Chapter 15, wow! I never thought I'd get this far.
A big thank you to everyone who reads and enjoys this fic. It's been so much fun and I'm glad the fandom is still here. :)
Sig wanted out of Haven City.
Sure, he'd agreed to come to the city to find Mar; hell, he'd volunteered for the job! But it took its toll on him. Dank, dirty, closed in. It made his skin itch. He was a born-and-bred Wastelander, and Haven was a little slice of hell for him.
He lived in the industrial section, in a tiny apartment above a radio repair shop. Or, at least, that's what it used to be. He hadn't seen his landlord since the metalheads invaded, and the guy hadn't come around to collect rent since then either.
Of course, the Krimzon Guard had evacuated the entire industrial sector not too long ago. Something about metalheads and Krimzon Death Bots moving in. Sig hadn't really paid much attention, instead just crumpling up the evacuation notice nailed to his door and going about his business.
Sig collapsed onto his couch, a rather uncomfortable modern piece of furniture. It had come with the apartment, along with a basic metal lamp, two flimsy card tables, and some cockroaches he'd had to exterminate himself. He stretched out and sighed.
The city always made him lethargic. Probably from the lack of sun. Not to mention, with Jak gone, Ashelin kept roping Sig into every mission under the sun. He'd already helped her clear out some of the metalheads in the sewers, and now she kept bugging him to go take out a group in the slums.
He groaned heavily and started to pull off his armor. He always took meticulous care of it; after all, without good armor, he might as well be metal meat. He ran his finger along the edges, checking for buckling and cracks.
"Lifetime guarantee," he mumbled to himself. Not that anything was guaranteed in this life.
Darkness had fallen by the time he finished up his usual routine. Once it was cleaned and inspected, Sig set the armor aside and started to stretch his arms, feeling the muscles tense and relax. He made a noise in his throat as he stood up, intending to go to bed. A warm glass of yakow milk, that would do the trick. Never failed!
He was halfway to his fridge when a sound called him back. Three quick knocks on his door, ringing through the apartment. He ignored it, grabbing the bottle of milk and pouring some into a mug.
The person kept knocking and Sig groaned. "Go away!" he snarled through the door. "It's late, go home!"
"Sig, it's Tess! Open up!"
Sig frowned. No use trying to hide, he supposed. He shoved the mug into the microwave and went to the door while it was heating up.
"Tess? What are you doin' here so late?" Sig had barely gotten the door cracked open when Tess barrelled through, followed by Keira. "What the hell?!"
"Okay, okay, so it's not just me." Tess folded her arms and flashed a smile at him. "Keira said she needed to find you, but we didn't know where you were at!"
"So you decided to practically knock down my damn door? At night?" Sig grumbled as he shut the door behind them. "You two are gonna get killed running around out there."
Tess ignored him. She looked around and wrinkled her nose. "Geez, Sig," she commented, "I can't believe you still live in this dump! Ashelin had the whole sector cleared months ago!"
"Yeah, well, she should've tried harder to clear me out," he grumbled. "What are you two doin' here?"
"Keira had something she wanted to ask you." Tess gestured towards the other girl. "A teensy, weensy favor. Barely even a favor at all, really, because—"
"I want to talk to Jak," Keira interrupted.
Sig turned his good eye to look at her. He didn't know Keira too well: he'd met her a few times as Krew's client, when he'd been asked to find some weird artifacts for her. After Krew's timely demise, she'd spent a lot of her time draping her arms around Jak's neck and batting her eyelashes at him.
Yet here she stood, staring at him, shoulders straight. Wasn't about to take no for an answer, that was for sure.
"Great." Sig jabbed his thumb at the door and frowned at her. "I'll let him know. See you later."
"I meant," Keira said, rolling her eyes, "that I want you to take me to him. I want to visit him."
Sig's frown deepened. "Yeah, I know what you meant. But the answer's no."
Keira pursed her lips. "Look, you can't stop me. I'll just go out into the Wasteland myself. So you should probably just stop arguing and accept it."
She had him there. "Look," he said, "I don't know what Jak's told you, but Spargus isn't a place you can just walk in and out of whenever you want. Coming to visit might not end well for you."
Her determination faltered for a moment at the threatening tone of his voice, but she quickly picked back up. "I don't care! Look, if it's really that dangerous, then...I want to be there for Jak, anyway."
Great. Just what he needed: another stubborn kid, ready to dive headfirst into danger. "Can you even shoot?" he asked her. She frowned and moved her hip, revealing a small pistol attached to her belt. Sig gave a snort of derisive laughter at it. "Kid, you'd do more damage throwin' that thing than shootin' it."
"Okay, so I don't have an arsenal of cannons like you and Jak," she snapped. "But I can take care of myself."
Privately, Sig doubted it; but he'd been surprised before. He'd learned a long time ago not to judge people by their looks. In fact, Tess was living proof of that.
"Don't worry about her, Sig," Tess said. "I've taught her how to shoot in the gun range. She's a natural!"
Sig frowned down at her. "...I'm stuck here 'til next week," he said finally. "Ashelin and Torn have me doin' some jobs for them. Think you can wait that long?"
"I'll wait as long as I need to, don't you worry," Keira said tartly. "I'm not some little girl, you know. I'll get to Jak one way or another."
Sig snorted. "Fine, cherry, I'll help you out. But if you end up on the wrong side of the wrong king, don't come cryin' to me."
Keira put a hand on her hip. "Please. Some weird king doesn't scare me."
"Yeah, well," Sig told her, opening the door and gesturing for them both to leave, "that's your mistake, isn't it?"
Mar didn't have a lot of toys.
Out in the Wasteland, parents made due with what they had: a rough-carved slingshot, a patched and frayed stuffed animal, or an old ball made of cloth tied together.
But Mar was often content to find his own playthings. He liked to explore and create, building sandcastles in the throne room and tossing stones into the water to watch the ripples expand.
But his favorite thing to play with was ammunition.
When Damas would clean his rifle, he let Mar sit at his feet and fuss with the bullets, tapping them together and giggling. It never bothered Damas, until the rather memorable time when Mar suddenly glowed an orange-yellow and shot out a fireball the size of his tiny fists at the wall.
After that, Damas only let him play with the empty shells.
Mar had a set, kindly donated by various Wastelanders, of multi-colored ammo shells. A bright yellow blaster shell, a red scatter disk, a sky blue vulcan casing, and an empty purple peacemaker bulb. It was an everyday occurrence for him to sit on the floor and laugh as he clacked them together, playing a game only he knew the rules to.
It was how Damas was so easily able to find him during games of hide and seek. Mar would run down the corridors, stifling giggles, the ammo shells in his pockets clinking together as he moved. Damas would spend a few seconds pretending to search for his son, then pull the boy from beneath a table or behind a pillar to declare his victory.
"Aha! I have found you, little warrior!" Damas would draw his squirming child up to his chest and squeeze him. "Your giggling gave you away!"
It was also how Mar had been taken from him.
Because Damas wasn't the only one who heard those shells jingling that day.
When they took Mar—leaving Damas gasping in a puddle of his own blood, reaching for his son, vision fading fast—the last thing he remembered hearing was the clattering of the shells on the stone floor.
That, and Mar's terrified screams.
Damas jolted awake, his chest tight. He gasped and choked, struggling to catch his breath. It was dark; he could barely see, and he automatically reached out beside him.
"I—!" His hand grabbed nothing but air, leaving him gasping for breath as he tried to orient himself. Distantly, through the fog in his head, he heard someone move towards him. Instinctively, he fumbled for his rifle, but too late; they were already near.
"W-where am I?" he managed to choke out. "Where is—?"
"You're in the cave of wonders," a voice said smoothly. "Here, looky, see? Nothing but prime cave right here!"
Yes. The cave. Jak and Daxter, the Dark Maker. Damas placed his fingers on his pulse point and started to count, while Daxter chattered, leaning casually against his knee.
"You, uh...you okay there, Mr. The King?" Daxter's face betrayed his genuine concern, despite his usually mocking demeanor. "You don't look so great. Little peaky."
Damas inhaled slowly, trying to focus on his breathing. "Just...a nightmare. Nothing to concern yourself with."
With the phantom sound of bullet shells echoing in his ears, Damas stood up, leaning heavily against the wall. "Where is Jak?" he asked, glancing around. The cave was lit by orange morning light, but he saw no one besides himself and Daxter.
"Oh, Jak went out to go screw around in the desert. He, uh, doesn't like being cooped up very much." Daxter waved his paw out towards the mouth of the cave. "I prefer to stay inside, where it's nice and sand-free, thank you very much."
Damas glanced towards the entrance of the cave. The sandstorm had stopped; its erratic winds had given way to a heavy calm. As he headed outside, his heartbeat slowed, comforted by the desert that was his home.
It was early morning, with the sky bathed in the half-light of the sunrise. The air was cool and calm, clear of the typical dust and sand that hung around them. It always got this way after storms, when everything seemed to settle.
Damas glanced around. He could see some animals skittering around in the sand, foraging for food and shelter. A kangarat sniffed a tuft of dried grass and whined a bit, its tail whipping back and forth in the air.
Damas' eyes scanned the area. He half expected to see Jak come careening out of nowhere, probably on that JetBoard of his, spinning in circles and grinning that ferocious grin.
But he didn't see the young man anywhere. At least, not at first.
A beam of red light appeared near the kangarat. Damas almost ducked, his warrior instinct kicking in, but he followed the light up to a rocky ledge. There, peeking out from behind the rocks, he caught a flash of yellow-green hair.
Ah. What a terrible sniper.
For starters, Damas thought as he began to scale the cliffside, Jak was too high up to be aiming at such a close target. That angle put him on the offensive, forcing him to lean forward to get a good shot. A deadly place for a sniper to be.
Of course, he didn't have the sort of range he needed, either. That blaster was almost an insult to Damas, with a measly range of 500 meters. His own rifle could make 1500 meters with a clear shot.
The king hauled himself up onto the ledge. Jak wasn't cut out to be a sniper, Damas thought with a smile. The boy was trying his damndest to stay still, but he was practically vibrating with easy-to-see energy.
Still, he certainly had the heart for it. With his jaw clenched and his face set with determination, he aimed the red laser sight on the red flower blooming on top of a cactus nearby. Slowly, Jak squeezed the trigger on his blaster.
The yellow bullet whizzed through the air, following the red laser sight. It hit the cactus, exploding the plant to green bits in the sand. Jak gave a feral growl of frustration.
"Not as easy as it seems, is it?"
Jak whipped his head around. Damas walked towards him, hands clasped behind his back. Jak rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "...I used to always think I was a good shot. Now I'm not so sure. You didn't miss a single shot back there with the Dark Maker."
"My skills do not diminish your own." Damas sat down beside him, eyeing the boy's position. "I'm quite a bit older than you, Jak, and I have the experience to go with it. You are a good shot, and with practice, you could be a great one."
"Then why can't I hit what I want to?" Jak spat out, frustrated. "I keep missing the damn target."
"Hmm." Damas reached up to the scope. "A sight is a useful tool for any warrior," he explained. With a click, he turned it off, letting the red laser fade away. "But your eyes are more useful. Aim for the kangarat over there."
Jak licked his lips and settled the gun on the rocks. It was weird to not have the laser pointer guiding him. He squinted one eye closed, letting the kangarat come into focus. Beside him, Damas clicked his tongue, but said nothing.
The shot rang out, a yellow bullet streaking through the air. It hit the sand several inches from the kangarat, spraying sand into the air and startling it. Jak bared his teeth as it ran off.
"Keep both eyes open," Damas instructed. "Your aim is based on both eyes. If you close one, you lose a significant amount of your field of vision."
Jak took a deep breath and aimed another shot. This time, he kept his eyes wide open, aiming for a half-buried animal skeleton in the sand. The shot missed again, though it was closer this time.
"Better," Damas commented. "Try again, but aim for a larger target. Something easy to see, easy to hit."
He turned his blaster to a bare, sparse tree that stuck out of the sand. Jak was not the best marksman, Damas would admit, but he was a fast learner. The pair practiced for a while, long enough for the sun to completely rise over the horizon and the air to start becoming hot.
"Okay, why can't I hit it?" Jak was glaring down at the spot he'd just shot. He'd missed the tree completely and hit a rock in the distance. Damas settled his hands on Jak's shoulders. "It's too far left now!"
"You're leaning," Damas said patiently. "If your shoulders are tilted, it throws off your entire line of sight."
He adjusted Jak's shoulders, then gripped his hair to straighten his head. Jak winced. "Ow!"
"Keep both eyes focused on the object," Damas instructed. "But don't shoot yet. Consider your target."
"...Fine." Jak aimed for another flower atop a cactus. "What am I considering?"
"Its size, its distance." Damas folded his arms. "Your blaster packs quite a punch; it has more firepower than a typical rifle. However, that comes at a cost. It's impact is much larger than a rifle's. So, if you are aiming for the flower, but not the cactus, what should you do?"
Jak swallowed and twisted his lips into a thoughtful grin. "...Aim higher?" he guessed. "That way, the blast won't take out the cactus with it."
"Precisely. Now, get to it."
Damas leaned back and watched Jak aim carefully. Thin fingers squeezed the trigger slowly, as if hesitant to actually shoot. "...I think I'm aiming too high."
"You're overcompensating." Damas folded his arms and leaned back. "Remember, your head is higher than your gun. The shot itself will be lower than you think."
Finally, the bullet shot out and streaked across the desert. It blew the flower off with ease; it did leave a scorch mark on the very top of the cactus, but the plant remained intact.
"Yes!" Jak pumped his fist in celebration, eyes bright with pride at his achievement. "I got it!"
"Excellent job." Damas stood up and the teenager followed suit. "I'm impressed by your determination, Jak. Quite the Wastelander spirit."
Jak's smile twisted, became a bitter half-smile, as he said, "Yeah, well...maybe it's lucky I ended up out here after all."
"Ha!" Damas' bark of laughter echoed along the rocks. "You know, my monks believe in fate, a predetermined destiny. I, however, don't care much for it. Fate or luck, it matters not. You are here now, Jak, and I am glad to have you."
Jak's smile widened into a real one. "Really?"
Damas clapped Jak on the back. "Of course. Do not forget that, Jak." He squeezed Jak's shoulder just as another voice echoed around them.
"Hey!" Both of them glanced down, where Daxter was waving a furry paw. "Not to break up this manly little bro-sesh, but, uh, I gotta eat sometime. And let me tell you, I'm not going after one of those kangarats! Yuck!"
Jak leapt off the ledge and landed beside Daxter. "I told you not to eat all the trail mix," he told his friend.
"What are you, my mom?!" Daxter climbed up onto Jak's shoulder. "Besides, trail mix for breakfast? Yeesh, if I wanted to eat garbage, I'd just go back to the city."
Jak and Daxter continued bickering as they walked away, back towards the cave. Damas climbed down from the ledge, landing softly in the sand.
It was strange, he thought, slowly running his hands along the rocky cliff. How many times had he imagined Mar standing exactly where Jak stood? Beside his father, rifle in his hand, eyes sharp on the horizon.
Would Mar have the same struggles that Jak did? Would he need the same guidance, or would he have a natural talent with a gun, like Damas himself had?
He shook his head to clear away his thoughts. There was no use getting lost in dreams of the past or hopes of the future, he thought sternly. He needed to keep his mind in the present, to focus on the crisis at hand.
Damas straightened and started to follow Jak and Daxter. After all, if he had any hope for a future worth living, it rested on their shoulders.
"Well," Seem said with a smile, "it's not spikes or a bottomless pit."
Ionna shot the monk a glare. "...I hate Precursor puzzles."
It had to be morning, or near it; the pair had been searching through corridors in the temple all night. This was the last one; there were no other mapped hallways, no secret passages or tests to open a new door. Just one last corridor, a last hope for them all.
That led directly to a huge room, filled with liquid dark eco.
There was only a small ledge made of Precursor metal that hung over the pool of darkness. Ionna had almost tumbled into the dark eco; it had been Seem's quick hands that grabbed her by the back of her shirt and yanked her back.
"Great," Ionna grumbled, keeping her back against the wall. She didn't like being perched so precariously near death. "Unless Mar's greatest artifact is the deadliest swimming pool of all time..."
"Wait." Seem held her hands up in a symbolic gesture. She closed her eyes and exhaled slowly. "I can sense something...something in the eco."
"Are you sure?" Ionna asked. "Do you know what it is?"
Seem frowned and shook her head. "I am unsure. But I will find out."
She inhaled deeply and raised her hands. Ionna gripped one of her wrists.
"Be careful," she warned. "If you absorb too much of it…"
"I do not plan to absorb it." Seem set her shoulders and sighed. "I have long since learned my lesson."
Ionna slowly let go, but said nothing. Seem closed her eyes again and slowed her breathing, hands outstretched over the pool.
The eco suddenly exploded into a huge splash, startling Ionna back against the ledge. She could feel flecks of dark eco spitting on her face, giving it a tingly, burning sensation. The wave of dark eco crashed against the walls, as if it were a sea parting. It solidified into deep purple crystals, revealing the floor ten feet below.
The eco snaked up the side of the wall, like grotesque tendrils. There was room to walk towards a statue in the center, an idol of the Precursors. Its eyes were shining with a bright golden color.
The pair dropped down, winding their way through the crystalized dark eco. "Be careful," Seem warned. "If you touch it, the eco is likely to explode."
"Noted." Ionna frowned as they got closer to the idol. Now that they could see it up close, it looked almost like one of the oracles of old. The sort that Mar had written about, long ago, before Haven City was a city at all. "Hmm...Curious. I've never seen one like this before."
"Are those...power cells in its eyes?" Seem asked. She reached out a hand to touch them, but was cut off by the statue suddenly glowing a bright blue. "...?!"
"Warriors of darkness and light...I greet you as old friends."
Seem and Ionna looked at each other. "I don't think we've ever met," Ionna said slowly.
"Meeting is irrelevant for old friends," the oracle boomed, its voice echoing in the chamber. "We are the creators of eco, and you are eco incarnate. Your lives are entwined in our being as surely as the sun is entwined with the moon."
Ionna gave Seem a sideways look. She'd never been much for the flowery language of the Precursors; it was always Seem who understood them best. And by the look of rapt attention on her face, Seem understood them very well.
"You have done well to teach our chosen hero," the oracle continued. Ionna made a mental note to tell Seem "I told you so" later. "You must continue your duty, for he is the key to saving your planet."
"But we need to find the Eco Sphere," Ionna said. "That will power the defense system in the planet's core, correct?"
"All will become clear in time." The oracle's voice left no room for argument. "If you truly wish to save your world, you will continue to teach the young hero, to mold him into the greatest hero time has seen."
Seem clasped her hands in reverent acknowledgement. "I understand, and will do as you command."
Ionna nodded. "And I will do the same."
"Then take these gifts," the oracle commanded. "They will aid you on your journey."
From his strange mouth-like appendage, the power cells dropped down. As Seem and Ionna each took one, curious, the oracle continued.
"We bestow blessings upon your future. May your fight end quickly."
With that, the oracle's glow dimmed, leaving the two of them with only the power cells for light.
Seem stared at the artifact in her hands. "What does this mean?" she asked finally. "Is this...some sort of test?"
"If it is, it's a lousy one." Ionna set the power cell in her pack. "I don't like how close that Day Star is getting. If we're supposed to train Jak, we'd better do it fast."
Seem nodded. "Yes. And let's hope the Precursors...haven't steered us wrong."
