, so I've noticed."

I growled. I was losing my temper. "Well, at least my eyes don't turn black!"

The pain to my eye was instantaneous. Once again, Jak had managed to get a clear punch on me without it alerting my senses. The entire left side of my face was going to be mangled for the next two weeks. As my thoughts drifted slightly from light headedness, I thought about how fortunate it was that I owned a racing helmet. . . .

As I lay on the floor rubbing my eye to probe for more blood (of which there was none, only unavoidable tears) and possibly permanent damage, Daxter's chuckle filtered into my conscious level. "Give it an hour. That one will."

"You think you're so smart, don't you, rat?" I spat, blinking my eyes and then squeezing them shut again. Words hurt to utter.

"Smarter than you, Ginger. I know how to duck when the big guy starts throwing punches."

I stood once again, dusting off my clothes and spitting another mouthful of blood and saliva out of my rapidly swelling lips. Then I weighed my options, and decided with which I would live happiest. This conversation was clearly going nowhere.

"Look, can we just get back to Haven City and avoid each other for the rest of our lives?" I offered.

Jak actually seemed to think it over before replying, "Fine with me."

His glare never wavered.

"Good. Cause I never want to see you again as long as I live."

Jak sighed in exasperation. "This is getting ridiculous. Can we just set the bombs and blast those Metal Heads to pieces already?"

The words, "I wish you could be over there when these things blow," went unspoken on Jak's part. But one brief exchange of blue and brown eyes confirmed that I understood what his feelings were.

And quite frankly, they were mutual.

"How's your aim?" Jak asked neutrally as I lifted myself up and crossed to the cave opening with him, acting as though this quarrel had never occurred. He could hide his emotions. I could not.

"Usually pretty good," I said, fighting uselessly to keep my tone unruffled. "But right now, it's questionable." I pointed to my soon-to-be black eye.

"Well then." Jak said, and hurled two explosives over the water body. They landed perfectly, rolling towards groups of Metal Heads, respectively. And then they detonated. When the dust cleared, a third of the creatures were eradicated.

"Oh yeah, that's right!" Daxter cheered. "These walking trophies ain't got nothing on us!"

Jak continued to toss well-aimed throws, but I was not ready to let him claim all the glory—as usual. I plucked a tin grenade from the container, fingering it softly. When I took aim, my vision spun out of control, and I grabbed for the wall. I still managed to clear half a dozen with three separate throws, collectively.

"Hate to say it, but that was actually considerably efficient," I acknowledged. The largest part of the Metal Heads had cleared up, and the rest of them had scattered. Even Metal Heads had fear.

Jak shifted to move ahead, and I encouraged him with a curt nod. "Go ahead."

"Why don't you go first?" he asked.

"Because," I intoned, "If we're talking in terms of one person shooting the other in the back, I'm more likely to miss."

He shrugged. "Fair enough."

Then, without even a goodbye, he was gone.

I sighed and collapsed on the floor. A pained groan escaped my lips, and blood trickled out from them. I wiped the corner of my mouth with my sleeve, smearing it with coagulated blood. My body was so powerless, I would have collapsed right there and then. But somehow, the prospect of a genuine bed—or at the very least, a concrete roof above my head—was extraordinarily appealing, and I was able to remain awake for the remaining five minutes before I promised myself I could press on.

Stumbling languidly over Metal Head corpses, pools of Dark Eco and many rocks, I somehow arrived back at the door. I considered rinsing off my soiled clothes and blood-covered face in the salt water, but almost immediately laughed the thought away. Clean water would do just fine.

Thankful I knew my way through the Slums so well, I did not bother focusing on the path my feet trekked. The Underground seemed a safer place to go than my house, because Torn was less likely to create a scene over my current state than Lex. As incredible a brother as that guy was, I did not need someone asking me a plethora of questions right now. I needed to sleep.

"What happened to you?" Torn asked as I staggered down the hallway to the main room. I brushed him off with a wave of my hand.

"Nuffin' 'oo bad," I muttered through swollen lips. "Ow."

Tess was there as well. I did not even dare looking at her; I had been cast enough glares for one day. "Going to bed?" she asked. I could practically hear the glare in her voice.

"Uh-huh."

"Why don't you go home?"

"Why don' you buzz off, 'ess?" I spat—literally.

"Excuse me?" Torn asked.

I sighed heavily. So much for making a quiet entry. "I'm goin' 'o bed," I mumbled one last time before wandering through to the back, locating an empty compartment and doing just that.

When I woke, everything hurt. My eyes, my lip, my arm and legs. . . . How I managed to pull myself from the cot was beyond me. Glancing at the wall clock, I could tell I had slept for roughly eleven hours. Eleven! Torn was going to be unthinkably mad. It was a wonder he hadn't come to kick me awake already. . . .

I changed into non-blood stained garments, rebound my stings (which were beginning to heal, much to my relief) and tried to scrape the desiccated blood from my face with my nails. It cleared away the red, but left my bruises clear and unconcealed. There was no mirror, but I still clumsily twisted my hair to fit over my left eye.

Tess and Torn were still in the common area, along with a few other guards sprawled over several bunks and chatting quietly. Whether either of the childhood friends had left during the night was undeterminable, but I expected so in Tess's case. She looked at me with cold eyes, ones that I could not find the courage to distract my gaze from.

"Well, look who finally decided to show up," Torn greeted disdainfully. This gave me an excuse to look at him.

"'Morning to you too," I replied, not hiding my contempt. Thank the Precursors, I could speak again.

Something occurred to me. "Hey, what happened to Ty?" I almost feared the answer.

"Oh, suddenly you care?" Tess demanded.

"Well, I just—"

"No," Tess interrupted. "If you want to see what happened, you can go—quote-on-quote—"risk your life" to go to the hospital."

"Never mind," I dismissed.

They proceeded to ignore me after that. I did the same, and looked for something to hold the water I was going to pour from the pipe to drink.

But first, I decided to test if it was actually working. The Baron had shut off the water flow to the Slums in an attempt to eradicate the Underground—but would kill the rest of the impoverish citizens.

I flipped the tap, expecting sludge or polluted, algae-clotted water to spew out. Instead, a clean flow of water poured onto the floor. The shock and fatigue slowed my reflexes, but I managed to thrust the cup under the stream and shut off the water when it was full.

"Hey, you got it fixed," I admired.

"That new recruit did, actually," Tess corrected as I sipped my drink. My throat caught and I almost spat it back out again.

I cleared my mouth before asking, "Which new recruit?"

"Short, blond guy with an orange . . . thing riding around with him."

"Jak, I think," Torn elaborated. "You okay, kid?" he added, evidently noting my expression.

No, I was not okay. Jak and Daxter were . . . working for the Underground. Working for the Underground. The same organization as me. We were on the same side. Doing more or less the same tasks. At the same time.

All those facts swirled around in my head, but I could not seem to extrapolate the conclusion to which they were leading. Working together . . . in the same place . . . at the same time. . . .

The only thing I could think about was the idea that I would definitely be breaking the oath to never see him again.

Then it hit me all at once.

"Jak is working for you guys?" I yelled. "How is that possible? He's a cruel, good-for-nothing monster!"

"I take it they know each other," Torn whispered to Tess.

I slamed my fist on th table for impact. "Don't get smart with me, Torn. Of course I know him. And I know that you shouldn't have signed up someone like that!"

Torn stood up and walked around to look at me in the eyes—or more accurately, eye, since the left one was still sealed shut. It was much worse than a glare from Jak, in some ways. Torn's eyes did not change colour, but he was a lot taller, and I had known him for much longer. Moreover, he was the ex-Commander of the Krimzon Guard, a position soon thereafter filled by Erol. So he knew how to sternly deal with people.

"I'd like to see you try to be a fraction as useful as Jak. In the last day, while you've been playing games with friends and sleeping the daylight hours away, he's completed several useful tasks—including destroying the ammo dump—and rescue missions, reported more information than you have in two years, and scared the KG right out of this corner. So you'll definitely go before him."

I frowned, searching for something to say. The agents in the back had silenced. My cheeks flushed with humiliation. My voice was quiet as I mumbled the next words.

"I'll go right now if it makes everyone happy."

That caught both Torn and Tess by surprise. Tess even hopped up from her seat and joined Torn opposing me. "What?"

This was the last straw. I was certain all of agents wondered at some point if there was anything better for them elsewhere, but how many would actually follow through with those fantasies? Almost none, I would reckon. But I was about to change that.

As much as I'd appreciated being with the "good guys" for a while, I could not seem to place who precisely the "good guys" were in this mess of a town anymore. I knew it was not the Baron and the KG; I had witnessed that upfront and confirmed my decision a long time ago. But here, they seemed to have no morals whatsoever. The Underground members would kill if it gets them what you wanted, and take up anyone who shows the slightest bit of skill. Actually, not even skill. They would take up anyone who shows even the slightest bit of aversion to the city system and the people running it.

This Underground had completely destroyed my life, although it was not much to begin. These past two years, I had been walking in a nightmare. And my adventures with Jak, followed by the revelation of his affiliations, were just the peak, the plunger on that bomb that had been building up. All leading up to this.

In my opinion, everyone has a last ounce of courage somewhere in them. It is that strength you get when you know everything is going south from the next words that come out of your mouth. It is that little bit of attitude you develop what uttering your last words. It is what allowed me to repeat myself with as much power as I did.

"I'll leave right now if everyone's in agreement."

I let the question hang in the air for a moment as Torn and Tess processed its meaning. While they pondered, I walked to the back room and gathered any belongings of mine that had perhaps been lost in some confusion any time in the past. When I re-emerged, Tess spoke.

"So that's it? An issue with an old friend and you're back to joining the KG?" My friend's words pained me, but still I continued.

"It's not just that, Tess. It's . . . a whole bunch of stuff, okay?" I tried, stumbling upon words. "And I'm not going back to the KG. They're still the bad guys."

"Who are you joining, then?" Tess inquired ever-indignantly. "The Metal Heads?"

"No. I'm just leaving. I'm not with the Underground, not with the KG, not with the citizens and not with the Metal Heads. I'm going to be on my own side. Nobody's side."

"Torn?" Tess asked. Her tone indicated she was trying to convince him to persuade me otherwise, all of a sudden. Perhaps this move was too bold . . . no. This was my decision, and as incorrect as it might turn out to be, I was going to live with it.

Torn shrugged. "Don't let the door hit you on the way out. It's big, heavy, and made of rock."

So for once, I followed Torn's directions. I swept past the unknown agents who were all staring at me, up the hallway and out the door. Amelle was striding towards the entrance near the same time, and I passed her as I mounted my zoomer and placed my racing helmet on my head.

"Hey, Shae!" she called darkly, her expression switching to one of anger. "We need to talk. Now."

"There's nothing to talk about anymore, Amelle. I'm done."

I left her hanging with those words and a salutary quirk of my hand in her direction as I pulled the lever to throw the hover-bike up to the high-hover zone and sped off.

Reviews, comments and critique are requested as usual. Any questions or advice, please don't hesitate! See you all real soon (this thing is getting to the good parts),

~Fishyicon