Disclaimer: I do not own Jak and Daxter—Naughty Dog does!

A/N: I imagine the vendor at the beginning of this chapter having a voice somewhat resembling that of the fisherman in TPL. But you can interpret it anyway you want.

Thanks for all the kind reviews once again. You guys are all kinds of awesome. Special thanks (and the promise of no poundings at school tomorrow) to Aurun Arks and all of the aliases he's used in order to pester me to the point of wanting to push him right down the front stairwell every day. You have him to thank for this chapter.

Aurun: Also, he's the best person in the entire frakking 'verse. Just saying.

Fishy: Damn it, Franco, get off my laptop!

Finally, we throw in some stuff that was cut out before. Thoughts appreciated, as always.

Once again, my apologies for stuffing with the timeline. It can't be helped.

My writing style has changed quite a bit. If you've read my original stuff, you may recognize it more. I think it's all right.

Part 2: Chapter 12: Karma

As much as I constantly give evidence to the contrary, I really didn't hate Haven City. More accurately, there were parts I could tolerate.

For instance, the Gardens were pleasurable. Aside from Haven Forest or the Mountain Temple, both of which were outside the city, it was the only place where grass grew freely. Even on an overcast day, one still had the impression that the sun was shining. And the obnoxious noises from the yakkows could be surprisingly soothing.

Mar Memorial Stadium was also one of my least-despised locations in the city. Not only were the yard and stadium themselves grand, but it was where I was meant to be. I was all about the competition. There was nothing better, nothing else that could make me feel so alive and spirited. Racing was in my blood. It did not matter that Erol was the all-time grand champion, or that I had yet to make it past Class Two. What mattered was my passion for the sport, and the knowledge that one day I would be the best.

On most days, I enjoyed visiting the Bazaar. It was not very green or earthly, and it was not the host of my favourite pass-time, but the atmosphere was very upbeat and festive. Moreover, it was a fantastic place to get a bite to eat for free. Technically, it was not free, but the Guards in that sector were typically lenient (if they did not see you steal directly), but the vendors never seemed to take account of the lack of one fruit. There was an over-abundance of food in that place, and since stealing happened to be one of my very few useful skills, then everyone was happy.

On that particular day, however, I could have named any manner of places I would rather have been than the Bazaar.

My eyes landed greedily on a round, orange fruit in a display basket on one vendor's stand. Entranced, I stood and walked casually over to the booth.

"Hello there, my dear!" he greeted cheerfully. "What can I do for you today?"

"Excuse me, sir; how much for one of these?" I already knew the answer—far exceeding my current balance, but I felt the necessity to ask the question nevertheless.

"Two tokens per piece, miss," he replied kindly.

I gasped faintly. "That's outrageous!"

"That's the going rate right now," he told me. "Baron's been raising the taxes, and I need to make some money for my family. At least doing this I don't have to wear a big red suit all day and night."

I nodded in understanding. Suddenly, my stomach became very uneasy and I sensed remorse towards the notion that I would be robbing this man. This was, frankly, ridiculous. Almost everyone in Haven City was suffering in close to the same quandary, so why should there be distinct sympathy for any one person?

However, I did not get much of a choice in the matter of whether I thieved from the kind vendor or not. Someone breezed past me unbelievably fast, and I flew into the fruit stand, sending several dozen fruits of various colours and sizes tumbling onto the hard-packed dirt ground. Humiliated by my maladroit orientation, blood flooded my cheeks, setting them alight suddenly with red almost as bright as my goggles—which were now missing, I noticed fleetingly. My eyes met those of the stall tender, but only for an instant as he immediately looked after the brash figure. I followed his gaze to see the flash of yellow, blue and orange dart around the corner, followed closely by a fire-team of KG.

My heart rate accelerated detectably to keep my veins and arteries flowing with blood that had somehow morphed to ice. If he had seen me, he likely would have intended to knock me over. I decided he had seen me, and that the gesture had been intentional. Jerk.

Ignoring Jak presently, I shot an apologetic smile in the direction of the vendor and kneeled down to collect the fallen fruits. Before he could accompany me at crouching level, I made the split decision to steal whatever was within my grasp, hastily tucking the fresh produce into the largest pocket of my worn bag slung over my shoulders. The need to eat was stronger than my uncharacteristic desire to uphold morals.

I finished replacing all of the fruits, offering a small grin once again, simply because I could not find it in myself to look past my grim situation and smile genuinely. Politely telling the benevolent man that the price was too high, I bowed my head and walked away.

"Hey, wait there, darling," he called back. I turned and took a couple steps back toward him.

"Look," he told me, "you seem a nice girl. I have a daughter too, and I'd hate to see her in such a state as you." I suppose I should have taken offence from the implication, but I was too touched to bother. "How about I give you a little discount? Two for the price of one, eh?"

Suddenly I felt awful; even more so than before. It felt as though someone had dropped a large weight in the pit of my stomach, one that was weighing down the rest of my insides and freezing me to the ground where I stood. I should have pulled all the stolen goods out of my satchel that instant, but the rational side of me reminded the emotional one that such an action would only result in the kindness changing to anger and ultimately no food for me that afternoon.

Fingers trembling and cheeks flushed, I mumbled some incoherent lie and strode off, much more quickly and purposefully than before, in order to avoid being coerced into revealing my rash actions.

Despite the longing growl in my stomach, I punished myself for being so horrible by restraining from eating anything immediately. I wandered some more—for how long precisely, I was not sure. Eventually, a small, beige tent materialized around a corner. It was ancient, worn and barely supported by a few carelessly cut tree branches at the corners. Seeing that there was no other exit from this part of the market, I traced a slow circle with my steps and made to keep moving.

But something stopped me. Rather, someone did. A fleeting perception of those same bright shades of yellow, blue and orange, far too close for comfort, sent me twirling on my heel and marching in the opposite direction. Chances were he would not have noticed me, but I've never been graced with good luck.

I stomped off tetchily, my fists curling in rage. Before I realized where I was going, I was square in front of the old hut from before. The strange aura and dizzying lights emerging from the interior drew me in before my mind could protest otherwise.

It was in fact not a hut, but a tent. The interior was significantly unlike the bare and muted material I had seen outside. It was adorned with many objects for which I had no name, filled with colours I had never observed before and radiating scents of which I could not even begin to imagine the origins. There were totems and artefacts scattered over wooden surfaces of all fashions, and rugs of many shapes and sizes cluttered the dusty ground. A sizeable carved skull sat in the back conspicuously, emanating a lavender glow.

Towards the back of the room sat a small figure, like the idol of a woman. However, it was evident enough that the figure was indeed breathing. As discreetly as possible, I inched forward infinitesimally and tried to get a better look. She was . . . old. Very old. And yet her legs were contorted and folded in a fashion I doubted even I could do. A hat that appeared akin to a bowl sat upon her head, but I had never seen a bowl with Precursor scripture on it.

In my absentmindedness, I had wandered farther into the room. Sensing discomfort from my proximity to the old lady before me, I slowly reeled all my thoughts back in and tried to remember how to back-pace.

Careful not to crush any fragile items scattered near my feet, I kept my eyes cast downward until I reached the exit. This gave the speaker of the next words ample time to position himself in the doorway.

"And just where do you think you're going?" someone squawked in a high-pitch tone, lengthening several of the words. I whirled to face the owner of the voice in shock, banging my head against a set of wooden wind chimes which immediately began bouncing off each other in a tonic chorus of music. But that was not what stopped me in my tracks.

The word "squawk" was indeed very apt considering the circumstances, in retrospect. For the speaker was, as far as I could tell, a vividly coloured monkaw.

"I'm sorry, I just . . ." I stammered, finding my voice buried deep in my throat and drawing it out. "Wait, I'm sorry; who are you?"

The monkaw launched itself off the threshold and flapped in front of my face, displaying his bright plumage. "No, I am sorry!" he declared. I cocked an eyebrow. "I am sorry that you are so thick in the head that you do not realize how you are unwelcome here!"

I glared at the talking animal. Wildlife with a voice was not an unheard of, but having remained inside the walls of Haven all my life, in that instant I found myself completely awestruck. Accepting the notion of animals capable of speech was one thing, and that one thing I had accomplished long ago. As I child, I had even begged my parents to get a pet that could converse with me, to no avail, clearly. But now, perhaps it was a good thing they had declined, since I was scared out of my wits beholding such a creature. But I had made it a goal to at the very least keep an impassive face from now on, so I tried my best.

"All right, I can leave." A delicious idea materialized in my head. "But I was just so curious. I'd hate to go home without at least knowing the name of such a fascinating, beautiful monkaw."

He seemed to accept that. "Well, your admiration is completely understandable. I am Pecker!" he exclaimed, spinning and ending with a flourish. "Now go."

But I was already preoccupied by something else. The old woman in front of me began to stir, blinking open eyes filled with nothing but light haze. No irises or pupils were visible.

I subconsciously stepped closer as I had earlier, the noise of Pecker screeching in my ear ignorable. The woman blinked surreptitiously and began waving her arms around in intricate, apparently significant patterns, leaving a trail of . . . something in every wake of motion. Dust? Eco? Something else? I didn't know.

"What . . . ?" I asked, hoping someone could interpret the question. I honestly had no idea what I had inquired, but Pecker seemed to.

"Argh . . . fine. But let's make this quick, all right? There is a nice bocadillo a few stalls over with mi nombre on it!" The monkaw glided over to the lady and settled himself on her peculiar headpiece, the edges of his wing feathers pressed together pensively, as if the plumes were fingers.

I furrowed my eyebrows in inquiry. What was Pecker getting at? "Make what quick? What are you doing? What is this?"

Pecker shuddered in indignation. "Ay, caramba! Are you always this difficult?"

"Usually, yes," I muttered under my breath.

The woman clapped her hands in preparation. "All right," Pecker said, drawing my attention back. "This is Onin, the Soothsayer. I am her translator." I fought the urge to ask how he was going to translate for me when I could scarcely understand him myself.

Just then, Onin began to draw shapes deliberately with her hands, the motions trailed with the blue . . . whatever it was.

Pecker examined the patterns and skilfully interpreted them. "Okay, she says Hello. Welcome Shae . . ."

I had to interrupt. My heart climbed up towards my throat and a nauseous, foreboding feeling settled in my stomach. Already I grew hesitant, not liking where this was going. "How does she know my name?"

Pecker sighed. "Look, Ginger, do you want your fortune or not?"

I growled but managed a "Yes, sorry."

"Bueno. Onin says she would love to read your future, for no charge, as long as you return all the goods in your backpack."

My knees went weak, and my body wobbled as my mind lost its grasp too. I was shocked, perplexed, and scared out of my wits. I tried to walk away, but my feet refused to move. I could only hope I wouldn't knock anything over should I collapse there and then. Simply put, if I had been surprised before, I was downright paralyzed with fright at that point.

"Well?"

"F-f-fine," I stuttered. It wasn't like I'd be eating over the next few days given my nausea and consequent severe lack of appetite at the moment.

Onin scrutinized me for a long time, searching for what to say. I wasn't sure I wanted to hear about my future—if it was remotely similar to the present, I would not be especially happy. But Pecker had said fortune, not future. What the hell did that mean?

The azure designs appeared again.

"Onin says she sees the misfortune of your past. She says it has clouded your thoughts with doubt and distrust. However, you have made your own bad decisions, leading you down the path of darkness."

I closed my eyes and tried to breathe through the panic and fear and exhaustion and irritation. "And what does that mean?"

Pecker huffed (as well as a bird can, at least) and glared. "Look, she makes all this stuff up. I just translate. Take it or leave it, kid."

"Go on." I was beyond caring at this point.

"She says that the only way to ensure your future safely is to correct the mistakes you've made in your journeys." Pecker grinned mysteriously and narrowed his eyes in a malevolent stare that had me shivering right down to my toes. I knew things were bad when a bird had such influence. "She says that unless you can find a way to repair the fractures in your life and the ones your have caused in others', calamity and misfortune will pursue you everywhere you go."

I stared blankly, torn between taking this seriously given the precursor warnings and brushing it off as another cheap con, a deceit. Mostly I was just waiting for the other shoe to fall.

"Essentially it means that if you don't fix things, your life's just going to get worse and worse. Maybe that doesn't seem right, but hey, I don't make the rules."

Almost as an after-thought, Onin traced a few more meaningless patterns in the air in front of her. "Hmm," Pecker mused thoughtfully. "She says you don't believe her. What, after all this magic stuff and mystic manipulation, you think it's a trick? Bah, I have better things to do than translate for the likes of you. Scram!"

I slowly began to back out of the room, still spooked. In fact, I was astonished my legs could execute the movement, as the rest of my body was still thoroughly motionless.

Just as I turned out the doorway, I heard the high-pitched squawk call out one more thing. "Oh, and remember, chica, even if you think this stuff is mumbo-jumbo, karma still applies."

I mindlessly mounted the first zoomer I laid eyes on and sped off to Main Town.

When I arrived at Lex's—my—house, the sun had long since set and my temper was rising. Technically it was my house too, though I never perceived it that way. I supposed I would have to wrap my head around the notion henceforth, as I had nowhere else but under the stands of the Stadium to retreat to. And honestly, that prospect had crossed my mind several times on the drive here. I'd even taken a few turns toward Mar Memorial before ultimately deciding to lean on Lex for support. All I'd done was increase the time my trip had taken. The previous night, I'd swallowed my ego and forced myself to sleep under the same vent I had slept under two years ago, perched on a rooftop in the Slums.

Fumbling with the key card in the door was the last straw; once I'd managed to insert it and activate the lock, I violently kicked the door open, unleashing a small shriek of fury in the midst of doing so. The motion further aggravated the injuries still present on my leg, but I couldn't find it in myself to care. The door slid off and tucked itself into the wall neatly. I suddenly hated the immaculacy of the door, our home, this part of the city, everything. I spewed a few colourful curses from my mouth to reinforce that loathing.

The house was just as I'd left it last time—had it only been three or four days ago?—except for the fact that Lex was not present. I hefted my bag off my shoulder, deposited it on the kitchen table and withdrew one of the stolen fruits. Over the course of my extended ride home, I'd mused profoundly about the insinuations of Onin's prediction and deduced I didn't care. Screw karma. I already knew the world was out to get me.

As soon as I plucked one of the globes of citrus, however, my head began to reel with words exchanged over the last few days and faces frowning and glaring at me condescendingly and disdainfully. Angered, I hurled the fruit across the room. It collided with the far wall with a satisfying squelch, narrowly missing a framed painting depicting a sickeningly heaven-like utopia somewhere in the painter's imagination. No such place existed in the real world.

Adrenaline and rage fuelling my motions, I strode over and dismounted the frame and placed it face down on the floor. I then proceeded to mechanically turn down every picture or drawing I could find, not even stopping to look at the one of the entire family, smiling pleasantly, resting on a table. I didn't know any of those people anymore, except maybe Lex. He, for his part, walked in the door as I was methodically doing my renovations.

"Struck by sudden inspiration?" he asked. No hello for me.

"Go to hell," I told him.

He chuckled. "Language, squirt. What will our parents say when they hear you—"

"Our parents are dead, Lex!" I bellowed, spinning around to face him, somehow not breaking any glass with the shriek in my voice.

He looked at me worriedly for a few minutes. I let him. He had needed to hear that. In spite of everything that had happened, in spite of the way our lives had been on a steep downward spiral for the past four years, Lex had remained blissfully cheerful. He needed to quit with this bright spirit and good humour all the time. He needed to quit living in this idyllic hallucination and notice the real world.

"Wanna talk?" he inquired eventually.

"No," I growled, and stormed up the stairs. "Life sucks," I called down matter-of-factly just before closing the door to the study and collapsing on the old couch situated there, shedding my jacket, combat boots and goggles. My room was still there, still mine, but it was little more than a guestroom with a few things stowed in the secluded corners of the closet. A layer of dust lay over everything. Moreover, I didn't feel I deserved the comfort a bed would bring.

"Way to sum up," he shouted back. I wished he could see how I childishly extended my tongue at him afore to drifting off.

Sleep brought no more relief than anything else might have. Normally, my dreams were boring, childish, strange. They had an unrealistic quality that only left my head spinning for a few minutes afterward, wondering what could possibly have inspired such oddity. But for some reason unbeknownst to me, tonight my mind reverted to its old ways—frighteningly realistic and terrifying nightmares.

I was at Haven Hospital. I'd only ever been there once, and had no conception of which ward I stood in presently. The walls were a sterile, uniform white, but seemed to glow radiantly in spite of the monochrome pallor. My feet were propelling me down the hall, towards voices that just seemed to grow farther and farther away the more steps I took.

The walls began to bleed, bright crimson. I moved faster.

Suddenly, I was not moving of my own volition, but because of the hand on my back pushing me forward despite my efforts to secure my feet to the floor, which was covered with sporadic red spotting. My head moved stagnantly on my neck, but I managed to spin it to face my eldest brother.

His name would not form on my lips.

We pushed forward. Erol muttered words in my ear as we moved, ones I blocked out by clamping my hands over my ears. But even closing my eyes did not prevent me from observing the horrors in the rooms we passed.

Ty, bleeding liberally and critically from a hole in his leg. Jak, writhing in the chair as streams of Dark Eco were forcefully injected into his bloodstream. Other, faceless people, screaming in piercing shrill pitches, suffocating in their own blood, crying tears that flowed freely in agony.

At the end of the hallway, the hospital corridor, now completely drenched in scarlet, gave way and disintegrated under my feet. The scene changed from the glowing hospital aura to the dark and shadowy scene of what was now colloquially known as Dead Town.

Blood. Fire. Screaming. Panic.

Everything was red, and my eyes burned from the intensity of the colour replacing the subtle but mystic white—literally burned. I lifted my hands to my face only to have them come away wet and sticky and enflamed. I could not see. Fire engulfed my eyes, my face, my body . . .

I shot upright like a rocket, and sprinted to the bathroom with the speed of one. It was so hot. Without even a glance towards the mirror, I threw the handle on the tap to its coldest setting and ran my hands under it. As soon as they cupped a significant amount of water, I brought them up to my face and scrubbed away the heat with ice-cold water and violent hands. When I finally mustered the courage to look in the reflective surface in front of me, I had to remind myself of Lex nearby in order to avoid punching the mirror with such force I might have broken it.

Even my damn hair was fire.

I was beyond cutting it—the strands were barely more than an inch or two in length. Instead, I brought another handful of water to my face and repeated the action until it no longer felt like I was standing on the sun. Sparing one last fleeting gaze into the mirror confirmed that I looked positively dreadful. Purple bruises under my eyes, red rivulets winding through the whites of my eyes, a frightening pallor to the rest of my countenance. The brown irises were the only aspects of me that had remained unchanged. I looked like hell and couldn't have cared less.

But my eyes frightened me. Red on white. I returned to the study and pulled on the goggles I'd hastily discarded on the floor, stringing them around my head and over my eyes. I tried to steady my footsteps as I went down the stairs.

Lex was scribbling hastily on a collection of papers arranged haphazardly on the kitchen table in front of him. It was clear his mind was elsewhere, though; his hand moved almost perfunctorily against the pages. He looked up as I descended but wisely chose not to remark on my appearance if he noticed anything. He nodded in greeting but turned back to his work, suddenly very engaged in the writing.

"Good rest?"

"Fine," I replied, pouring myself a glass of water.

"Class Three race this evening."

"Yep."

"Gonna race?"

"Uh-huh. Gonna watch?"

"Yeah."

And that was the extent of our conversation that morning. Without another word, I retrieved my racing jacket from the corner of my closet, pulled on my mud-coated boots and tugged at their frayed laces until they seemed somewhat entwined.

Outside, daylight penetrated my blurry vision, vanquishing the residue of sleep from my eyes. Judging by the sun's position, I estimated it was around noon. Unfathomably, I had slept more than twelve hours. Blinking away the incredible concept, I chose to walk to the stadium, making a last minute detour to the Forest for a breath of fresh air.

People had already begun to gather around the stadium by the point I arrived—racers, team managers, the occasional reporter. I navigated through the myriads of figures until I found Maven and Amber.

I smiled tentatively and raised my hand in greeting. Amber returned the gesture, but Maven simply glared in complete abhorrence. Amber caught on and shifted her expression. So Maven had heard of my flight from the gun course. Probably of my resignation from the resistance as well.

"Um . . . room for another racer?" I asked, not too sure how to proceed but prepared to do my best.

Amber shook her head as if to clear it. "Yes, I do have space on the roster. Here," she said, extended a clipboard and pen to me. "Sign-in here, and then go grab an empty time spot at registration."

Maven said nothing.

"Right," I stated, and followed those instructions, systematically repeating the same functions as I always did. I managed to acquired a spot in the second heat. Only once I was perched aboard my faithful NYFE racer, the same I had used in my first race and every one since. I threaded my red goggles over my eyes. I sighed and narrowed my focal point to the here and now.

Green. No more panic, no more hyperactive heart rate. A quick glance around confirmed that everyone else had just as focused a look as I did. Good. No amateurs, then.

Green. I cleared by mind of Lex, Jak, Erol, that night that destroyed everything I knew.

Green. Deep breath, just as always.

Green.

Reviews are loved. Thank you for reading! (And again, sorry, Aurun, for the long wait. Sorry to everyone, in fact. Life gets in the way sometimes.)

Translations:

Bocadillo – Snack
Mi nombre – My name
Ay, caramba! – Good gracious!
Chica - Girl