Daxter was concerned when he noticed Jak missing. His heated argument with Pecker and Blitz had eventually been split up, (not until after he'd landed at least one good smack to that bird-brain's noggin) Daxter set out to find his friend.
Jak had been acting funny since last night. There was something very obviously bothering him, but he refused to talk to him about it. When he had first seen Jak last night, it looked like he'd been jumped. Obviously, by Miso and his goons, and yet Jak looked so afraid, so wide eyed and afraid when he had seen him. Daxter had seen Jak get his ass beat before, but he had never seen him act like this. What could they have possibly done to make Jak like that? Maybe they had threatened to kill him? No, the Jak he knew would laugh in the face of those who made promises to end him. Maybe they threatened to hurt him or Kiera? That, he could see making Jak afraid. But that look Jak had last night, it wasn't just fear, it was something else. Guilt? Anguish? Whatever it was, it sent a chill down Daxter's spine, and a broiling rage to his blood. Whoever, and whatever it was that could hurt Jak like that, better hope that Daxter didn't get his hands on them.
Daxter figured maybe Jak went to the bathroom or the garage. If he did go to the bathroom, he'd probably be done by now, so he'd meet him in the garage. Daxter started to head that way, when someone suddenly called out to him.
"If you're looking for your handsome friend, I'd suggest the disabled toilets."
Daxter snapped his head to the man who was already walking away, Razer. Daxter wanted to run after and accost him. How would he know? Why would he be in there? Was he the one responsible for Jak's pain? What did he do?
Concern for his friend outweighed his need to answer these questions and Daxter picked up his pace to a near sprint to the washrooms. Daxter quickly made it to the door marked by a wheelchair and a woman holding a child's hand. He heaved on the door and shirked his way inside.
"Jak?" Daxter called. He spotted the bottom of his shoes inside the stall. He pulled the semi-ajar stall door open.
The look on Jak's face was haunting to say the least. Horror, and pain twisted across his features and Daxter gasped. His red eyes were sunken and lined with deep dark circles, his cheeks were pale and marked by tear tracks, and his mouth was dry, cracked, and bloodied. To Daxter, Jak looked half dead.
"Jak, buddy, what happened?" Daxter's voice shook. He took a step forward and Jak turned and covered his face. Only now did Daxter notice the rest of him. His clothes were in complete disarray, new and fresh bruises lined his skin.
Daxter felt his heart jump into his throat.
His pants were down.
Suddenly, everything horribly clicked into place: the new limp Jak sported, the finger shaped bruises on his arms, the teeth shaped marks on his neck.
How had he not realized sooner? On his excursions through the city years prior, when he was trying to survive while Jak was trapped in jail, Daxter had run into a woman who had been assaulted. Being a small ottsel on the run, there wasn't much he could do for her, but he would never forget her face. He realized now, it was the same one he'd seen Jak come out of the bathroom with last night.
"Please," Jak rasped. His voice sounded so pained and hollow, Daxter barely recognized it.
"Please, don't tell anyone."
Daxter bit his lip to keep from crying.
"Not a soul." He murmured.