Author's Note: Usually I don't have notes at the beginning, but this chapter is probably one of the darkest in content throughout the story, and so I wanted to give a heads up. If you are squeamish about needles/mentions of drug use, death/gore, violence, or other disturbing content, I do not recommend reading this chapter. This rebooted version of Jak and Daxter's world is a very dark place sometimes, and Jak's going to see some of the worst of it in this chapter. Even while writing it, I was starting to get a little grossed out and wondering if I was getting too grim, especially the end parts, but the dark elements are important to the story as a dystopia and the plot structure overall, so I kept them in as I'd planned. You have been warned!

Jak and Daxter: Legacy

Chapter 13: Bombs, Princes, Cookies, and Letters

Days of death and dust awaited them. Sig led the way through the red tribe wastelands, always a confident, shining figure in armor ahead, remarking at times at how pleasant the weather was for this time of year. Jak and Daxter dragged themselves behind as the suns beat them down with whips of heat, surviving on sips of shared water that Sig - in all of his experienced wisdom - had brought along extra skins of.

The land never revived to the lushness it'd had in the south. Even the little glimpses of greenery and water that managed to survive here were browner, frailer, and smaller in every way.

"Does it ever get better?" Jak croaked the third day in. Sweat slicked his body from his scalp to toes. Every time they walked past a stagnant creek or puddle, he felt like diving into it, no matter how filthy or muddy it was.

Sig grinned. "Nah, this is about as good as it gets. 'Til Brightport, of course. The rich folk there wouldn't dare strip the land they live on. They just take eco from everyone else's. Glowrend will be a little peek of hope, though. It's not far."

Just as Sig had finished those words, something started to buzz. Jak's heart skipped a thump when he saw its source. It was a flying machine covered in feathery veins of blue eco, shaped like a bird with wings that never beat. There were lines of red and black painted on its sides. More followed behind from the north, then they wound in formation, a flock of brass hawks curving to the east, trails of steam billowing in their wake.

"Precursors, what were those?"

"Airships. We call 'em zoomers. You see 'em everywhere in Haven. But those weren't civilian rides. Looked like Krimzon Guard ships. But why they'd be down this far, I've got no idea."

"Krimzon Guard?"

"The Baron's army. Thugs in crimson armor, drugged up on red eco. Makes 'em stronger. And aggressive. Damas banned eco tinctures when he was king, and they acted more like a respectable king's guard back then. But now that he's gone, Praxis and Erol don't give a shit about how many lives get destroyed by that stuff. They're all just meat shields to them."

"People can drug themselves on eco?"

Sig sighed. "You're gonna be learning a lot in the next few weeks, kid."

As they continued, more guard zoomers flew overhead. Jak and Daxter gave each other a nervous glance each time one passed, but Sig didn't seem bothered by them. That is, until people started to run up the road ahead, eyes wild with fear, barreling past Sig and Jak without a word as Sig tried to ask what was going on.

A few were of a hulking race Jak had never seen before. They ran on unguligrade legs that resembled an insect's, had arms with upswept spikes, four-fingered hands, and large chitinous 'shields' on their back like iridescent beetle wings. Large deposits of eco crystals of all colors shone on their bodies, usually from the backs of their knees, shoulder blades, elbows, and as tusk-like protrusions on the sides of their jaws.

"By Mar, even the Shurn are booking it…" Sig ran towards where they were fleeing.

Jak pulled out his pistol and tried to keep up. "Wait! Where are you going!?"

Sig guided them over another hill, then around some stone pillars and dark yawns in the earth with carts of eco crystals, shovels, and rails peeking outside of them. Sig climbed up a ridge, raised his gun staff, and…

He froze.

Jak caught up, sputtering out questions between shaky breaths. "What's the matter? Did something-?"

People in scarlet armor carrying rifles marched throughout the town beneath the ridge, ripping people from their huts, shackling them, dragging them into larger versions of the zoomers with bars on the windows.

One by one, the transports were stuffed to the brim with people. When full, they hovered off the ground, spilling dust over everything in wave-like plumes as they rose, and then sailed away back north. For a moment, the few folk left behind after the transports left seemed bewildered and upset, but also glad, having been passed over for whatever the others were taken for.

Then came the smaller zoomers in their formations again, quick as lightning, bellies starting to glow.

"Get down! "

Sig turned and tackled them. Jak held Daxter between his arms and chest beneath him as they fell to the dirt.

There was a bone shattering rhythm of something like unending thunder. Everything turned bright white and hot, and then, as the sound and light faded, smoke and ash followed listless in their wake.

Fires roared through the eerie stillness. Off in the distance, the wail of someone crying pierced the air.

Sig got up, motioned for Jak to stay, then lifted his gun staff and veered off down and to the right, back towards the path that led into town. He scanned their surroundings, gave a grim frown as he lowered his weapon again, then beckoned Jak to follow.

What had been a town minutes before was now a glowing pocket of craters, broken huts and bridges and carts strewn about in ember-laden, splintered masses. To Jak's gut-wrenching surprise, a few forms laid between them, charred beyond recognition. If not for the scent of burning flesh in the air, he wouldn't have been able to guess what they were.

Jak covered his mouth and tried not to vomit. Embarrassed, disgusted, saddened, confused, he bent over and retched as Sig calmly surveyed the area, lifting things and searching beneath them, calling out for survivors.

It wasn't just the sight and smell of the dead that bothered him. For someone that had refused a few days before to shoot even a simple bird, to think that people not only had invented things so destructive, but could also so easily end the lives of dozens without a second thought, disturbed him beyond anything he'd ever witnessed before, even worse than Kunino. The first lesson Samos had ever taught him was about how life was a sacred thing, neither theirs to give nor take away.

But he asked himself why he was surprised. If northerners could drain life from the land so easily, what difference did it make to them to drain life from people, too?

He felt terrible about not helping Sig, but all he could do was crumple, hide his face in his knees, and mutter prayers beneath his breath. For what, he didn't know. Wherever this was, it was no land where gods could hear; they had obviously been deaf minutes before when other tribal folk like himself had begged them for luck and mercy.

All the while, Daxter was on his shoulder, squeezing him there with a subtle paw, a comforting constant like always. He didn't seem too phased by the carnage surrounding, just like Sig. Jak wondered how normal sights like this were to have numbed them so?

Eventually, Sig wound his way back to Jak and put a hand on his pauldron. "You gonna be okay, kid?"

Jak didn't answer or move.

They holed up in a cave nearby, tucked behind some surviving mining equipment. Jak still was silent, the images of the day burned into his mind, haunting him as he sat with a thousand-yard stare at the ground.

"I'm sorry you had to see that," Sig said at last. "You get used to the sight of death pretty fast in Haven. But something like that… the Baron is bad, but I never thought he'd do something that depraved. Stealing folk and bombing the rest. And to think Prince Erol signed off on it..." Sig shook his head. "Haven might have been a holy city at one point, but you could power every district for days with the amount of rolling Mar is doing in his tomb right now. It's just another reason the Underground needs to hurry their asses up."

"The Underground?"

Sig widened his eye, then flicked his hand in the air as if to brush something away. "Never mind. That's business that someone like you shouldn't have to get caught up in. Rest up a bit, if you can. I'm going to go out and try to scrounge up some food and more water. Maybe find some survivors that made it out, if I'm lucky."

Sig left. As soon as the clink of his armor faded, Daxter hopped off of Jak's shoulder and pulled at his pants leg.

"Hm?"

"Holdin' up okay?"

Jak's wide-eyed silence was the only answer he could muster.

"Yeah, that was almost the worst thing I've ever seen, too."

"I know you said the north was bad, but…" Jak glanced out at the town below them again.

"Sig was right, though. That display we just saw ain't a normal sight," Daxter sighed. "Even five years ago, Haven didn't have tech like that."

"Why do they even have it in the first place?"

They sat side by side, the town before them turning from orange and crackling to gray, black, and silent as time marched on.

"Jak!"

He jolted awake. In the wait for Sig to come back, he'd fallen asleep. The sky outside the cave was starting to pinken. Sig stumbled into the cave, holding someone in his arms, more people following behind. They all were barefoot and long-eared with red silk clothes. But the person in Sig's arms was redder than the others.

Blood slowly dripped from her sage's robes to the dust.

"What the-?" Jak said, getting to his feet.

"Please!" said a woman behind Sig. "He said you could heal!"

Jak and Sig exchanged a look, Sig apologetic, but Jak nodded. Sig set the woman down in front of Jak. Jak instantly threw his gloves and arm wrappings off and ripped pieces of silk from the few spots on her robes that were dry, then started to peel back the material where the blood was thickest. The wound gaped on her side, sticky and glistening. Without flinching, he dug in there carefully with his fingers, feeling for what was damaged.

Shattered rib bones. Jak bit his lip. She had a chance, if he started healing now. He pulled his fingers back out and snapped his hands.

No eco. They were still in dead land. He glanced around in fear, then remembered the carts by the mines they'd passed earlier. He looked up at the townsfolk. "Green eco crystals?"

One of the children ran off. Meanwhile, he held together the skin over the sage's wound as much as he could with the cloth scraps and his fingers, praying with every moment that passed that the girl would return soon. Within minutes, she did, dumping a whole pile of green eco crystals next to him from her skirt and backing away.

He opened his left palm to them, felt the energy course through his heart, then put his right hand back in the wound and guided it over the sage's ribs with practiced precision, the bones cracking back together and mending, then pulled his hand out and traced the jade light like a weaver with a needle over the outer skin until it sealed. Meanwhile, Sig, Daxter, and the townsfolk watched, amazed, disgusted.

When he was finished, he used the rest of the scraps to bind her so that the skin held for sure. A pile of clear, ecoless crystals sat beside him, and his hands were coated in red.

"Will she be okay?" the girl asked.

"I think so. But she'll need rest. She lost a lot of blood."

Everyone else breathed a collective sigh of relief.

As Jak took out his traveling blanket, spread it out, and gently set the sage on it, the townsfolk helped collect wood, more water, and pulled food from their packs to share. Meanwhile, they told their stories over the meager fire; who they were, what they'd been doing before the attack, and what had happened after.

"You had no idea it was coming?" Sig asked.

"No," responded the woman who'd first begged Jak to help heal the sage, her thick, wine-colored braids interlaced with strands of gray. "The Baron always threatened us, but we thought they were empty words. Said we didn't dig eco fast enough for his troops' needs. Myra told him we were digging as quickly as we could, but…"

She glanced over at the sage and lowered her head.

"First, he puts a gun to your head to kill your own land or else, then he complains about how fast you're doing it?" Sig shook his head.

The man at the woman's side who held her hand nodded. "We've been an ally to Haven since Mar's time. But Haven's demands have been insane since Erol and the Baron took over. Damas was fair, and always made sure we were well compensated. He understood what the mining was taking from us."

"What do they need that much eco for, anyways?"

"Not sure," the woman replied. "Myra said he'd mentioned something about Metal Heads."

Sig rolled his eyes. "That's the old boogeyman he always falls back on. What, does he think that excuse hadn't worn out its welcome already when they used it to kick Damas out?"

Jak was still by the sage, monitoring her breathing, temperature, and wound. Daxter sat beside him. At one point, the little girl who'd fetched the crystals walked up to him and watched.

Then, she said, "You don't look like a green sage. My da told me they have hair the color of moss."

"Tyne!" the woman hissed.

"No, she's right. They usually do," Jak replied, and for the first time in his life didn't mind a comment of that sort. "Though ours had white hair, he was so old. Over two hundred years, in fact."

"Two hundred? People can live that long?"

"Green sages can. And he had a beard almost as tall as he was."

She knelt down next to him and started petting Daxter. He expected Daxter to flinch or hiss, but the ottsel didn't react. Together, they watched over Myra, many questions and answers about eco and sages exchanged.

As time went on, Jak was reminded more and more of his younger self when he'd asked Samos a million things. The thought brought a smile to his face for the first time since Glowrend's bombing; even after her village had just been decimated, her sage weak and bloodied in front of her, she still hadn't lost her curiosity and hope.

Her resiliency stunned him. Here he was, a young man shocked wordless for hours at what had just occurred, speaking with a little girl who acted like that day had been just like any other.

A dark thought slithered through his mind. Maybe this is just like any other day for these people?

At some point, Myra started to stir. She coughed forcefully, then only a little, grimacing as she weakly put her hand to her side. Everyone grew silent, Sig and the townsfolk nearing, cautious.

She opened her eyes, red as her robes, and glanced up at the girl, Jak, and then Sig. "Is the Baron dead yet?"

"No," Sig replied. "But he just added a lot more reasons as to why he should be."

A frown. "Then may it be my hand that breaks his neck."

In the morning, the townsfolk had packed up their things and set off further inland to a nearby town of more red tribe people. Myra had stayed behind to discuss things with Sig, still weak, but able to walk. As Jak and Daxter ate and overheard their chat, Jak was reminded of Sig's conversation with Kada. There was catching up, more discussion about recent events, and at the end, a request.

"Oh, and one more thing before you go," Myra crossed her arms. "Before yesterday, I'd have never thought I'd be saying this, but the Baron's 'kindness' has given me perspective on things. Tell Torn my answer has changed to 'yes'."

Jak perked up at that name. It was the same name Brutter had mentioned back in the Precursor Basin.

"Myra, you're not even healed up yet. Are you sure y-?"

"They probably bombed us because of all the red eco beneath the soil here. This town will be a mined out husk within weeks. I have no home to return to. No people left to lead. I will see those that remain safe in the village nearby, then I will start trying to convince the other red sages."

"But do you think they'll help? Most of their time is spent hassling the yellow tribes. And they surely won't like the idea of helping anyone from Haven, even Torn."

"After they hear what happened here, yes. We do not forgive trespasses easily, especially not the more violent of us to the south. And perhaps a fresh grudge will give them something better to bleed for."

Jak looked back down to his rice and fruit when he heard steps nearing. A shadow fell over him.

"And you. Green tribe boy."

Jak bowed his head to Myra, not catching her eye. "Precursors bless-"

"I owe you my life. Should you ever need to return, you are always welcome in our lands. I will be sure to include your name in my prayers to the Precursors tonight, so that I may thank them for sending you my way, and that they may watch over your every step."

To have a sage include you in their prayers was the biggest honor one of their followers could achieve, never mind someone from outside their tribe. Though he once again doubted the Precursors could hear them in these lands. Even so, Jak bowed again, appreciative of the gesture, and remembered the traditional response. "And you in mine."

Myra smiled. "So proper. You were taught well. Might I know the name of the sage that trained you so that I may send them my thanks?"

Jak hesitated. "Samos Hagai?"

Myra widened her eyes at the name. "Of Sandover? I'd heard his apprentice had died."

When Jak didn't answer, only glanced around nervously, she nodded. "It's no matter. Your secret is safe with me. It's a shame, though. With your skill, you could have made a great sage someday."

Jak only numbly nodded.

Glowrend was a distant pocket of ashes behind them by mid afternoon, much to Jak's relief. Haven's walls grew larger with each passing hour and step. The dead land turned green and lush again as they passed the line of massive mechs close to the city. Ancient metal pipes, gears with shining pools in them, and more purple flowers than the eye could fathom covered the hills ahead.

Behind the meadows rose a town of completely different architecture and size than Jak had ever seen. It was made of neat white brick, tall spires, and roofs of warm orange tile, cogs woven throughout. It sat beside the coast, waves roiling and foaming below its dark cliffs. Ships lazily floated in and out of its port, some out to sea, others through the air, and a few to its bigger twin across the channel.

Over the channel spanned a brass bridge that hosted cogs ranging from tiny to as large as mountains, crafted with uniform perfection; obviously of Precursor make, Jak surmised. Carriages and riders on flut fluts dotted the top, speck-like but discernable at this distance. Zoomers flew over them. Between them wove more red armored Krimzon Guard on dull skinned rhinozards. Most folk, of so many more colors and species and clothing styles than Jak thought possible, kept a wide berth around their long claws and nose horns.

As he and Sig crested the highest hillside, Jak found his steps slowing, his arms growing limp, and his jaw dropping as more of what loomed across the bridge revealed itself.

"Get your awe out now, 'cause that's the most Haven's ever gonna impress you."

"All of that is Haven?"

"Well, the town on this side of Mar's Bridge is called Brightport. Technically its own thing, but it's all the same place, really. As you've probably guessed, the walled portion on the other side of Mar's Bridge is the actual Haven. The towers in the bowl are the rich folk's districts. The glass tubes are a part of the Stadium's track. Oh, and see that big tree on top? Mar's castle and the new palace are just next to it."

As Sig had explained, there were glittering white stone and glass towers, hundreds of buildings, and a big tree in a floating bowl over the city. One of the buildings beneath the tree looked as if someone had taken apart a Precursor ruin and forged the scraps into a castle. Another palace taller than all the rest of the other buildings - besides the very highest tower - stood on the opposite end of the bowl, a cold, round fortress of dark steel, crimson banners, and glass.

Four pillars rose from the walls and held the bowl in place with massive chains of blue eco, the hum of which could be heard even as far away as they were.

Beneath the bowl sat a central pillar of more buildings carved into the white stone and set out in descending and wider layers beside it, their endless pattern broken by the occasional gigantic tree root. A large staircase connected this area to the main bridge into the city below. Tubes like those that had carried blue eco in Basinbreak wound around the city like a writhing glass dragonsnake of mythic proportions, shining beneath the suns, occasionally gleaming with streaks of blue.

Daxter was right, he thought. This place makes the Precursor city back in the Basin look like a pile of sticks and rocks.

Whatever was beneath the pillar districts and staircase, though, Jak couldn't tell. Puffs and furls of steam billowed over those parts of the city, spilling over the walls like a foaming cup running over.

He braced himself against the strong, salty ocean wind that pushed against them, and turned to Sig. "I don't even know where to go first."

"Well, typically I recommend tribal folk try their luck at the only Precursor temple in town. They take in folk like you all the time; help 'em get established. It's by the Bazaar in the lower levels. Can't miss it."

"I thought Haven folk hated the Precursors?"

"I didn't say it was a popular establishment. Come on, let's get to Brightport. I've got an appointment to keep."

Jak could hardly remember to blink as they continued. Often, he'd only realized he'd paused to gawk at something yet again when Sig would bark back at him to "hurry it up, kid!".

They descended to a cobblestoned, bustling path through the countryside. Unlike every other town Jak had been in before, no one looked at him strangely, even with an animal on his shoulder. In fact, most other humans were like him; of no discernable origin or single color. Still, the shred of comfort that thought offered did little to soothe the sudden riot of stimuli assaulting his senses as they passed Brightport's gates.

It was a white and orange pile of too much pressing and clashing against one another, bursting at the seams even as more of everything poured in on the main road. And the smell…

He was no stranger to animal scent, having grown up around yakows. But those who rode flut fluts or rhinozards had little care for what they left behind, nor did those walking behind them bat an eye at their own feet pressing the dung into the grooves between the wet, grimy cobblestones, which looked as if they had endured centuries of dirt already. Discarded trash, ripped and torn, tread by careless steps and whisked by wind, littered the streets.

He vowed to thank Daxter later for insisting he wear boots.

Constant rattling and voices and footsteps and clanking and bells banged at his ears until he thought they might bleed. Everywhere he looked had so much stuff and colors and details crammed into small spaces. Stall after stall, shop after shop, line after line of pearl white stone buildings greeted them as they walked down the street. And there was so much movement: banners and paper lanterns of red waving on strings over the roads, gulls circling the sky, every alley full of folk wearing jewel toned silks, leather, and brass, walking and talking and buying things.

There were many enslaved Babak carrying heavy packs behind their owners, as well, much to Jak's chagrin. Mechs like the one in the ruins back home also were common, acting and dressing as flesh people did, but always hooked to a non-mech with a chain around their neck like dogs on leashes.

Jak wasn't sure how to react when he accidentally bumped into one. The mech's top half swirled around, its legs still facing forward, and it glanced over him with a single yellow eye above, flickering in quick blinks.

"Sorry!" Jak blurted with a frightened little bow.

The mech took off his conical straw hat, put it to his chest, and bowed back before turning around again. "No worries. Good day to you, sir."

Sig twisted back to catch Jak's eye as they both continued on, then chuckled.

"What?"

"You look like you've seen a ghost."

"It's just…" Jak gestured to the town around them. "A lot."

"You'll get used to it. But it takes a while."

Brightport's main street followed the winding of the coast. A break in the noisy maze loomed ahead to the left. When they turned a final corner, Jak stopped in his tracks.

A half circle of white stone pier yawned in front of them, dotted with a few fruit stalls, lined with statues of Mar similar to those Jak had seen in the Forgesong temple. At its end began the large bridge into Haven, sea gleaming on either side for miles.

Before, many folk had been crossing the bridge, but now it was blocked by a wall of Krimzon Guard on hungry-eyed rhinozards. Merchants and travelers with heavy packs waited before them in a crowd, some sitting down with tired eyes, others standing or pacing, red faced or with cheek chitin scales flared (depending on the species), hands balled into fists.

In the middle sat one guard more elaborately dressed than the rest. His armor was also red, but folded with lines of geometric brass and decorated with red and gold sashes. He wore embroidered, fine gloves, shiny leather boots with silk gaiters, and a sword of bronze on his hip, sheathed in a scabbard lined with velvet. Two pistols with amber forged into the gilded metal gleamed at his hips.

Like the other Krimzon Guard, he had black tattoos lining his face, mostly framing his eyes, but there was one red one in the middle of his forehead. When Jak peered closer, he realized it was the symbol of Mar, the same Seem had had on their face, but smaller.

He had skin of marble, and hair and eyes of fire, which he scoured the people before him with. The way he held his head aloft, and how his hands were always on his hips, fingers brushing over his pistols, Jak wondered - given how ridiculously overdressed he was already - why the guy thought anyone needed a reminder of his power.

Jak turned to Sig, who had frozen midstep, his eye narrowed and on the guard leader. Jak blurted, "Who's that jerk?"

Sig clamped his hand over Jak's mouth, voice low through gritted teeth. "Do you want twenty rifles shoved up your ass?"

A Kig merchant wound his way up to said jerk. Sig let Jak's mouth go and sighed, muttering under his breath, "This ain't gonna be pretty."

"Your Highness," the Kig said, bowing his head, shaking a little. "We get you mean to protect us, but we have goods that'll rot if we stay here much longer. And with the warning that Glowrend is hostile now, we had to take the long way around. Few more days and our stuff'll be mush."

The leader didn't look at him once as he spoke. Then, at the end, after a painful pause, his eyes flickered down to the Kig for a mere moment. "My deepest apologies."

When none of the guards moved, the Kig continued, "So… are you gonna let us through?"

The plaza turned dead silent. Jak glanced around. What had the Kig said that was so wrong?

The leader dismounted his rhinozard and strode up to the Kig. Even though the Kig had at least two feet on him in height, he cowered as if a mother flut flut was towering over him.

"Does anyone here remember the reason I gave for blocking Mar's Bridge today?"

No one answered.

"Very well. As I kindly explained before, we've had reports of Underground activity in this area. There was a tip that one of their leaders might try to cross the bridge today, and we intend to stop him. And we will stop him, provided we be allowed to continue our patrol here. Anyone who tries to impede our blockade might be one of them, you see."

The Kig tried to back up into the crowd, but the leader wove to his side and behind him, pinning the Kig between the other guards and himself.

One by one, the Krimzon Guard all loaded fresh eco cartridges into their rifles, a line of clicking and hissing. A few pulled vials of red eco from their leg packs, glowing like liquid flame, and plugged them into small indents on the inner elbows of their armor. They were noticeably more anxious and agitated after the eco started to drain, eyes rarely blinking, fingers gripping their rifles tightly or clawing near the triggers like enraged boars pawing at dirt.

Sig put Jak behind him. Jak peered through the space between Sig's side and arm.

"Your Highness, I'm not with the Underground!"

"I didn't say you were. Are you?"

"No! I'm just a merchant!"

The leader flicked his hand. White energy flared from it like glowing clouds, sparks of all four other colors of eco dancing around it. Even at this distance, Jak could feel it pressing on his dark eco wound.

Light eco, Jak thought, Is he related to Mar?

The leader thrust his hand forward, hovering it towards the Kig, everyone wincing away as the energy misted close to his face-

Jak pushed Sig aside and rushed forward, shoving past other people. As he got closer, the light eco in the leader's hand ceased growing, and the dark eco within his own chest seared more.

A small instinct within him wanted to let the dark eco rage out of control; to let it turn him and rip the source of the light eco into shreds, like a hound with its eyes set on an intruder in its own home. But he managed to tamp it down and maintain his composure. Still, it surprised him, the power puppeteering him in a subtler, different way, unable to give up the chance to strike at an 'enemy'. Without understanding what he was doing or why he knew how, Jak raised his hand. With it tucked close to his side, hidden in the crowd, he focused on the light eco, suddenly hating its every white furl and needing to destroy it.

An invisible surge of energy clawed its way out of his palm, like green eco, but a fiery, hungry, rabid version of it. Thin black tendrils appeared around the light eco in the leader's hand and strangled it down. The light eco fizzled to a puff. As soon as it died, the dark eco's burning within Jak did, as well, leaving behind a feeling of satisfaction at having 'won', so ambrosial it made Jak smile.

The leader gawked at his own hand, part puzzled, part horrified.

"T-thank you for your mercy!" The Kig bowed, then fled back into the crowds.

The leader regained his composure and motioned to the guards behind him to lower their weapons. "I am not in the business of harming my beloved people, as you can all see. As Mar's legacy, I wish only to protect and serve, as he did. But let that be a warning to anyone who thinks aligning oneself with the Underground is a wise idea. The bridge remains closed. As you were!"

The crowd's noise and movement began again almost too quickly.

"Kid, get back here!" Sig's hand clamped onto Jak's shoulder. "What was that all about? I thought you were going to tackle him."

Sweat dripped down Jak's neck. His hands were trembling fists. It wasn't until Daxter headbutted his ear that Jak snapped back to his regular self and stared at his own hand. What just happened?

Jak shook his head and mumbled, "I thought he was going to kill that guy."

"He was. Usually Erol doesn't hold back. It's almost like something frightened him. If that's even possible."

"That's Erol?"

"The attitude didn't give it away? Anyway, it looks like we won't be making it over the bridge today. Guess we'll have to take the hard way around."

"The hard way?"

They arrived at a little shop beneath the bridge alongside the coast; a white stone tooth in a maw of shadows and sea-sprayed rock. Mouthwatering smell filled the street around it, letting Jak know what it was long before he read the word 'Bakery' over the door.

It was a place of few tables, but each heaped with woven braids of bread, flaky pastries, and sweets intertwined with jelly, fruit, and cream. Daxter leapt off of Jak's shoulder and started sniffing around them, reaching a paw out towards a cookie with a shiny, hungry look in his eyes. Jak grabbed him by the scruff just as he was about to snatch it.

A woman with dull robes, a lace shawl, and her hair in long gray dreadlocks waited at the back, puddled in a comfortable chair. Clouds covered her eyes, and she glanced around blankly, constantly tremoring as she waved an elegant fan at her own face. Faded black tattoos wound over the wrinkles in her face and hands.

"Hmm… I'd know that heavy clanking anywhere. Sig, is that you?"

"How're you doing, Mrs. Cian? Your ovens still workin' good since I replaced the eco burners last week?"

"Oh, yes… they heat up just as well as they did thirty years ago now. Mar's blessings upon you. You're such a sweet boy," she reached a hand to Sig's and squeezed it. "Are you sure you don't want any cookies as payment? I made more of your favorites. Oatmeal wumpa, fresh from this morning."

Sig patted her hand back. "No, thank you. You deserve to be paid for those. Speaking of, I'll take a dozen. And some of the usual, too."

"Mmm-hmm," she lurched up from her chair, back hunched, and hobbled over to a table, filling a bag slower than Jak thought was physically possible. Meanwhile, Sig caught his eye and grinned.

Her back to Jak, she paused. "You've got people with you?"

"I do. Good boys, I promise."

"Are they friends of my little Torn?"

"Nah, they don't know Torn. They're with me."

"That's a shame. He could always use more friends. Especially lady ones. I keep telling him he should settle down and bring me some grandchildren, but do you think he listens? I understand that he's doing very important things, but I'll be passing on to the land of light by the time he finds himself a wife. The next time you see him, make sure you tell him I said so."

"I will, Mrs. Cian."

"You better."

Sig and Jak glanced at each other, both trying their hardest not to laugh. She handed the cookies to Sig, he paid her by shoving the money into her hand (after she spent minutes telling him not to), and she waddled back to her chair, fanning herself again as she settled into its creaking wood.

"And the usual?"

"Oh, yes. I forgot. My memory isn't what it used to be."

She pressed something beneath the arm of her chair. A panel in the back wall slid open, musty air spilling out and chasing the scent of bread and pastries away. Jak and Daxter gaped dumbly as Sig strode in.

"Jak, you coming?"

Jak headed for the passage, more confused than he'd ever been. Just as he passed Mrs. Cian, she whipped out a pistol from her sleeve and aimed it at Jak. Jak and Daxter flinched back.

She lowered the pistol and laughed hoarsely. "Gets 'em every time! Go on ahead, boy. I'm just yanking your chain."

As the panel slid closed behind them, Jak glanced back, wondering if a gun-toting old woman would soon follow.

Sig chuckled. "Ah, she does that to new folk. Gotta love her. You can definitely tell where Torn gets it."

"Who is Torn, anyways?"

Sig sighed as they descended ancient brass steps, which curved in a spiral. Red eco crystal lamps simmered on the walls. "First question: how much do you hate Erol?"

"I called him a jerk, didn't I?"

"And you weren't wrong. He's the son of the last king, Damas. Damas was… I don't know how to even begin to describe him. If anyone deserved to inherit Mar's name, it was him. Man was a living and breathing legend."

"Sounds like a good king."

"He was…" Sig trailed off, a forlorn gleam in his eye. "Then Erol kicked him off the throne with the help of the Baron, who had been Damas' most trusted advisor. Erol said Damas wasn't worth the Mar name; that he was too easy on the Metal Head threat and supposedly planned to turn on Haven with the help of the Precursors. So he tossed him out into the Wasteland to die. And not just the Wasteland - into Mar's Rift, the big scar that cuts the Wasteland in half. No one - not even Damas - could have survived that. I guess that was the point, though."

A chill tapped cold fingers down Jak's spine. "A tailor in Riverjoint told me he's killed a racer before, too."

"Yep, I saw that race. It was subtle enough that no one could pin it on him for sure, but it wouldn't surprise me. They had to pause the races for a week just to finish scrubbing the track clean. Unfortunately, a lot of people in the thick of the city don't see the side of him we witnessed today. To them, he's the well-mannered, handsome racer prince of light who couldn't hurt a fly."

"What?"

"Yeah, I know. Those kind of folk live sheltered lives in the high districts. I just wish someone would put that bastard in his place. Anyways, that's where Torn comes in."

"Torn's not a fan, I take it?"

"He's the leader of the Underground. They're a group trying to take out Erol and the Baron, and give Haven better leadership. But they're on the underside of the law."

Jak said nothing, but a tinge of nervousness nibbled his gut at those words.

They reached the passageway's end. A large brass door faced them. Sig pulled a lever at its side, then turned and looked Jak in the eye. "What it means, is that what you and I just discussed doesn't leave this place."

"N-no! I wouldn't dream of… I don't like Erol, either, trust me. I'm just here for my cure, you know?"

"Good. Neutral is always the best stance to take, if you ask me. Don't get caught up with the Underground, if you can help it. Torn's a good friend of mine, and I agree with everything he's fighting for. But so many young, naïve folk have gotten chewed up in his war against the Baron and Erol. I'd hate to see you get hurt, too. You're too good a kid for that."

Jak smiled, pride warming his face at Sig's approving look. The last time he'd felt anything similar was when Samos had praised him during healings back in Sandover. He stared up at Sig as if he were looking over a masterpiece painting, wondering if he could try to emulate it all with his own brushes someday.

"Welcome to the Underport," Sig said as the doors opened.

"Where does it go?"

"Right under Mar's Bridge, to Sewerhusk underneath the city. Now, usually it's smooth sailing, but sometimes there can be some hostile mechs and Metal Heads prowling about. Keep close and if you see one, don't panic," he lifted his gun staff. "Peace Maker will get us through. And maybe we'll get you some more practice on the way to improve that aim of yours, hmm?"

Jak excitedly nodded.

The Underport resembled many Precursor ruins he'd seen before, worn and leaky and creaking with age. However, most of it was a straight line tunnel, save for a few offshoots that descended sideways further into the planet. After a while, a cerulean glow started to shine ahead of them. Jak thought it would be blue eco or crystals, but as they neared, he realized it was the ocean.

Staring up, twisting around in wonder, skin and clothes dancing with caustic light, Jak peered through the glass panels at the water above and beside them. The sea's surface shimmered beneath the afternoon sunlight, and fish swam in silver schools around forests of swaying seaweed. Directly above stretched the underside of Mar's Bridge, cogs churning the ocean at its sides like water wheels.

The journey through the Underport took hours. At times, they had to climb through tight spaces, jump over gaps in the floor or wade through running water, and even zipline on gears down tracks through the dark. But with Sig around, Jak never felt nervous.

Until they heard a clanking in the dark ahead.

Sig put his arm in front of Jak, then scouted forward with silent steps, Peace Maker raised. Jak waited, fear growing in his gut when Sig faded into the shadows. He pulled out his pistol and wrapped his hands around it as Sig had taught him. Dreadful minutes passed.

Is he okay? I haven't heard anything.

He glanced at Daxter on his shoulder, who returned his puzzled, fearful look, a paw on his little pistol.

Then a ear-splitting thud blasted behind them as whatever it was fell from the ceiling. Clanking footsteps. Then near silence, save for the sound of something whirring just inches away from Jak's back, akin to the wheezing breath of mechanical lungs. But no air brushed his neck.

"Identification, please," it said in a glitchy, distorted voice.

Jak didn't twitch a muscle. Sweat beaded down his spine. At his side, Daxter trembled and his ears drooped.

"Identification, please."

Silence.

"Your reluctance to identify yourself has been noted. While we recognize your free will as a sentient being, this unit will be forced to terminate your existence if you do not do so. You are highly encouraged to comply."

Jak twisted around. A mech just like the one back in the Project: Legacy ruin faced him only a mere inch away, though the state of its corrosion was far more advanced, rusted in splotches, small metal bugs chewing at the sides of its face, steam pouring out at irregular angles from the spouts on its shoulders due to chunks of its back missing.

"Thank you for complying. Scanning now."

A red light flashed over Jak from the central glass eye on its head.

"Identity confirmed. Intruder. While we recognize your free will as a sentient being, this unit has now been tasked with terminating your existence. You are highly encouraged to comply."

Jak didn't stick around to find out why the hole at its heart started to glow. Regular beams of crimson flashed past as he ran forward towards where Sig had gone, screeching his name, dark eco wound burning. Daxter pulled out his peashooter, the squeal of bullets racing past Jak's ear as he shot at the mech.

Eventually, they found Sig, who looked about ready to slap Jak upside the head for making such a commotion, until a beam shot between them. He grabbed Jak by the collar and pulled him behind a bronze pillar.

"What in the hell is going on!?"

"Mech… snuck up, and then asked me to scan, so I did, and-"

"You let it scan you!?"

"It said it'd kill me if I didn't!"

"Do you even understand the hell you've just unleash-"

There was a boom. A shake. Panels in the walls creaked open, one by one in perfect succession, rust sprinkling the floor at their sides. Out came more mechs, all of their eyes red, marching ceaselessly even as parts of them fell off at their sudden movement after centuries of sleep.

"Get your skinny ass moving!"

Jak ran after Sig as he raced down the tunnel, the latter shooting mechs that popped up from the shadows beside them with deadly accuracy, raining bolts and bits over Jak. At one point, Jak jumped over the torso of a dead one.

It grabbed his ankle. Jak tripped, barely able to understand what had just happened as it started to climb up his leg, chest starting to glow.

"Intruder captured. Intruder captu-"

A bullet snapped into its glass eye and out the back of its head. It froze, fell to the side, and dropped with a crash. Daxter lowered his pistol and pulled at Jak's hair, hissing under his breath, "Up!"

"Two hundred and ten tankers," Jak murmured back as he kicked it off and got back to his feet.

Sig and Jak reached another section where there was a tight fit. A near army of mechs slowly clinking closer behind, Sig pushed Jak ahead, and they shimmied and ducked and crawled their way through the maze of pipes, cogs, and beams. The end was in sight, and surely the mechs couldn't follow them through it. Jak crawled out, turned around, and-

"Shit!"

Sig had gotten stuck in the last stretch. Jak grabbed his hand and tried to pull him out, but he couldn't wedge through, his cyborg arm caught on a pipe.

"I knew I shouldn't have installed this new case! Whatever, just go. I'll catch up."

"I'm not leaving you behind!"

"I'll be fine. They can't squeeze through-"

A mech crawled over the top of the jam, right above Sig and Jak. Its chest started to glow as it stared down at Sig, brighter and bigger and hotter, energy furling and sparking as it-

Jak took his pistol and whipped it across the face. Its chest and eye lost their glow, bathing everything in darkness.

It jerked its head up, its eye regaining its angry red color as it refocused on Jak.

"Of all the- don't bitch-slap it! Shoot it!"

Jak jumped to the side and dodged its next beam. Then, on his back, he aimed and pulled his pistol's trigger. It struck right in the center of its eye, glass splintering in a shining rain, falling dead.

Sig looked around, waiting, watching. Then he let out a sigh of relief, tried to squeeze through again, and-

More piled over the top of the jam. Jak sprayed as many bullets as he could into the writhing metal mess, but every time one body fell and crashed, another took its place. He wasn't sure how many cartridges he'd used, only that a pile started to accrue at his side. Daxter hid behind him, using Jak as cover, shooting whenever Jak paused to load another.

Finally, as one last mech clawed its way through the corpses of its dead brethren, Jak raised his pistol again, arms aching and shaking, and lined up the mech's eye above the curve of his sight-

Daxter got it first. It lurched, twitched, and died.

Once again, the three of them waited, listening. After a great amount of time passed, each still heavily breathing, Sig nodded. "Thanks. You really saved my ass. And where in the hell did you get an ottsel that can shoot? I didn't even know they could be that smart, never mind trained."

Daxter growled. Jak chuckled. "He's a very clever ottsel."

"I'd say. Now," Sig tried to push himself through again, to no avail. "I think I'm gonna have to go the long way around. Taking my arm off to get through would be a mighty pain in the ass."

"Back where we came? But the bridge might be closed for days. And what if there are more mechs?"

"Honestly, I think we took out all of 'em. Even if a few remain, I can handle it. But can I ask you a favor?"

Sig shuffled a hand back down his side, fiddled around with something, then slid an object across the tunnel floor. It was a scroll with a golden seal, stamped with the symbol of two suns.

"That's the letter Kada wrote back in Fengullet. Can I trust you to take it to someone?"

Jak picked it up and stared at it. "Who?"

"Her name is Tess Unne. She's the owner of a little place called the Willow House. It's in Canalside. Can't miss it - there's a big tree growing over the roof. Tell her that you're a friend of mine, and that I'll be meeting up with her as soon as I can."

"Will do," Jak stuck it in his pauldron pack and twisted around to look at the tunnel ahead. "What's the way like from here?"

Just as Sig had described, the Underport ended in another door. Through that had been Sewerhusk, a labyrinthine maze of pipes, cogs, and machinery, all spinning for some unknown purpose, sometimes shifting without warning as they hummed and steamed along. Jak and Daxter made their way by following the green marks on the walls that Sig had mentioned.

"So... we've had an interesting day. Bombs, princes, cookies, letters," Daxter said, counting with his fingers as he listed everything off. "Also, what happened by the bridge with Erol? You got pale as a sheet all the sudden, and don't think I didn't catch how that light eco got snuffed out. It was hilarious seein' Erol's face afterwards, though."

Jak lowered his head. He'd wanted to forget about it, in all honesty.

"Not sure, really. The dark eco just came over me. Like it normally does, but different. It was still controlling me, but in a lot quieter way," he looked at his hand and loosened and tensed his fingers again and again. "I channeled it, I think."

"So, no Jak smash, but Jak whoosh?"

"Yeah."

"That's weird. No one ya cared about was in any danger, no offense to that bluebutt merchant."

"I don't know. It's hard to describe. I was mad, but for the dumbest reason."

"I mean, one glance at Erol's snooty mug would piss anyone off."

"I wasn't looking at him. I was looking at the light eco."

Even hours after, the thought of the white energy made his eco wound prickle. His hand balled into a tight fist, and he had the sudden urge to punch something. He tried to focus on the spinning of the cogs beside them instead, counting their clicks, losing his dark thoughts to their rhythm. His wound died down, and he put his hand back at his side.

"Well, dark eco is the opposite of light eco, right? So it makes sense that both energies would wanna destroy the other. Like a magic dick measurin' contest. Rawr, how dare you challenge me; my effect on the cosmos is bigger! Let us resume our timeless struggle to see who is more powerful!"

Daxter ended with an explosion noise, then grinned. "And then one wins, like yours did, and the other goes whimperin' home, like Erol's."

"That explosion noise was a little... strange."

"Why? What'd it make ya think of?"

Jak tried to hide a smile by looking away.

"Did my favorite pure, pious bumpkin just have a perverted thought? Jak, you sick little boy! Why would ya ever just assume that's what I meant?"

"'Cause you're the dirtiest person I know?"

"Hmm... fair point. S'pose my classy ways are rubbin' off on ya. In any case, you won the contest, Erol lost. The two of you didn't get into a fist fight, that bluebutt was saved, and all is good in the world."

"And if I'm ever near light eco again? Or Erol? What, will I just rip out his throat?"

"You'd be doin' a lot of people a favor if ya did."

Jak tried not to chuckle, but one came out anyways.

"See? Even you agree. And you hate seein' people hurt! In any case, we probably won't ever have to endure that asshat ever again, anyways. He'd never come down to the lower districts where we'll be. Might get dirt on his fancy boots."

As time wore on, Jak felt more and more nervous that they'd taken a wrong turn through Sewerhusk, but Daxter reassured him that they were going the right way, as they always seemed to be climbing upwards. "Just wait 'til ya smell it," was always his reply, though Jak wasn't certain if he meant something good or bad.

When they reached one of the higher levels, Jak realized he'd meant the latter. True to the area's name, the reek of sewage filled his nose, to the point that Jak had to pinch it closed, eyes watering. Water trickled down the pipes and passageways, brown and slimy.

"What's in it?" Jak squeaked.

"Trust me, buddy. Ya don't wanna know. Oh, and we're comin' up on the lived in parts. No matter what, just keep walkin'. Ignore everyone we pass. Look like ya don't give a shit - excuse the pun - and pretend ya know where you're goin'."

Jak was confused until he saw them. Hordes of people were living alongside piles of trash, under tatters of long-worn clothes and sheets, and huddling over barrel fires. A few tried to call or reach out to him, but whenever they neared, Daxter would hiss. Some held glass vials full of eco like the Krimzon Guard in Brightport had, and Jak noticed - as they shot up their contents with needles that looked long past clean - there were different effects.

Green eco turned people into drooling, calm messes. Blue eco made them twitch or flail around. With yellow eco, they giggled uncontrollably at nothing at all. And red eco made them aggressive, yelling at all who walked by, getting into fights with others. One even grabbed a small rat, and by the time Jak managed to glance back again after the squeaking ceased, fearing what he would see, it was only shreds of yellow fur, bone, and blood glistening in the woman's hands and mouth.

Jak grabbed Daxter off of his shoulder and held him tight between his arms, trying to hide him as much as he could, his heart drumming and dark eco wound prickling.

Sunlight started to stream through the pipes above, and to Jak's sheer delight, fresher air. It was tinged with strange things he'd never smelled before, like burning chemicals, stone, and ash, but it was better than the reek of the lower levels.

"How can they live like that?" Jak asked after they passed the last group. "I don't understand. Why isn't anyone helping them?"

Daxter, back on his shoulder, shrugged. "No one cares."

"But they're people."

"Jak, ya saw Glowrend. In Haven, what's out of sight is out of mind. The folk that could change all this are way up on the top in their cushy homes with servants. They don't think at all about what's goin' on down here or beyond the walls. They're more worried about what shoes they're gonna wear to a party than all the sufferin' beneath their feet."

"How can they be so stupid?"

Daxter sighed. "Wealth and fame are a worse drug than any other. Not all of 'em are bad. Some have tried to help, I think. But there's only so much a few of 'em can do. Anyways, we're almost there."

At the last green mark, Jak found himself before a pipe just large enough for him to duck through. He hunched, splashing over the rainwater that seeped in, unlatched the grate at the end, and stepped out into the light.

He looked up, tripped, and waveringly got to his feet again.

"You okay, Bigfoot?"

The pipe had led to a wedge of dirt alley between a broken inner half-wall in front of him, and Haven's actual wall at his back. But it wasn't the district surrounding - of ancient, water filled craters in the ground, the dozens of scrapped weapon mechs scattered across the mud and stone surface, or the thousands of people digging away at cave mouths and rocks at the other end - that stunned him.

It was Haven up close, looming above, bigger than anything Jak had ever seen out of the many big things Jak had been shocked by in all the weeks it took to get there. Colossal buildings, flying machines zipping around like wumpbees in a hive, the constant ringing and chatter of industry, smoke wreathing around everything in silver scarves and burning his lungs and…

He held his breath when he realized what had suddenly blocked out the suns. The bowl floated above, cerulean veins glowing in rivers in its mythic underside. Beneath it sat the pillar districts, looking as if they rested on a nature-made mountainside under the bowl rather than the effort of thousands of people laying bricks and mortar over hundreds of years. And there were gears and bits of machinery everywhere; massive constructs holding up what should have fallen long ago, like cyborg prosthetics embedded in the city's flesh, and glass tubes winding as immortal arteries around the city's stone heart, pumping with blue eco blood and people traveling on giant cogs.

They were no longer in a place of mortals reverent to a natural world. This was a bastion against the natural, built atop a steaming wound sundered in the planet's crust, rising in defiance of earth, sky, time, and the gods themselves.

"And I thought mirrors were amazing," Jak managed to blurt at last, finally able to walk again, but still dizzy. "I saw it from afar earlier, but up close..."

"Oh boy, I'm gonna need to keep my bumpkin translator runnin' all day and night, aren't I? Also, I hate to ruin the moment, but I wouldn't look down if I were you."

"What?"

Around the half-wall was a long black river weaving through the district, fed by pipes leading from all different parts of the city. Things bobbed in the dark waters; forms with glassy eyes and waxy limbs. Most were long-eared and had bright colored hair. Eventually, they disappeared down a large hole, cascading unseen into Sewerhusk.

"Haven's tourism department has really been slackin' lately."

Jak turned away and tried not to hurl, his heart thundering in shock.

"You'll get used to it."

"How in the...?" Jak paused, fighting another wave of nausea. "How do you 'get used to it'? And why are there so many tribal folk?"

He felt Daxter peer around on his shoulder. "Yeah, that's weird. In the past times I've been here, usually it's been a big mix of people. That's a lot more bumpkins than normal."

"This is common? Bodies? In the water? Normal?"

"Not all the time, but everything the city throws out ends up here, so..."

Jak kept his eyes trained away from the river as much as he could as he made his way towards the central pillar of the city. Once he walked past a final bend of the water and dirt, and turned onto a cobblestoned street, he backed up against the side of a flower shop and slumped down, fighting horror and the urge to vomit.

"This is a hell, isn't it?" Jak asked at last.

"Yup. It's Haven."