Jak and Daxter: Legacy

Chapter 19: Red in the Light

Again, it was a flower that started it all, its five furling petals as red as sunsets. Symi passed Jak in the Willow House's hall with it the night after his visit to Hagai Industries. She caught his wide stare, glanced down at the blossom in the porcelain pot cupped in her hands, then looked at him again, puzzled.

"What's wrong?"

Jak gawked for a little longer, then blinked his stun away. "Sorry, it's just… where'd you get that?"

"Oh, you recognize it, don't you? These grew all over down south," she replied with a smile. "I didn't bring much with me when I left Jadecrest, other than some seeds from these flowers. They're a little something of home, you know? Here."

She tapped at its center. A white seed fell from it, and she handed it to him. "Maybe it can help you feel at home, too?"

And with that, Symi retreated down the hall, her green braid swaying and silk dress shining as she passed under the eco crystal ceiling light, then disappeared around the corner into the shadows beyond.

Jak continued heading to where he'd been going before, careful to keep a tight grip on the seed as he climbed the ladder to the attic and opened its creaking door. Daxter was where Jak had last left him, balled in an unwashed, ruffled fur lump on his cushion, his little black nose glistening as it leaked like a spigot.

As soon as Jak let the door close behind him, Daxter halfheartedly glanced up.

"Jak, if I die, will ya make sure to tell Tess I loved her pretty eyes more than anything?"

Jak offered a sympathetic smile as he pocketed the seed and started to take his shoes and stockings off. "Nothing else?"

"Well, yeah, but I can't really say it in mixed company."

The smile melted to a glower.

"Oh, man, I can't believe this. I hate bein' sick. And the worst part is, I can't even complain about it loudly. Why are we keepin' me a secret still, anyway? Can't we just tell 'em?"

"Do you want to hear seven women screaming all at once?"

Daxter waggled his brows suggestively.

"Wow. Twice in the past minute. That's a record, even for you."

More waggling.

Rolling his eyes, Jak took the stocking he'd just removed and threw it at Daxter's face. Daxter hissed and coughed as he pried it off, then tossed it into the corner. His coughing then turned to a sneezing fit. Jak's grin returned, and he set off towards their supplies.

In the corner opposite of Jak's bed, on the other side of his makeshift shrine, their guns, ammunition, Jak's sword and dagger, and cans of food gleamed in an orderly pile. Jak grabbed one of the tins, peeled it open with a grimace as its briny stench hit his nose, then walked over to Daxter.

"Jerk! I-I-!" Another squeaky sneeze. "I've got one unclogged nostril right now and ya just reek bombed it. You'll pay for that! Three hundred and… god, my brain is yakow shit right now, whatever many tankers of-"

"Mm-hmm. Here." Jak set the tin down in front of him.

"And don't think I won't pay ya back for all those bridge dunk… oh?"

Daxter dug into the jellied eel. Jak went to the window and opened it, hoping to air out both the smell of his socks and Daxter's meal.

Irritation strangled his gut; it was an uncooperative, stormy night outside, poor for practicing racing, and the event he was supposed to chaperone at had been canceled. Overhead, lightning crackled in sketchmark streaks, each making blue eco signs across Canalside flare brighter for a few seconds in response.

Water poured down the eaves and rattled chimes, slapped into pools in the courtyard, and misted his skin with welcome cool. The roof, the willow, and the surrounding buildings shone with beads of slick, their slithery gleam white except for where the glow of Wise Junction's lanterns turned them red.

Red. Jak leaned against the soggy railing with one arm and dug into his pocket with his other hand. The seed Symi gave him was small and hard between his pinching fingers, and he held it up before his face.

The haze of a memory fogged his vision:

"Who is that?" Jak asked.

Vin followed Jak's stare and smiled. "That's Mar and the founder of this place, Samos Hagai."

A can scraping against wooden floor jolted him back to the present.

"Ahhhhh! Jellied eel, my best friend in the whole wide world."

Jak glanced back. Daxter was still a bedraggled heap of orange, but his mouth had turned from a miserable frown to a perky-whiskered, satisfied curve.

"Seems like it'll be a pretty boring night," Jak said.

"Exactly. You and I are finally gettin' a break. Between all the cleanin' and cookin' you and I do, and-"

Jak tuned out for a moment, recalling with a small smirk how cleaning and cooking chores usually went. Typically, it consisted of Jak rushing between pots and pans over a stove and refueling it with yellow eco cans, or Jak scrubbing wooden floors to a shine, sweeping bedrooms and halls, and tidying the makeup coated powder rooms, where the artisans got ready for events.

Daxter, on the other hand, 'helped cook' by sampling the food, 'kept watch' on the stove's fuel level by curling up next to its warm side and complaining when it got too cold, 'scrubbed' the floors by seeing how far he could slide across them when wet, 'swept' by clinging to the broom for a fun ride as Jak pushed it along, and 'tidied' the powder rooms by cannonballing into face powder containers and then wiping himself off on Jak's black pants legs after.

At times, Jak had wanted to ask him what kind of upbringing he'd had where he didn't know the first thing about chores, but stopped himself. Daxter's past was under lock and key, and their argument in the ruin had only made Daxter seal it tighter with another chain. The thought's resurgence now faded Jak's smirk.

"-got sick from it, ya know? Keep it up and you'll start snifflin' too. Well, more than ya usually do. For how much of an ass ya were when we met, imagine my surprise when it turned out you're the world's biggest softy sap. Oh, I cracked the skulls of twenty Metal Heads with my bare hands and survived, don't leave me, Daxter! Oh, the floatin' cheese factory gave me lots of money, bless the Precursors who had nothin' to do with it!" Daxter mocked wiping tears at the corners of his eyes.

Jak didn't respond with his usual smile and retort at Daxter's teasing. He only stared at the seed in his fingers, twisting it this way and that.

"Alright, I can tell: ya feel like shit. But you know what always makes ya feel better?"

"Hmm. You know, this balcony kind of looks like a bridge."

"Ha ha, very funny. I'm paranoid of 'em now, thanks to you. But no. I was gonna ask ya what that is."

"The seed?"

"Yeah. C'mon flower boy, ramble about a plant for two hours." Daxter leaned back with his arms behind his head on his cushion. "That is the scientifically proven way to turn Mopey Jak into Jolly Jak."

Jak sighed and walked over to his makeshift shrine. Vibrant, healthy vines sprawled across it, and cradled in their bends was an offering dish and an incense burner. He ignored them, instead picking up a cracked bowl filled with empty dirt to the side.

He set the bowl by the window and sat cross-legged before it, propping his cheek on one hand and eying the seed still in his other.

"I don't know how to feel about Samos," he blurted at last.

"Oh, the moldy stump that kicked you out like a beaten crocadog the moment ya finally nipped back?"

Jak flinched.

"Hit a nerve?"

Yes, was Jak's true answer. But why, he wasn't sure. He wouldn't go out of his way to defend Samos' personality, no, and leaving him and Sandover had felt freeing in a way. But he owed him a lot: years of food and clothing and teaching and defending from the villagers' ire. And despite Samos' refusal to say so, Jak believed that Samos actually had loved him, at least in some way. Maybe only as a student, but there was some affection there, wasn't there?

Why else would he have kept me around? What use was a hated orphan to a sage who had everything to lose by taking me in? No, he must have cared.

"Thinkin' he may be related to Mar's Samos?"

"I don't think that's possible. My Samos was only two-hundred or so. Mar was alive five hundred years ago."

"Jak, I know you're the world's most innocent ray of blondish sunshine, but can I suggest somethin'? Somethin' ya might not like to hear?"

"Most things you say I don't like to hear."

"Good. Then you won't be surprised when I suggest that, well…" He gave a huge shrug. "Maybe Grandpappy Toe Goop lied to ya?"

"Lied? Why would Samos lie to me?"

"Oh boy, looks like it's time for another lesson at Daxter's School for Helpless Bumpkins. Alright, come here. Perk up your ears, kiddo."

Daxter padded from his cushion over to Jak. He crawled onto Jak's knee and sat, puffed up his chest with a deep inhale, closed his eyes, and sighed with a shake of his head. "Jak, sometimes parents kinda suck."

Jak blinked blankly.

"Look, I'm sure he kept ya fed. I'm sure you've got fond memories here and there. But moms or surrogate sage dads or whatever are people, too. People got flaws. Just like you and me."

Jak rolled his eyes. "I know that, I'm not dumb."

"Yeah, but it's hard to see sometimes. You think of Samos as, 'hey, that's the guy that put yakow jerky on the table and gave me a warm bed', whereas someone like me on the outside hears how ya talk about him, and all I can think of, is 'wow, this guy sounds like an ass'! 'Cause you're used to it. I ain't."

"So Samos wasn't a saint. Why does that matter? The only thing that matters now is getting my wound fixed. Then I can worry about what I think about Samos."

"Jak, what if…?"

Jak looked at Daxter fully, finally. It was the first time in the months he'd known Daxter that he ever recognized actual reluctance to say something on his face. Daxter's expression kept contorting this way and that, as if the right nervous glance or twist of his mouth might help wring the hard answer out.

He sneezed again, then shrugged and blurted, "What if all of this is connected in some way? Like your Samos might be Mar's Samos, and maybe he's older than ya think, and he took you in for a different reason than just bein' nice?"

There was a cutting period of silence - beyond the stone-pelt rattle of rain on the roof - as Daxter looked at Jak hopefully, and Jak stared back with a raised brow, his mouth struggling to form words multiple times.

At last, Jak managed, "What?"

"Well, ya know, it's like I said: maybe Samos lied? I dunno. I'm just makin' guesses here. But it's all so weird. And he was the one who told ya about Gol and Maia, right?"

Jak widened his eyes. Then he shrugged almost too forcefully. "Yeah, why?"

"Isn't it strange that he even knew about 'em? What guy that's been shacking up in Hickvale for centuries would know anything about the Baron's court sages?"

"Ashelin said they weren't always in Haven. They're Wise like me. And sages. Maybe Samos met them down south at one point before they came up here?"

"Oh, how convenient that he tells ya about a ruin with a dark eco injection machine, and then magically knows some weirdos who know how to fix dark eco problems."

"Wait, are you saying that…? No way."

"Duh, yes. Jak, I've known ya for months. Nothin' compared to nineteen years of raisin' ya. And even I've noticed that the absolute last thing ya tell Jakan Kur is not to do somethin', because what's the first thing he does after? Just that."

"That would only make sense if Samos had told me about the ruin without me asking. I bugged him to tell me about how I was really found. He didn't offer it. He never just gave me anything easily."

"Exactly."

"What do you mean?"

"He never gave ya anything easily. So why did he tell ya about the ruin so easily then and not earlier? Why didn't he offer that info to you before ya were, what, freakin' nineteen years old? What, so you could suffer wonderin' if the villagers were right, and you were some literal demonspawn or whatever backwater pile of hot garbage they believed down there? Jak," Daxter paused to sneeze again, and his ears drooped. "Buddy, I'm not sayin' it to hurt ya. I'm sayin' it 'cause I've been thinkin' about it for a while, and I don't know the whole answer, I swear, but somethin' about Samos just never smelled right to me."

Jak bit his lip and looked away from Daxter to a dusty, forgotten corner of their room. He furled the flower seed into the core of his tightening fist. Samos intentionally wanted me to go to that ruin? To find the dark eco machine? But how would he have known that I could get the door open? That doesn't make sense at all.

"Dax, he couldn't have… the ruin's main door was blocked and only opened for me, as far as I know. There's no way he was in the database, too, and could have gotten far enough in to know about the dark eco machine."

"Hmph." Daxter crossed his arms. "Yet Samos didn't react much at all, did he?"

"Well… no? Not really, actually. He acted like…"

"Care to explain what exactly happened in those ruins?"

And so he did. Jak recalled every excruciating detail. Samos' glower threatened to turn into a frown as Jak continued, but it wasn't until Jak mentioned the strange eco that Samos' mouth fully gave in. Still, Samos listened as Jak finished, though he looked as if he was already drowning in too many of his own thoughts to pay much attention.

He curtly nodded as Jak finished his story. "So, it's done, then."

"He didn't react at all," Jak said finally, realizing it as a jolt through his heart as he uttered those words. Then as a jolt of surprise.

And a jolt of pain. An old, scathing pain that he'd stuffed down for months now, too busy worrying about dying to deal with it, save for a passing thought about it in Kunino. Now, in this breathless pause in the rush to save his own life, did he have time to remember a question he'd been scared to wonder about all along:

Did the man he thought raised him out of love actually love him?

An even more terrifying question followed. It was one he'd hidden under his covers from even as a child, as if it were a demon hiding under his bed, and by acknowledging it - by seeing it instead of shutting it out with the power of thin cloth that could make him not see it - it would become real. A real, eldritch, dark form growing bigger by the second, with every fearful, burning beat of his heart, with every prayer that it was not when he knew very well it was.

Lightning flashed and roared. Jak clutched the thin cloth of his shirt over his eco wound as it started to sear. The fire overflowed from his core, up his throat, and out his mouth, "Did Samos not want me?"

There was a pull on Jak's glove. "Whoa, whoa, hold on there, Bigfoot. Let's not jump that far. I don't think he hated ya. How could anyone hate you? He just maybe wasn't tellin' ya the whole truth."

"You don't lie to someone you love."

"Jak, just 'cause someone lies to ya, doesn't mean they don't love you. Sometimes people lie for a good reason. Or they just don't tell ya the whole truth because they know it's not good for you."

"Yeah, well, I hate it."

"We all keep secrets for different reasons. Now, Samos probably-"

"You'd know."

Daxter recoiled as if Jak had thrust a dagger into his gut. Jak tried not to care, even as a new flush from his wound prodded him towards shame instead of anger.

But just like Samos, Daxter hid things from him, and even if they were mundane compared to the answers Samos had kept locked in a chest under a thin cloth for years - the thought of which made Jak clutch his wound again - it hurt just as much.

Samos did hate me, he thought. And why is Daxter defending him lying to me? Why won't anyone ever just tell me the truth?

Jak shuffled forward and bent his knees up to lean on them with his arms, the seed still sharp and hard in his hand. He'd left the warmth and light of the room and Daxter for the cold and wet darkness of the balcony, its railing casting cage bar shadows across him every time lightning flashed.

"Look, all I'm sayin' is that Mar's Samos worked with the Precursors all the time before Mar started flippin' desks. That Samos sure would have known a lot about Precursor crap like the ruin in Sandover. The Precursors helped him and Mar make Haven and weapons and stuff, right?"

Jak sighed.

"And green eco sages can live a long time, can't they?"

"I really don't know."

"Well, there's your answer: Mar's Samos and yours are probably the same guy. So put two and two together, and-"

"There's no way that's true." Jak grabbed the cracked dirt bowl and nearly slammed it back down to his left. He shoved the seed into it, packed it down as hard as he could, and then brought it from seedling, to plant, to bloom, and then to ashes with a hand wave and a burst of jade light that turned purple and black and out of control, all thanks to a wound that refused to heal.

All he could manage after that was to clutch the bowl in his lap and think about red things abandoned and left to die.

The night crept on in frigid silence, save for the rare punctuation of soft sneezes. Jak was in his bed, back turned to Daxter, the Legacy symbol warm in his trembling hands, his eco wound prickling. If only he could sleep. If only he had no worries like winning races, getting enough money, and getting cured. If only the night would pass and the strangling, thorned pain of Samos, and his snapping at Daxter could fade-

The slamming of a door ricocheted throughout the Willow House.

Jak and Daxter shot up. A low cry of pain sounded from somewhere near the front of the building. Doors slid open and footsteps rushed in the halls below.

Jak fumbled out of bed and pulled his stockings and boots back on, then glanced at the supplies in the corner. He grabbed his pistol and a few eco cartridges, begging the Precursors he wouldn't need them, and thanking the Precursors for a distraction from quiet despair. He opened the floor hatch, slowly, wincing at how loudly it creaked, then peered down into the hallway.

Shadows. Quiet. The occasional puncture of a ray of light from lit rooms left open and empty.

There was a brush of a tail on his arm. Jak lifted his head back into their own room and caught Daxter's puzzled stare.

Daxter climbed to Jak's shoulder again - much to Jak's relief - and Jak descended with velvet-soft steps. He headed towards where he'd heard the footsteps thunder off. Their direction led him to the front hall of the Willow House, and a scene that sent his heart racing.

The artisans clustered around the front door. Between their night robes shifted something that turned increasingly wet and crimson on one side.

"Precursors, what happened?" Symi blurted.

The newcomer stumbled forward from the door, almost toppling over before Symi, Roru, and Atile grabbed his arms and hefted him up.

The man wore fitted black pants and boots covered with gaiters that cinched at the knees. Two eco revolvers gleamed in holsters on his thighs. Scratched plates of armor coated him; braces on his arms, greaves on his legs, and sleek pauldrons on his shoulders. His calf-length military coat - pockmarked with patched bullet holes and frays - matched the navy shade of his gaiters, and as he righted himself with the artisans' help, his red neck scarf came undone, fell to the floor, and his coat's hood fell.

He had a face as angular and stern as chiseled stone, jaw prominent, cheekbones sharp and framed with reddish-brown dreadlocks that went to his shoulders. His blue gaze was narrow and always searching, as if he expected an ambush at every moment. Even as blood glistened wider and darker from a wound in his shoulder, those eyes tore apart the ceiling, the walls, and the shadows of every corner of the room, almost daring anything they might hide to come and try him.

It was his striking look and the geometric black tattoos on his cheeks, forehead, and cut ears that quelled Jak's urge to rush forward to start healing the man. Is he one of the Guard? But why would the artisans care, then?

Symi especially had been affected, her eyes wet, and she was trying her best to summon green eco. But each fearful attempt ended in a whimper of emerald light.

Tess emerged from the hall across from Jak. Jak exchanged a bewildered look with her before she peered around the corner, her hand clutching the corner of the front desk. Her expression turned to pure shock.

She raced towards the man and the artisans helping him, offering an extra arm to prop him up.

"Endisa, Sorcha, guard the door. Play innocent if anyone comes knocking," she said grimly, then turned to the man she held onto by the back of his coat. "Let's get you to the basement. It'll be safe there."

Endisa and Sorcha did as they were told. The other artisans clustered behind the escorting ones past Jak, then down a hallway to the left, a trail of blood haunting their frenzied steps. Jak tried to follow, but as they came to a door that had always been locked before, and only Tess, Symi, and the man entered, Yasu twisted back and realized Jak was there.

She shot a violet glare. "I thought I told you to keep your ears down? This is none of your business. Go back to your room."

Jak opened his mouth to argue, but she turned around again before he could respond. She hushed the others and set about ordering them to find bandages and gather food and drink.

Frustrated again for the umpteenth time that night, answers evading him as they always had, Jak flipped around and did as he was told.

Tess will probably explain all this tomorrow morning, anyways, he thought.

As soon as they were far enough away, Daxter spat in his ear, "What are ya doin'? Let's snoop!"

"That room's completely shut off. And they'll see us if we try to listen through the kitchen floorboards, so it's not like we can eavesdrop there."

"Oh, but we can. With a secret hidey spot yours truly found."

"A what?"

"The night we came here, I went out for a piss break, and I saw someone leave from a hidden hatch in the courtyard. That's why I was gone for so long. Wait, don't tell me ya didn't notice I wasn't around?"

Jak recalled how he'd found the window in their room left open that night. "I did, I just got a little preoccupied after I blew up half the bathroom with eco."

"Well, I found a tunnel that goes from the courtyard to what I think is that basement, so I explored it."

A familiar serpent of ache wound through him. Keeping secrets again?

"And… you didn't think to tell me before now?"

Daxter shrugged. "All I could see through the boards were a bunch of guns, books, and some furniture. Boring crap. But now…"

Should I really spy on them? Jak wondered, guilt nibbling at him. Then again, Roru's sneaking off at parties… and wait, is that why Tess got upset at Sig for mentioning a 'friend' coming by in front of me yesterday? What's going on here?

He might not have been able to pry the truth from Samos easily. And Daxter could keep his past hidden from him. But here was the first chance he had to find answers about the strangeness of the Willow House, Tess, and the artisans. Perhaps the bleeding man was the center of their web of secrets?

With a small smile, Jak also realized it was a chance to perhaps patch up his snapping at Daxter by, Precursors behold, listening to him for once.

They ended up at the back gate of the Willow House. Rain soaked them from head to toe, matting Daxter's fur, and plastering Jak's hair in a droop over the strap of his goggles. The scarlet lanterns overhead provided enough light to see the rear walkway. It looked as it always had whenever Jak came back here to empty cleaning buckets: a nondescript boardwalk with thick bushes at its sides.

"Sure about this, Dax?"

"Positive. Here," Daxter paused to sniff about from Jak's shoulder, louder and more whistling than normal due to one nostril being plugged. "Definitely blood in the air."

He leaped to the boardwalk and dove into the bushes. Some rustling ensued.

"I coulda sworn… wait. There's our ticket!"

An orange paw waved out from a bush in the farthest corner behind a small shed. Jak glanced around to make sure the coast was clear, then parted the foliage.

Daxter stood with a proud grin over a round metal hatch in the dirt. Jak pried it open. Must and earth sighed back out. The rain made small plinking sounds as it struck the rungs of a steel ladder within.

Jak descended. The edges brushed his shoulders with wet, mossy grime, but after a short climb, a space dimly lit with red eco crystals opened up behind them. A few feet of empty room led to a steel door. Jak tried its handle.

"Crap," he spat. "Locked."

"No matter. The Daxternator is in the building."

"The Daxternator?"

Daxter launched at the door and scaled up and through a gap between it and the ceiling. There was a quiet rattle. Then a click .

"Welcome to our fine establishment, Mr. Kur." Daxter opened the door with a bow. "Care to start your night off with some wine and eavesdropping?"

The tunnel beyond led to another room filled with beds, chairs, boxes, and, most curiously, a foot-pedal powered sewing machine with racks of clothing from all walks of life beside it. Jak rifled through them. Krimzon Guard armor, coat-tailed suits and silk dresses, merchant robes, miner rags, white sailor's shirts, military uniforms, southerner calf-length pants and jewel toned tunics for sages and farmers alike, and Wastelander leather pieces.

All for different sizes and species.

"What is all this?" Jak whispered.

"Not sure. They got supplies in these boxes, too. I snooped in 'em the last time I was down here. Tinned food. Dried meats. Eco crystals. Guns. Looks like they're gearin' up for a war."

A pained cry echoed down the tunnel ahead.

Symi's voice responded, "I'm sorry. Just hold still. I'm still learning, so-"

"You're doing just fine, sweetheart," Tess said.

The shadowy tunnel led to a wall of boards. Through their cracks, Jak could make out three people bathed in soft orange light: Tess with her arms crossed and cherry lips pursed, Symi aglow with repeated bursts of green eco, and the bleeding man with the dreadlocks sitting slouched atop a low table.

Jak glanced at Daxter and put his finger to his lips, then offered him his hand to climb up to his shoulder again. They both crept up to the door and peered through a crack.

A fireplace roared opposite where Jak and Daxter peeked from, and before it sat two black silk chairs. One was draped with the man's navy coat, water and blood dripping from its wide sleeves to the stones beneath it. To the left was another door, likely the one the three had entered from from the Willow House's west hall. To the right stood a desk, a bookshelf stuffed with tomes and papers, a gun rack, and a map of Haven City on the wall beside a bronze boiler.

In the center were Symi, Tess, and the man.

A knock sounded at the door from inside the house.

"Yes?"

It creaked open.

"Bandages. And food."

"Thank you, Yasu. Now, make sure the others go to bed. We've got this handled here."

"Will he…?"

"Everything's alright. He's a tough grandson of a bitch."

A voice that sounded as if its owner gargled salt and gravel every morning chuckled, then muttered, "I'll tell her you said that the next time you raid her bakery. If you're lucky, she'll only poison your order."

"Then I'll be sure to remind her that her grandson often drags himself into my house and spills blood on my polished floors whenever he gets into a scrap with someone, and I let him walk back out alive every time."

'Bakery?' both Jak and Daxter mouthed as they glanced at each other.

They don't mean the one Sig led us through, do they? Jak thought. Shock rippled through his skin. Wait, that crazy old lady was Torn's grandmother, so that means…

"Thanks, kid," the man said to Symi as she finished patching him up. He held a bruised, dirty hand over the bandaged wound and adjusted his posture.

"It's the least I could do, after what you did for me and Brutter."

"Rescuing you was just the bonus. I'd have gutted those slavers any day."

Jak remembered the Babak who had helped them escape from slavers on the way to Haven:

"When you get to Haven, try to find Torn. Attitude like tigerbear, heart like puppy."

And then, like stars in the sky forming into a coherent constellation, it finally clicked. The sage of Glowrend asking Sig to tell Torn she'd changed her mind, his knowing of a secret passageway into Haven through the bakery that just happened to be owned by Torn's grandmother, Roru sneaking off and reading secret documents, Yasu telling Jak to mind his own business, and Tess getting nervous when Sig mentioned a friend they were supposed to meet the morning before.

Fear and realization raked chills down Jak's spine.

"Thank you for helping, Symi. Now, you go up and go to bed for me, okay? Torn and I need to talk."

Symi dipped her head to both of them, but her brows still furrowed with concern, especially so when she looked at Torn again.

"I'll be okay, kid. Night."

And with that, footsteps creaked leftways up to the interior door. It opened, shut, and then Tess sighed. She made her way to the gun rack, picked up a rifle, and then grabbed a cleaning rod for it from the desk.

Taking one of the chairs by the fireplace, she turned it around, sat across from Torn, and started taking the rifle apart with practiced surety, its mechanisms clicking as she did so.

"So, who beat you up this time?"

Torn glared at her. "For your information, I took them out. One of their friends managed to land a shot while he was running away, though. Cowardly bastard. And this almost made it worth it."

He took a bundle of papers from the collar of his black shirt, one of its parchment corners red.

Tess took it. She read the papers over, unflinching as the blood stained her hands. "Shipping manifests? We don't need to know how much flour the Baron orders for his genocide celebration cakes."

"Down at the bottom."

Tess' eyes widened. "That's a lot of steel. And dark eco?"

"Barrels and barrels of it."

"Precursors…" She returned the papers to him, put the rifle back, then took another to clean. "What could they possibly want with that?"

"Nothing good. But at least now we've got something new to investigate. Since Glowrend, things have been too damn quiet." Torn picked up the steaming cup on the tray Yasu had delivered and put it to his lips. "Thank Mar. She remembered the coffee this time."

"Not a fan of tea?"

"No offense," Torn took another hearty sip. "But fuck tea."

Even Jak balled his hands into fists at those words.

Tess rolled her eyes over a smirk. "A northern boy to the bone, aren't you?"

"Haven has a habit of making even piss taste sweet. Look at you. A sage's sister turned gunsmith. Only a place like this could do something like that."

"And yet you'd die for it," she said, glancing at his shoulder again.

He shrugged. "Someone's gotta make it less shitty. Anyways, the girls hear anything lately?"

Tess' expression darkened. She then looked at Torn with an apologetic grimace. "Only Roru. Tagan's estate. She found a document he'd just left on his desk from Hagai Industries. It confirmed that they're still not sure who was behind the theft of the blueprints the palace shared with them. Here, give me your revolvers."

"What a shame," Torn said with a shit-eating grin. He put his cup back down, then obliged her request. Along with his guns came a curved dagger from his belt, which he rubbed the dull edge of and admired as it gleamed beneath the firelight while Tess cleaned the revolvers. Jak had only seen blades like that before on red tribe folk. "I guess they'll figure out what happened to those blueprints when Underground agents suddenly are using shiny new rifles on the field against their own soldiers."

"I also found out an interesting tidbit from my new chaperone."

Torn froze just as Jak did.

"What happened to Taku?"

"He got a little too sweet on Roru one night after a party and she fried him. Oh, and I fired him after he dragged his burnt ass back here to accuse her of attacking him."

He chuckled. "Dumb bastard."

"The new one's much better. Very sweet boy. But he's got some… issues."

Jak's smile fizzled out and the warm, fuzzy feeling that had started to surge in his chest withered to disappointment. Daxter squeezed his shoulder a little harder.

"Like what?"

"He's been poisoned with dark eco."

Disappointment shifted to irritation. Thanks for giving out my secrets to a stranger, Tess.

"And he's still alive?"

Tess shrugged. "It's strange, for sure. But it's slowly killing him. I let him stay here and I'm paying him above a room and food for work. I can't afford enough to give him what he needs for a cure, though. Krew can. So Sig took him on an artifact run yesterday. Krew paid thousands, and is offering to pay him more for other artifacts. Might even get a racing sponsor out of it, too."

"What's he racing for?"

"To get access to Gol and Maia. The winner's banquet."

"Smart. If anyone would know how to cure a dark eco problem, it'd be them."

There was a long silence as Tess continued to clean the revolvers. Her face was grimly set, and small sighs escaped her lips whenever she paused biting them. Meanwhile, Torn rubbed a scar on his left cheek, his gaze set on the fire.

"Anyways, the interesting tidbit is that the artifacts are for some Precursor mechs Vin's working on reverse engineering. Dark eco powered ones."

"Great. Those sound fun to deal with. Wait a minute, dark eco powered?"

It seemed to click in Tess' head right as it did in Torn's. "Could explain all that dark eco they're having shipped in, for sure."

He grunted in agreement. Then, "How does this chaperone of yours feel about the Baron and Erol? And making even more money?"

Jak leaned in even closer to the gap between the boards, the fireplace's warmth leaking through to brush his face. Its temperature was welcome hellfire compared to the deathly chill of the tunnel around him.

"What? Why?"

Torn crossed his arms and leaned back to stare at the ceiling. "He wouldn't mind, say, keeping me updated on things he hears from Krew?"

Tess paused her cleaning mid-swipe of a cloth. Her amber eyes squinched. "Torn, he doesn't even know about all this. And if Krew ever found out, Jak could lose his chance for a cure."

"Look, Gol and Maia are out of my reach. But I can give him money for information. That'll help him get his cure. And no offense to Sig, but I can't rely on him to tell me everything he hears from his buyers. 'Wants to stay neutral', or whatever the fuck excuse he used last. Your chaperone boy and what info he leaks to me could change the fate of this city, Tess. For better." Torn got to his feet and put his hands on her shoulders. "Both for people like me, and people like you."

Daxter jabbed a furry elbow into Jak's cheek. At first, Jak thought Daxter was trying to urge him to agree if Tess ever passed on the request, but then he felt it:

A tensing of paws on his shoulder. The rigid rhythm of uncontrollable, shaky inhales. As Daxter opened his mouth, Jak moved to put his hand over it, but it was too late to seal the sound.

A squeaky sneeze boomed throughout the hall.

Jak froze, hand still raised. Ottsel snot oozed down his fingers. Neither Tess or Torn spoke; only the fireplace murmured on. Jak glanced at Daxter, eyes refusing to blink, teeth gritting as he wondered what kind of shitstorm they'd just gotten into.

Daxter tried a sheepish grin.

The door burst open. Tess and Torn came out guns first, a rifle for Tess, two revolvers for Torn. Jak cowered and tried to put his hands up in surrender. Torn butted his chest with a sharp elbow and Jak, afraid to show any hostility, let himself get pinned to the wall without a fight. In the flurry of action, Daxter fell off Jak's shoulder to the ground.

A gun barrel coldly kissed the underside of Jak's chin. "Give me one damn good reason not to pull- fuck!"

An orange streak had latched onto Torn's ear. The barrel lowered, and Jak sunk to the floor and tried to scurry away on wobbly limbs before realizing what the orange was, then came rushing back.

Torn took aim at Daxter, who had moved on to trying to scratch him from the top of his head.

"Torn, wait!" Tess said.

Jak forced Torn's arm to the side just as he pulled the trigger. A yellow eco bullet scored into the wall, leaving a smoking little crater. His wound burning, Jak returned the crushing favor and pinned Torn against the wall. He summoned dark eco without a second thought or effort and raised his hand, ready to throw it into Torn's horrified face, the eco's sparks lashing hungry purple light over both of them.

"Jak, get off of him!"

It was Tess. But it wasn't her voice that snapped his rage in half. It was Daxter, who still clung to Torn's hair. Terror flared in Daxter's eyes as he stared at Jak and cowered like he was some kind of monster.

The dark eco sizzled out. Torn pushed him away, and Jak agreed by backing up farther willingly, eyes wide and stuck on something distant, and he was too stunned to utter a single word.

Tess took Jak by the shoulders. "I'm right here. Look at me. Everything's fine, Jak. I'm sorry, we couldn't tell it was you."

"Jak?" Torn asked. "You know this sneaky piece of shit?"

"Remember that chaperone boy we were talking about?"

When his eco wound died down, Jak finally managed to look at Daxter again. Daxter was behind Tess' legs, trembling, tail tucked over his face.

Tess squatted and gave Daxter a comforting pet. "And you were just protecting your friend, weren't you? Poor thing."

"That rabid gutter rat tried to eat my ear off."

Daxter hissed.

Tess ushered them all back into the fireplace room. She went upstairs to get some more tea - and coffee, at Torn's request - leaving Jak, Daxter, and Torn alone in awkward silence. Jak did his best to avoid Torn's stare, but after a while he could no longer ignore it. He glanced up and found a smirk on Torn's face.

"You heard everything?" Torn asked.

Jak nodded.

"I won't lie: if Krew finds out you're intentionally leaking things from his company, you can say goodbye to any sponsorship he might offer. But help me, and I'll make sure you get paid well. I know how to hide where info comes from. I'd be a dead man with a long line of bodies behind me by now if I didn't."

Jak didn't respond.

"That reminds me. Tess already told me one thing. It means I owe you at least one payment." Torn got up and reached into his jacket on the chair. Out came a metal object. He handed it to Jak. "I was saving this for one of my top lieutenants. Got it in the fight earlier tonight."

When Jak took it and stared at it, confused, Torn chuckled.

"You really are from the south, aren't you? That's a morph mod, top of the line. Attach it to that peashooter of yours. It lets you use other types of eco than yellow. My recommendation is the red. Pushes bastards away. Shields. Shatters bones at close range. So, what do you say? Looking to make some money? You might save some lives. Maybe even yours, in the process."

Jak sighed, not so certain that Torn had actually pulled that gun away from his chin after all. He glanced down at his own chest. Getting the first artifact for Krew had cost him a doubling in size of his wound.

Time was running out. Could he even guarantee that he'd get Krew all the artifacts he'd asked for? Here Torn was, giving him an easy, more certain deal, and at the very least it wasn't something that might turn into another tribal town bombing.

The sharp teeth of desperation and death were at his heels again, and the fireplace's heat had worn out its welcome; it now felt like hellish breath from jaws stretched open to bite. Jak just hoped that, if he managed to live, there'd be enough good left of him after their devouring to have made survival worth it.

On the bright side, if there wasn't - if the boy who used to cower under the covers from monsters died and became a monster himself - maybe he'd have the strength to return home, make Samos tell him the whole truth, and leave him one last red flower of apology before running away again forever.

Jak tried to meet Daxter's stare to extract some sort of opinion on the matter, but Daxter shrank back whenever Jak tried to catch his eye. Then Jak remembered how Daxter had winced when he'd snapped at him earlier in their room.

I'm already halfway there, anyways.