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Snippet (or chapter?) Thursday

Viper: Exodus

Jak, now a captain in Spargus's infiltration division, has been gathering people who have helped them in the past, and Daxter has convinced whole sections of the slums to trust the Wastelanders over the Grand Council. (LONG post warning, it's basically a whole chapter)

240 people crowded around the narrow road in front of the Naughty Ottsel, murmuring nervously to each other. They had been slowly preparing for this night for weeks -- hardly enough time to uproot an entire life. But then, many of them had been uprooted already. Many carried young children, only recently reunited with their families after Praxis's mass kidnapping orders during his hunt for Mar. They varied between terrified silence and hungry wailing as the people waited for their chosen leader to arrive.

It had been a difficult, and at times acrimonious, task choosing someone to lead them once beyond the walls for good. Fifty people had withdrawn from the evacuation entirely when a Lurker was ultimately chosen. But Brutter had lived among the people of the Water Slums for years. They knew him. They trusted him.

His deputy, the blonde barmaid from the pub, seemed like an odd choice at first. But as preparations progressed, it became clear that Tess had a way with people -- and with weapons. Her confidence put them all at ease.

The murmurs quieted when Tess appeared with Brutter, Jak, and Daxter. More people gathered in the pub doorway behind them to watch, but it was clear that they were on team "leaving Haven is mutiny or cowardice".

"This is everyone?" Brutter called, furrowing his fuzzy brow. "Water Slum friends?"

"Here!" One of his former neighbors called, waving from a section of the crowd.

"Good! Saltpeter Row?"

The inhabitants of the row houses made varying sounds of acknowledgement, and Brutter nodded, continuing to call out the names of streets who had agreed to join the secession.

"Morgan street!"

"Redcap Row!"

"Shark Flats!"

"4th Street!"

Only a few groups were unaccounted for in the end, though this wasn't as much of a surprise as expected. They'd known from the beginning that some would probably back out when it was time to go. Better the devil they knew than the one they didn't. But everyone else had shown up.

They shuffled restlessly, meager belongings in carts or on their backs, and waited to find out what was going to happen. Surely they weren't all going to walk to the abandoned temple!

Brutter nodded to Jak, and the boy stepped forward and raised his voice.

"Okay! Here's what's going to happen! Anyone with small kids or trouble walking is going to take the air train to the foot of the mountains. The Babak are waiting with balloons to get you to the temple. It's going to take a few trips, so don't crowd. You'll all get there, I promise."

Daxter took over as soon as Jak finished.

"Everybody else: we're formin' a convoy of four groups! If you know how to fight, yer on the outside of the column. If you don't, stay in the middle! We're gonna stop for breaks sometimes, but we're hiking straight through the Industrial Sector, folks. It's gonna be a good hour or two before we get everyone into the Power Station teleport ring."

Jak nodded and pointed left in the direction they'd be heading. "Tess will be leading Group 1 with the gyro-burster to clear out any threats ahead of us. Jinx is taking Group 2. Group 3, you're with Mogg and Grim. Everyone else, you're with me. For now, everyone with kids move to the right."

The shuffle was tedious, and it was close to ten minutes before everyone was divided into the five groups. The thirty-five people with elderly, children, and mobility issues huddled together as the rest split into crowds of roughly fifty each. Even fifty civilians was a massive number to protect from Deathbots and metalheads. Tess and Jak shot each other grim looks, each worrying about the same thing:

How many people were they going to lose on their way to the power station?

"I'm coming too!"

Jak turned to see Keira pulling her arm free of Samos's grip. His heart leapt: he'd hoped against hope that she would flee the city with them. That she would wrench herself out from under the sage's thumb.

"Keira, no!" Samos gasped, "This is madness!”

He turned a stern look to Jak. "This has gone too far, Jak! You are out of control!"

"Out of your control," Daxter corrected sharply, "That's what you mean, right?"

"You're leading these people to their deaths! I will not allow my daughter to be one of them!" Samos snapped.

Jak felt nerves crawl up his throat. He wanted to vomit. It didn't matter how confident he was as a Captain of Spargus, Samos had programmed his behavior for years and standing up to him was hard.

He swallowed back bile and cleared the trepidation from his throat.

"You didn't have a problem sending someone else's kid into hell for your own gain. You're not doing yourself any favors by waiting until now to have a problem with it."

Keira gestured to him. "See? Thank you, Jak."

"Keira, that's enough," said Samos sternly, "I know it seems harsh to you, but someday you will understand that I am simply doing what is best for you!"

"No, I'm doing what's best for me," Keira retorted, "I'm *helping people."*

"Keira, I forbid you to step out that door!" the sage cried in a panic.

Keira swung a bag up onto her shoulder.

"I'm no good to anyone in a gilded cage, kept out of danger. And you have no right to fight about it after what you put the boys through."

"Of course I have a right! You're my daughter!"

Keira set her jaw. She closed her eyes and took in a long, shaky breath. Then she stepped out the door.

"Goodbye, Daddy."

Tess squeezed her shoulder as she passed them to gather her platoon. "Hang in there, kiddo," she murmured.

Brutter also eyed her with sympathy as he followed.

"Let us go, friends!" He loudly croaked, "Before we are losing the moonlight!"

Jak frowned thoughtfully. "You got a gun?" he asked Keira quietly.

She shook her head, still trembling with the same adrenaline he felt.

"N-no. But I've got some EMP grenades I've been working on. In case of bots."

Jak's eyebrows rose, and he grinned. "Can't wait to see 'em."

"Yeah well. You probably won't have to.”

÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷

Two days after the exodus

"I hooked the generator up to the temple, so we should have working shields in a day or two." Keira collapsed onto the ledge beside Jak, utterly exhausted.

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and dropped an impulsive kiss onto the crown of her head. "You're a miracle worker, you know that?"

The butterflies in Keira's stomach made an unwelcome encore appearance, beating their little wings to fan heat up into her cheeks. She liked this new Jak. He was more open with his feelings. Braver about touch. But Precursors if it wasn't an adjustment!

Still. She needed the comfort just now. Keira had just uprooted…everything, for the second time in her young life. She'd walked away from her own father, and no matter how justified she knew it was, it still hurt. She felt small, and lost, in a world far too large for her. Had she really stopped to fully count the cost of joining the formation of the refugee village?

Yes. She had. Keira forced her mind away from the betrayal in her father's eyes, back to the joy that was in Jak’s eyes when he whispered to her that he'd found freedom.

"I don't feel like a miracle worker," she confessed after a few minutes, "I feel like a fraud. I'm- I'm just shy of completely overwhelmed. We have almost nothing, and if Haven decides they don't like us being up here, I don't know how long my shields will even work. Why are they looking to me for all the solutions? Why not Brutter, or Tess?"

Jak made a sympathetic noise. "Yeah...I know how that feels. But apparently sixteen is "too young" to be carrying that kind of responsibility on your shoulders. So. I dunno, take it easy on yourself, I guess?"

Keira rested her head on Jak’s shoulder with a soft hmph, and noted with some amusement that she could *hear* how fast his heart was beating. Lucky for them Jak had already been in battle that day, clearing out the last metalheads, and had no more eco to react to the adrenaline. Dark Jak was much more snuggly than regular Jak, and much denser in mass, which made it fairly problematic if he happened to doze off while resting against her.

“Kee, I-”

Jak swallowed hard.

“I have to- we need- Mountain Clan is going to join the Wasteland Federation. You- everyone is going to have to get used to a new set of laws. A new. A new king.”

Keira winced. She'd had enough of overbearing authority figures.

“It's going to be…interesting,” she said begrudgingly.

“I have to report to him.” Jak sounded like he was trying to sound her out, gauge her reaction.

“I was going to call him tonight, actually. I just…I guess, don't freak out if he…when he gets here.”

Here? Keira sat up to look Jak in the eye.

“This king person is coming here?”

The buzz of the crickets down the slope seemed to rise, drowning out her thoughts. In a way, she'd known it had to be coming. Jak and Daxter wouldn't have been so insistent on evacuation if there wasn't actually a war coming. It just hadn't felt real.

She looked down at the tents and rudimentary huts their people -- Precursors, she had people now -- had spent the last two days setting up along the hill. So many people who couldn't fight, or wouldn't. If the Wastelanders really were a warrior people, would this king even accept them?

“He has to, Keira. Even if Haven hadn't-” Jak tensed, and a low anger rippled below his words. “Even if they hadn't tried to assassinate him, Damas would still have to come out here. He's the current head of the Federation, and all clans have to send representatives when someone threatens the whole.”

Leave it to Jak to speak of someone with that much power as casually as he spoke about Daxter.

“You all just call him by his name?”

Jak shrugged, and the grin he offered was a little sheepish. “Not to his face. Unless you're me, or Sig. Daxter could, he just likes to call him Spikes or King Lunatic instead. Damas doesn't mind.”

“Spikes?” Keira felt her eyebrows go up. "King Lunatic?!"

“You'll see when he gets here.”

Jak was entirely too calm about that. Keira grimaced, but reasoned that if he was more relaxed now than he was when talking about Ashelin or Samos, that had to be a promising sign, right?

“He um. He sounds…tough,” the girl said, gingerly searching for words. “Is…Is he-”

Keira gave up beating about the bush and decided to just ask the question honestly.

“Jak, you talk about him like you actually trust him. Do you?”

“With my life,” Jak answered, simply and openly.

“And I'd trust him with all of those people down there, more importantly. I'd trust him with Daxter’s life. With yours.”

What could she say to that? Even when they'd been little kids, when they had foolishly trusted Samos to have their best interests at heart, Jak hadn't trusted him around Daxter. And after the…the prison, Daxter was probably the only person Jak truly trusted. For some warrior king of a nation of Sigs to have earned Jak's faith so completely was hard to believe. Almost as hard to take as the respect in Jak’s voice when he so much as mentioned this man.

Who was this King Damas, and what had he done to make Jak of all people so devoted to him and his cause? And more importantly in Keira's mind, did he deserve Jak's loyalty?

“You look up to this guy,” she realized.

And Jak laughed. He rubbed the back of his neck, and looked embarrassed, and laughed.

“Yeah…I mean, I…yeah…he's kind of my hero.”

He covered his face abruptly as his ears burned scarlet.

“Don't you dare tell him I said that.”

“Oh right, because I'd totally get a chance to have a casual conversation with a king and squeal on you.” Keira rolled her eyes.

“If he's as cool as you think he is, maybe he already knows, anyway.”

“No!” Jak groaned, “Don't say that, I have an image to keep up!”

Keira cracked a smile and settled her head back onto Jak’s shoulder. His arm slipped around her waist, and she felt his cheek rest against her hair. An innocent closeness neither of them had felt in too many years, shared for a moment at the beginning of something new and a little frightening.

“When do you think your king will get here?”

Jak grinned into Keira's hair. She'd stopped calling Damas “this king”. The simple acknowledgement of how important he was to Jak felt a lot more validating than he'd anticipated.

“If I call him tonight, I'd say tomorrow evening at the latest. It's only about five hours from here to home by air train.”

Considering the commotion at dawn, when some hut building efforts were abandoned in favor of clearing a landing strip, Keira had her suspicions that the Wastelanders were already on their way before Jak ever placed that hushed and enthusiastic call.

“Clear the field!” Grim waved his arms wildly, scattering refugees into tents and back onto the rope bridge the Babak had built into the temple. “Make some room, everybody!”

Jak was out of his tent with Daxter on his shoulder before the craft had even begun its final approach. He darted to the edge of the makeshift runway and just waited. Brutter opened the door of his hut with a surprised croak, and Tess was already loosening her gun in her holster. Just in case.

There was a pit in Keira's stomach as she joined the people watching the air train land. This was it. Judgement Day.

Out of the air train seven heavily armored Wastelanders practically sauntered, six taking guard positions in a semicircle while the seventh strolled right up to where Jak stood ramrod straight.

It was unnatural, seeing Jak like that. Even more so seeing Daxter in the same attentive posture on his shoulder. Keira watched them nervously for cues.

Jak spoke about the leader of the Wastelander Federation like he was this great hero. Like he idolized the man. Keira suspected she'd get a better read on this new authority figure by observing how he spoke to the boys -- if he spoke to them directly at all.

The king of the desert was an imposing man wielding an elaborate staff. He didn't look like the type to suffer fools gladly. Keira watched his eyes sweep across the huts and lean-tos covering the slopes leading to the temple. They had already constructed fifteen small houses in the style of Sandover Village, and Vin and Keira had just finished setting up a basic eco grid for power. Was it good enough?

"By the forges boys!" The Wasteland king suddenly laughed aloud. "When you said you could find allies in the city, I thought you meant five or six, not an entire village!"

He clapped a hand to Jak’s unoccupied shoulder in a gesture Keira recognized -- with her share of bittersweet longing -- as pride.

"Welcome to Mountain Clan, sir," Jak answered, just as proud.

So. Jak wasn't exaggerating his admiration for this man. Not that Keira had thought he would. Jak wasn't prone to exaggeration and hyperbole. And while he still stood smartly at attention, if Keira looked closely she could see her friend practically vibrating with excitement. He behaved like a soldier -- the soldier Haven always wanted but could never have -- and yet at the same time he reminded Keira of nothing as much as a little boy whose parent had finally come home from a long journey.

That thought stuck in her mind as Brutter and Tess approached.

To her shock -- and the shock of the boys -- the Babak let out a jubilant cry when he recognized the man in armor.

"Brother Damas!" he trumpeted, catching the attention of the other Lurkers helping in the new village.

"Brother Damas lives! Our hearts are full!"

Damas looked taken aback for a moment, then a smile creased his weatherbeaten face and he reached out to clasp Brutter's forearm.

"You-! I remember you! It's been a long time, Bluefeather."

"Too long," Brutter croaked.

"Are your people safe?" Damas frowned. "I'm- I'm sorry. One operative wasn't enough to help free them. It was a poor repayment for the way you supported my family during the coup."

Sadly, the Babak leader shook his head. "We Lurkers were not saving your friends, Brother. We could not stop the executing after you exiled. Always my elders feel they failed you."

Damas squeezed the Lurker's thick forearm with an earnest expression. "You failed no one, Brother. Welcome to the Federation."

Beside them, Jak's face went from confusion to wonder to a barely restrained glee. Damas had organized the abolition efforts? That meant Jak had been working for Damas long before he ever heard the man's name! He exchanged excited looks with Daxter. This went beyond best case scenario for them. Their honorary tribe and their adopted people were now united.

"Now then!" Damas turned on his heel to raise an amused eyebrow at Jak.

"I've been getting extremely detailed reports from you, Captain. Come! Walk me through what you're doing up here!"

Jak practically scrambled to follow him, an almost silly grin stamped across his face. It made Keira's heart ache to realize she hadn't seen that smile since Sandover. Brutter broke into her thoughts with a gurgling chuckle.

"Once king, always king," he said fondly. "Brutter did not know he had offspring! Jak is very good son. Very loyal."

Keira jolted. "Offspring?! What do you mean?!"

Brutter looked confused, as though he thought his observation was obvious.

[sonicringnoise]

Snippets: Free Day Friday

Well, not a snippet. A whole durn one-shot. No title yet, so let's just call it "Responsible Adults, or, Damas Wants A Raise"

(This mentions a hilarious headcanon that rose from a discussion of game weapons with @troblsomtwins829 and @segaphantom , one I intend to use from now on, where it was decided that red eco shockwave ammo is what Wastelanders give their kids when they're first learning trigger discipline, and Jak is the equivalent of a kid bringing down a grizzly bear with a plastic baseball bat. Also featuring swears borrowed from Watership Down because rabbit language is a lot of fun tbh)

It should have been a perfectly straightforward event. Fourteen candidates who had finally passed the initial terrain tests to Kleiver's satisfaction, finally able to go at it with weapons. Only Scatterguns for now, of course. Live ammunition would wait for those who passed their first trial. Those left standing would receive their gate pass and first amulet, everyone who had dodged the lava but not their comrades' shockwaves would be scraped off the sand and delivered to the on-site hospital. They would have to wait another month to retake their trial.

It was standard procedure.

They'd done it hundreds of times.

But this time, it was immediately apparent that something was amiss.

One man broke out of the pack before Damas could even explain what was expected of a first trial. He ran between the cover provided by the matter formers like his life depended on it, gun swinging uselessly on his back.

Well. That one probably wasn't going to last.

Damas sighed and checked the tiny screen that showed him the Arena from a closer view. Oh. That was the Krimzon Guard who had turned up at the temple, begging for clemency in the wake of Praxis's death.

Well if he survived this, his record was clean. But if he didn't-

Well that was one less Krimzon Guard in the world.

Behind him, down the stairs leading to the interior corridors of the Arena, Damas heard an alarm siren. He frowned. What could be so urgent as to sound an alarm back there? Was a patient coding?

The king twitched one ear back to listen for details while glancing periodically at the ring.

"All personnel, all personnel, be on the lookout: an unaccompanied minor is missing from Ward 2. Light hair, underweight, believed to be experiencing medical distress-"

Damas blinked. How on earth had a patient gotten out of the children's ward without someone noticing? Oh, Dr. Petros was going to spit fire when he found out.

"It's going to be one of those days," Damas grumbled, rubbing his forehead, "I can already tell."

He was correct.

A chorus of surprised voices began shouting in the stands, and Damas squinted down into the Arena. Amidst the chaos, the tattooed soldier formerly of Haven was still fleeing for his life. He occasionally fired behind him, but focused mainly on looking for a way out of the Arena. And now Damas could actually see his pursuer.

The figure was small -- tiny, compared to most of the candidates in both height and weight. It wove in and out of the combatants with an unusual speed and grace. But something was wrong.

"What the-"

Damas stood.

"Asa," he said into a handheld radio, "Don't activate the lava. Can you get eyes on the field and tell me if I'm actually seeing someone in hospital scrubs out there?"

"If what?!"

The man running the matter formers went silent as he peered out of his booth further down the wall.

"Bloody Frith! That guy doesn't even have a gun! They're not allowed to be unarmed for trials!"

"No, no they are not." Damas tightened his jaw. "But if he's unarmed-"

Then what's the Krimzon so afraid of?

The mystery candidate passed near the drone camera, and Damas almost dropped the screen entirely.

"Embleer Frith!" he swore, "It's that kid!"

It was the boy he'd found in the desert, barely alive, the one with a dead man's beacon in his hand. It had only been two days! Foundlings weren't permitted to take Arena trials until they had been declared medically sound for three consecutive days after their rescue!

Damas suddenly remembered the call from Petros, informing him that the young man was not, in fact, an adult from Haven. That he was in reality a young boy, covered with some deeply concerning scars. And the doctor had been very insistent about the foundling not being of age for combat trials.

The alarm from the hospital continued to blare, and Damas had a sinking feeling that the unaccompanied minor and the kid he'd hauled out of the desert were one and the same.

Who had allowed this?! The foundling definitely hadn't passed the terrain test yet -- he hadn't even reached the minimum age allowed to compete yet! He never should have gotten past Kleiver in the waiting hatch!

"Oh don't tell me," he breathed.

The Arena had been compromised. And that meant that the results of the fourteen candidates' initial combat trial were compromised. If Kleiver didn't have an incredible explanation for this, heads were going to roll.

Below, the boy had caught up to his quarry. Every single blast of the Scattergun, he dodged. Then the former guard shouted something; Damas couldn't make it out, but from the footage his lips seemed to be forming the word "free" or "freak".

Yells of both excitement and alarm filled the stands as the renegade patient just

Changed.

Purple sparks flickered over his body, like lightning. Every part of his body the sparks touched drained of all color. This was not the pallor of the dead, this was the white of bleached bone, and teeth. Black horns rose from ragged hair. Black claws were barely visible on each hand. At this distance, even his eyes looked black.

What. Was. That.

The KG screeched, firing without aiming. But the demonic boy launched too quickly to be tracked by the drone, taking the guard to ground. Damas knew without looking that the man was dying. He didn't even scream. There was only a pitiful gurgle as claws pierced his throat.

Damas turned the volume as far up on his screen as he could, just in time for the monstrous form to recede, to vanish as though it had been a mere hallucination. Spattered with blood, the boy from the desert stood up on shaking legs. Just barely, the drone caught his vicious hiss.

"Not so funny when you're the one with a mouth full of blood, huh, Tyber?"

He spat on the dying man.

And then his knees buckled.

Damas had seen enough.

"Stop the trial!" He commanded, waving guards towards the Arena. "The Arena is compromised! Get the candidates back to barracks, and send Kleiver to me, immediately."

He started to leave the booth, then turned back to the radio again.

"And find whoever was in charge of Ward 2 this week! And for the love of the Precursors get that kid out of my Arena!"

Oh, heads were going to roll.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Jak could hear shouting long before the creaking wooden platform reached the top of the shaft. He'd already been tense when the two big Wastelanders pulled him off the cot someone had dropped him on. If one of them hadn't been carrying Daxter, it was very likely that Jak would have tried to kill them, too. Now he started tugging experimentally at his arms, checking their grip.

"Quit!" One of them scowled at him. "The king’s mad as it is, don't make it worse!"

"-Didn't drag that kid off death’s doorstep just for you two to send him right back!" A raspy voice was yelling, "So you tell me, Rezzik, how a patient -- who Petros already told me was a minor based on musculoskeletal scans -- got into the Arena -- unarmed -- during a combat trial!"

The voice that responded was the skinny guy Jak had shoved away from him when he first woke up.

"Sire, the boy just-"

"I didn't ask about the boy! Tell me what you did! You were in charge of the children's ward this week, not the boy! When I want to hear the boy's side of things, I'll ask him myself!"

The other guards holding Jak's arms sucked on his teeth nervously.

"Oh, he's pissed," he whispered. "I wouldn't want to be the nurse right now."

"Or Kleiver. They're in deep weeds," the other agreed.

The elevator locked into place and, for a moment, Jak forgot the shouting. They were inside. And there was water. Water. Inside. Vast pools of it like an indoor oasis. Trees lined the room, dropping the temperature by several degrees. And this had been built by hu'men hands! How?!

"Well there he is." The raspy voiced man -- oh, Jak had seen the guy with the staff on that balcony of that stadium -- made an impatient gesture in his direction.

"Back from the dead, are you? You've certainly caused a fuss, young one. Care to tell me exactly what you were doing unarmed in a combat trial?"

"A combat what?" Jak answered the question with a question.

The man with the staff steepled his fingers in front of his mouth. He inhaled sharply and wheeled to face the skinny medic.

"Rezzik!"

Rezzik put his hands up defensively. "He was unconscious, my lord! He wasn't expected to even be lucid until Se'enday!"

The king dropped his face into his palm.

"Oh my gods," he groaned, "He doesn't even know where he is, does he?"

"Uh, "he" is right here," Daxter snapped.

Every person but Jak jolted.

"It talks?!"

"Oh what the rot what the rot-"

"Oh that's so cursed-"

"Why does it talk?!"

Daxter whistled sharply.

"Yes yes, I'm a miracle of premodern medicine. Moving on! Who are you mooks, where are we, and what's all this about Jak and a combat trial?!"

Jak glowered at the ground.

"Saw Tyber. From the prison. He's dead now."

Daxter's ears drooped and his eyes widened. "Oh..."

He reached down to pat Jak's shoulder.

"The creep had it comin', Jak. You did good."

"Well. Considering you apparently weren't conscious until now, you can't be expected to have known," the man who was probably the king groused, "but entry into the Arena is restricted to those aged eighteen and older for a reason. So. What I need to know is who let you through that gate."

He pointed at the sullen man with the big mustache.

"Did he or did he not make any attempt to stop you?"

Frankly, Jak couldn't remember much about how he got onto that field.

"Wouldn't have mattered if he did or didn't," he muttered, "he couldn't have stopped me."

The king narrowed his eyes at him. Then he seemed to actually see him.

"Ah, what are we doing- Jin, Faro, let go of the kid! Get him some water for the gods sakes, he just passed out on the battlefield!"

Then he turned to look at the guy he'd called Kleiver.

His voice was much quieter now. And somehow that was more frightening.

"Kleiver, you know the procedure for new arrivals," he said softly. "Three days' recovery and approval from Maud or Petros before First Trial. So what made you let a boy in hospital clothes through that gate?"

The big man sneered. "Did you see the anklebiter?! He was out for blood! He ended up fine, di'n't he?"

"Fine?! Look at him!" The king gestured sharply in frustration. "He's wearing pajamas!"

"If he'd passed out two minutes sooner he could've died!" Rezzik gasped, appalled.

"Sire, this clearly wasn't the hospital's failure," he said, turning to the king. "This oaf put my patient in danger and-"

"Enough." Damas held up his hand, face hard.

"You are both to blame for what ultimately derailed the trials of fourteen candidates. Rezzik, I leave your penalty to be decided by your superiors. But Kleiver-"

He glared.

"Your only chance at retaining your position is if that boy had an extremely valid reason for hunting down that candidate."

Jak edged away from the guard offering him a canteen. "What counts as valid to you?" he asked pointedly.

The king paced to the edge of his dais, watching Jak with eyes a little too knowing. He folded one arm behind his back and studied him with none of the fire that had been directed at his own people.

"Newcomer, I will ask you only once, and you need only answer once. The man you killed: did he give you those scars?"

Jak went rigid.

They'd seen his scars.

They knew.

Nausea rocked him, crawling up his throat and tasting of shame.

"Boy?" The king pressed, "Did-"

"No." Jak practically spat the word out. "He kept me from escaping. He laughed. And now he's dead. Got a problem with that?"

The king scoffed slightly. He glanced back at Kleiver.

"You are fortunate today. I will retroactively approve an exception for the boy this once as a case of justified retribution. Do not let it happen again."

"Sire," Rezzik piped up again -- guy just didn't know when to keep his mouth shut -- "Arena exceptions must have signed affidavits from the guardian of the minor, mustn't they? As the attending physician, shall I-"

"Don't be a pot-stirrer, Rezzik," Damas said flatly.

Jak muffled a snort and exchanged amused glances with Daxter. At least he wasn't the one getting yelled at.

"No," Damas said, tense again and gritting his teeth, "Since apparently I am the only reasonable adult in this entire godsforsaken room today, I'll complete the affidavit."

He waved dismissively at the group.

"Do not compromise the trials of our candidates again. Negligence costs lives, and weakens our city, gentlemen."

Kleiver looked like he had a few choice words to say about that, but he dipped his head respectfully and marched away without a word. Jin and Faro cringed at each other, then made to grab Jak's shoulder.

"Come on, kid. You need to go back to the doc-"

Jak shoved Jin away and stumbled back.

"Don't touch me!"

Rezzik raised his hands placatingly, approaching as if the boy was a frightened baby animal.

"Hey, hey, it's alright, we only want to help you! I know you must be scared, but if you'll just let us get you back on the IV-"

Jak didn't hear anything else after that.

They were going to inject something into him.

They were going to strap him down and inject something into him-!

His breath shortened as he ducked Jin again. Faro was surprised enough by the elbow strike to his gut to loosen his grip on his gunstaff, and that was all Jak needed.

He ripped the weapon from the guard's hands and swung it in a wide arc, eyes wild.

"Get. Back."

Daxter snarled next to Jak’s ear. "Nobody touches my pal. Keep your filthy needles to yourself, or better yet, stick them up your-"

"Hey! Come on!" Faro complained, "That's custom, kid! You can't just jack a Wastelander's peacemaker, that's just not on!"

"You're not taking me back."

Jak swung the gunstaff again.

"I'm not going back there!

You can't take me back! I won't go back!"

Damas frowned and started down the steps. "What the bloody bones did you people do to make him do...that?!"

"That's...that's what I was trying to tell you before, sire," Rezzik said meekly as he backed away from Jak, "We didn't release him from care, he had some kind of...panic episode. Ripped out the IV and nearly killed Jessop on the way out."

The grinding of teeth was audible even at the bottom of the stairs.

"Petros is going to strangle you if he finds that you didn't take precautions with newcomer trauma," Damas said sharply.

"But we didn't know-! He was unconscious!"

"Get out."

Damas pointed to the elevator.

"Send Petros up here with his file after he deals with you."

When the guards didn't immediately follow the medic, Damas growled. "All of you get out! I've had enough foolishness for one day!"

"Sire," Jin gulped, "The uh, the boy-?"

"He's fine. I have to ask him questions for paperwork now thanks to at least one of you."

That left Jak and Daxter alone with the really really pissed off Wastelander King. (He hadn't even known there were enough Wastelanders to have a king!)

For almost a minute the man paced, swearing very colorfully under his breath. After six or seven very slow, deep breaths, he finally seemed to get control of himself again.

"How do you see needle scars and not think "hm, perhaps someone should stay with him to explain when he wakes up"? It's not that complicated!"

He pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned.

"Is it the full moon this week? It must be. Everyone's lost their twice-rotted minds around here."

He took another deep breath, and after letting it out slowly, he sat down on the edge of the dais.

"Well, I can hardly think of a worse introduction to Spargus than that, but I hope you won't hold it against me."

Jak kept the staff clutched tightly in his hands, but didn't aim it at the man yet.

"Who are you? And what's Spargus? I know it isn't in Haven. Nobody cares what age you are in Haven."

"Definitely not Haven." Damas buried a curse in his hands.

"Gods I hate that place."

Daxter scowled. "Join the club."

"My name is Damas. I am the king of the territory of Spargus, and the man who pulled you out of the desert that surrounds us. And you are going to be an interesting case, I can tell."

Damas used his staff to drag a box from the side of the throne to just beside him. After some digging, he came up with an oddly shaped piece of metal.

"Ah. There it is."

He looked up.

"This is a battle amulet. Earning three grants adult newcomers citizenship and equal legal protections in the city."

"What if you're not an adult?" Jak challenged.

"Then you're already a citizen, but you can't vote until you're nineteen." Damas dismissed this as if it barely warranted mentioning.

"Now, understand this, boy: I am giving you your first amulet. And I will give you the modular gun. But you will not be allowed to take further trials until you pass eighteen years of age. I will hold your gate pass until such time as you can show me you have learned to survive in the wastes out there."

"You're keeping us here?!" Jak bristled.

"You're a minor. You had heatstroke. It happens. And since my people want to be idiots today evidently, you and I are going to be stuck with each other for a couple years. So you'd better get used to this place." Damas turned and stood up to stretch.

"Frith-rot-it. I have to go get the bloody intake forms, make a whole folder now- Do we even have more guardian ad litem forms?!"

He stepped somewhere behind the throne and seemed to vanish. "Amuse yourselves while I'm gone. No drowning in my throne room.".

And then he was gone , leaving the boys with more questions.

"What...what just happened?" Daxter asked.

Jak didn't have an answer.

[sonicringnoise]

yes hello it's Dumb Meme O'clock. Technically she's right

[sonicringnoise]

Free Day Friday: untitled Jak oneshot/ Daxter Snaps And It Doesn't Go Well

(This takes place right after Jak finally gets to return to Spargus in Jak 3, because I had some Feelings about the Dark Eco Oracle and its well-loved shrine having been either moved or destroyed in Haven. Also for reference: since the original Jak concept art was a cat/foxlike alien child, hence the ears being set so high on his head in TPL, I'm hereby deciding that their species can purr. Because I said so.)

This is Quite Long, so I'll probably crosspost to AO3 later.

TW: panic attack

Jak hadn't been surprised by the summons when he'd returned from Haven. He knew he was in for it. Damas had started trusting him with more and more responsibilities and then Jak had screwed it all up. Running off to Haven and then getting stuck there immediately after? Not a good look.

Honestly, Jak was just grateful he wasn't being "escorted" up by city guards.

Part of him wanted to go in fighting. That's all Damas cares about, right? a small, bitter corner of his heart muttered.

The rest of him was too afraid. He finally knew better than to look to anyone in Haven for affirmation or examples. Damas had been the closest he'd ever come to an authority figure he trusted. What if he lost that, too?

The second his and Daxter's heads were visible in the elevator shaft, Damas was already raising his voice. Perhaps he was simply projecting his voice to reach them, but Jak's stomach twisted into knots regardless, and his breathing became quick and shallow.

"Where have you been?" Damas demanded, rising from his throne. "It's been a month!"

The elevator locked, and Jak crept out onto the pathway like a skittish animal. He didn't meet Damas’s eyes. The confused anger and hurt he'd seen in them the last time flashed in his memory, and he winced. An oppressive silence fell for a few unnaturally long seconds, punctuated by the creak of the water wheel. Damas was waiting for an answer.

It's not our fault, Jak tried to reassure himself, Just another betrayal. We didn't do anything wrong.

When he didn't answer Damas, the king’s expression twisted between outrage and disbelief and-

And disappointment.

"Nothing? Really, Jak?" He took one step down from the dais, clenching his fist at his side. "Why didn't you tell anyone where you were going?"

Daxter took it upon himself to answer when Jak wouldn't -- or couldn't.

"Oh lay off!" he hissed, puffing himself up to look bigger, "Don't you have friends to kill in your gladiator ring?"

"Dax!" Jak gasped. Too late.

The words were already out and a black look fell across Damas’s face. His entire posture went rigid.

"Excuse me?" he asked in a frightful facsimile of calm.

"Daxter, don't," Jak pleaded, but it was far too late for that. When Daxter got this mad, he didn't even hear Jak.

"You heard me!"

Daxter leapt off Jak's shoulder and stood on the first stepping stone as if blocking the way between them.

"You tried to make us kill one of our only real friends, and threw a tantrum when we wouldn't! And if you think I'd trust you with Jak's location after that, those spikes must be diggin' into your brain!"

Jak couldn't breathe.

Either Damas was going to cut them off, or Daxter was going to get hurt, and either way everything was going to crumble. He'd finally escaped Haven and there was going to be nothing to escape to.

His core pulsed, obeying signals he didn't even know his brain was sending. It tried to respond to the fight-or-flight instincts quickening his pulse and shortening his breath. In Haven, he would have gone Dark in response. But he'd used all the dark eco. There was nothing left. Nothing but adrenaline and panic.

A strange, almost echoing sensation pushed at the inside of his skull, and the room spun. He couldn't breathe. His lungs felt like they'd been fused shut. He couldn't breathe!

"Jak!"

Between blurs of brown and green, Damas -- or an unfocused and staticy version of him -- approached rapidly.

As if from another room, Jak heard Daxter snarl, "Stay back! If you hurt him, I'll rip your spikes out!"

"I wouldn't hurt him!"

"You already did!"

It was too much. He couldn't- he couldn't focus. He couldn't find the light eco. Jak's knees gave, and it was a struggle to stay upright. Hands caught his upper arms, preventing him from collapsing entirely.

"Breathe, Jak!"

Damas sounded worried this time.

"You have to breathe!"

"Can't-!" Jak gasped, breath squeaking.

Then the world turned sideways and he was in the water. Or partly in the water.

His legs twitched with the shock of the new sensation, surprising him enough to suck in a deep breath. A compressing sensation against his chest and arms tightened in response.

"Focus on the water. Find your feet."

It took four tries to get his boots on the rocky bottom of the pool. His chest hurt, but he managed another deep breath.

"That's it. You can do this."

A small hand took his, pulling against the pressure around his shoulders, and pressed it against a narrow chest.

"L- like we practiced, bud-"

Oh. There's Daxter.

"Just breathe when I breathe, remember?"

Distantly, he heard Damas ask Daxter, "Has this happened before? In- in Spargus, I mean."

"Don't think about it, warrior," the other voice encouraged -- Damas? Is that Damas? But he's mad at us! -- "Just do as your friend does."

"If Jak wants to tell ya, he'll tell ya," Daxter said sourly. "You and I are not on speaking terms right now."

"...that is understandable."

One by one, his muscles relaxed. His breathing was much too fast, but it was easier to get full breaths at least.

When the ringing in Jak’s ears at last began to subside, he picked up a new sound. It was faint, barely audible at all, but he could just make out a nervous rumble. A laryngeal vibration he could feel through the back of his shirt. With conscious thought on standby mode, Jak's body responded to long-forgotten cues unbidden. His glottis rapidly dilated and constricted with his breathing, creating its own vibrations in a bid to self-soothe. It was how he'd learned not to cry out loud as a young child -- although blessedly, he would never remember that.

It wasn't the first time Damas had walked one of his people through a panic attack in the throne room, and it wouldn't be the last. But this one hurt.

"You're safe. There is no danger here. This is a safe place."

Shame raked its claws down his chest and Pain reached through the incision, grasping at organs and prying bones out of the way.

Jak didn't trust him.

And it was his fault.

"I'm sorry," he whispered- to Jak, to Daxter, to either-

A memory loomed damningly before his eyes. Mar had just started walking, and nearly toppled into the pools. Damas had yelled at him to get away from the edge, and the baby had burst into a loud, terrified wail.

"I'm- was it the shouting? I-"

"I'm sorry, it's okay, it's okay now- I know, I used the Big Voice, Daddy's sorry! You scared me, Bug!"

He hadn't gotten any better after losing Mar, had he? He still shouted when he was afraid. And look how that had turned out.

Damas tightened his hold on Jak and rested his chin on the crown of the boy's head. The apologies were bitter on his tongue, but necessary.

"I...I triggered this, didn't I? I'm sorry- gods, I'm sorry, Jak. I'm- you scared me. I couldn't find you! No one could!"

"You...thought we defected?" he asked through numbed lips.

The panic was slow to fade, still muddling Jak's mind. He couldn't quite make sense of what he was hearing.

"I thought the Marauders had taken you! Or you'd collapsed somewhere in the Wastes where we couldn't find you!" Damas answered. The dregs of that old fear still stained the edges of his voice. He shuddered.

He swallowed hard, interrupting the agitated purring for a moment. "I...did not handle the...situation as I should have. I damaged your trust. And I deserved worse than the silent treatment. I understand that. But to keep it from Sig, too?"

"You can't just run away like that! I- I understand why you didn't tell me-"

Painfully slowly, Jak drew his legs back out of the water and onto the rocks.

"They wouldn't let me," he mumbled. "They didn't let us leave."

Damas shot a concerned look at Daxter, who shrugged and looked away.

Shifting his grip to have one arm around the boy's waist, Damas heaved himself to his feet, taking Jak with him.

This promised to be a very unpleasant conversation, the least he could do was find them somewhere more comfortable to sit.

They were silent for a time, each processing the whirlwind of events. Jak was deeply, thoroughly, confused. No one had ever apologized like that before. Acknowledging his pain and the specific way their actions had caused it? It would be a cold day in hell before Samos ever did anything like that.

He didn't understand.

They'd defied Damas, then run from him. Daxter had just challenged him to his face.

Yet he spoke like a man anxiously awaiting the return of a prodigal son.

"Who wouldn't let you leave, Jak?" Damas asked him, far too gently.

Jak shut his eyes. "Haven."

"Haven?!" Damas sounded horrified. "What were you doing there?! Is that where you've been this whole time?"

Miserably, Jak nodded. "I was just- we were just scouting. Just- it wasn't supposed to be-"

He gritted his teeth.

"They locked down the air trains," he croaked. "And- and there's force fields blocking off the city exits. The only way they'd let us go was if I fought on the frontlines for three weeks first."

Fighting down his anger lest he trigger Jak's panic again, Damas forced himself to ask, "What made you go back to that city in the first place?"

A hostage. His boy- The boy had been a bloody hostage, and he'd had no idea! Damas felt something dark and dense fluttering between his ribs. If he found the person who ordered this, he would drown them in the sands.

Jak winced and passed several looks back and forth with Daxter.

"Ashelin...called me to the oasis," he said at last.

Damas stiffened beside him.

"She want- she wanted me to come back to Haven. After everything they did to me, she wanted me to come back."

He felt the hints of the anxiety returning, and wrapped his arms around himself for comfort.

"Ashelin Praxis?" Damas demanded. He curled his lip. "I might have known. I hope you told her where to shove that offer."

Daxter scoffed. "Oh, he did. Even told her "I have new friends now", which was a little too generous considering what you said to my pal."

Jak gave the ottsel a weary look, and Daxter grudgingly subsided.

"I told her to leave. She- she wouldn't drop it. Said the friends we still had were going to die. That it was my responsibility because of-"

He flipped a hand in the air in frustration.

"I don't know! Dead people I share some common blood with!"

"Pal, I'm pretty sure that common blood stopped bein' responsible for that dump when Princess Scribbleface's darling pappy took over," Daxter grumbled.

"Common blood?!" Damas startled, but Jak had already moved on, hastily trying to explain himself.

"We didn't believe her -- I- I mean, why would we? But when I asked the Oracle in the temple-"

"How did you find the Oracle?!" Damas spluttered.

"The stupid thing called me," Jak growled. He leaned forward and pressed his face into his hands. "Said the whole planet was in danger and my friends would die if I didn't find the catacombs."

He muffled a snarl in his palms.

"I hate them. I hate those rottin' things. They don't tell me when something is a trap. They only tell me what fits their agenda."

Jak could speak to Precursor Oracles.

Only monks were supposed to still be able to do that.

Monks, or Heirs of Mar taking the Trials.

"And...was it a trap?" Damas asked, fearing he already knew the answer.

A painful, wishful image of Jak in the Tomb of Mar wormed through Damas’s thoughts. If life had any semblance of fairness, or restitution, it would have been reality. It was not what he deserved, not after how many times he'd failed the people he cared about. But Jak deserved it. He'd been isolated enough.

Jak's face was like stone.

"All they cared about was getting me into Haven to find the catacombs before that nutcase Veger could. And all Haven cared about was keeping us there."

A deep, ominous creaking filled the room. Harsh shadows stretched and yawned as the terrible old statue beside the dais flickered, then lit up. A suffocating sense of dread filled Damas as he beheld the monolith. It wasn't a real Oracle. It was a shell, made to hold pieces of the water wheel. It wasn't made to have any kind of lights.

Daxter yelped and scurried up to Jak’s shoulder as the water wheel ground to a halt.

The silence was unnatural.

Jak's chest heaved, and Damas feared for a moment that he was going to panic again. But an answering light flickered in the boy's eyes. White, incandescent rage.

"What do you want now? You're not welcome here!" Jak snarled, standing up with a jerk.

"Angry one-"

It said in warning, a rolling, ancient voice that echoed off the stones and twisted in their eardrums.

Jak clenched his fists.

"No! I'm not afraid of you! You're no "holier" than Onin. You aren't even a Precursor!"

A sense of fury shook the room, and the water trembled.

Jak held his ground though his legs shook.

"You can't do anything to punish me," he challenged, angry tears glowing in his eyes. "The worst you can do is withhold information that would protect me, and you do that anyway! If- if you had power at all, you wouldn't have let Veger destroy Crius!"

Crius? Damas vaguely remembered that name. Hadn't he been one of the Bonekeeper's heralds? The memories were fuzzy at best. Father forbade Mother from speaking of the Bonekeeper when they married. Any communing with the patron of dark eco was done in secret, and as a child Damas had only caught her once.

"The dark shrine was all those people had!" the anger was slipping away from Jak now, replaced by something closer to grief. "He gave them hope! He gave- he gave me hope! And you couldn't save him. So what makes you think you can scare me now? Hu'mens are worse than you."

And the Oracle, miraculously, quieted. The waters stilled, and some of the dread receded. Jak fell back to the steps, having exhausted the last reserves of his emotions.

"Yeah! You tell him, Jak!" Daxter cheered, breaking the silence, "About time you put Sparky in his place!"

He ruffled Jak's hair -- the hair he could reach at least -- and leaned against his arm comfortingly.

"Next, we get Loghead!"

The Oracle remained lit, but speechless. All this time, had rebuking the heralds really been an option? Ever the pragmatist, Damas decided to follow Jak's example.

"As the boy said." His voice was quiet at first, but gained courage with each new word.

"This is not a place of seers and soothsayers. Respectfully: we do not require your guidance at this time."

"Heir of Mar-"

the Oracle began, almost wheedling.

Rage loosened his lips and he lost the last shred of reverence he'd held for the messenger.

Jak went rigid and Damas felt an anger of his own. How dare this entity try to leverage his bloodline when the Precursors had turned their backs on him!

"Hold your tongue! Unless you can comprehend the trouble you have caused, keep your counsel to yourself."

Resentfully, the Oracle's eyes flashed.

And with that, the lights were gone. The water wheel resumed its gloomy rhythm. The statue was hollow once more.

"So be it. You wish to hear no truth from me? Then you, Damas of the Wastes, shall hear no truth from me."

Something about the acquiescence -- or threat -- made Damas uneasy. Withholding information again, just as Jak had said. But he had the feeling it was hinting at something important. Taunting him.

Bloody seven hells.

He'd sooner cast the bones himself and call upon the Dark Lady directly as his mother once had than ever deal with that thing again.

"Little wonder you're always so on edge, dealing with that," he said; a poor attempt at a joke.

Jak dropped his face back into his hands.

"I'm so sick of them. Jak do this. Jak go there. Suffer for us, Jak! It's Fate!"

Damas scoffed. "Fate, eh? Wastelanders make their own fate. If this is who my monks consult, it's no surprise that they believe the world is coming to an end."

"They are pretty worried about the creatures in that space ship," Jak admitted reluctantly.

"Bah."

Damas waved it off.

"When the metalheads invaded our world, we survived with or without the Precursors they hunted. We will do the same if these creatures land."

He jostled Jak's shoulder -- shaking Daxter by proxy.

"Ey! No manhandling!"

Daxter slithered away down the steps and into the water. He glared up over the step like a little croc.

"You keep your emotionally constipated hands away from me!"

Damas let out a startled laugh, and Jak shook his head and grinned.

"I...guess you're right. Spargus is pretty tough."

"We are Wastelanders, boy," Damas declared, "We carved out a home in the places where nothing else survives. We'll carve out our fate the same way, with the same tools our ancestors used."

"...with eco," Jak said quietly, as if experiencing a revelation.

"Our minds think alike."

Damas’s wry grin faded.

"Jak...I'm...sorry. That I made you feel you couldn't contact me for help. If I had known you were being held in Haven against your will, I would have come for you."

The boy fixed him with a bewildered expression.

"You would have?" Jak asked, "You're serious. You. Leaving your people to come after me?"

The king met his stare evenly.

"Yes."

"After the- the thing, with the Arena-?"

Damas winced and looked away.

"I. I did not warn you, I was not permitted to. But the final trial of a Spargan is one they are supposed to lose."

Jak bristled. "What?!"

"It's a test of whether they can put loyalty to their city over the commands of a tyrant. Sig wasn't supposed to throw down his gun, he was supposed to goad you into a sparring match." Damas ran his hand over his shaved head. "I should have told him before he went in that it was you. I didn't know that you knew each other, but- maybe he wouldn't have panicked if he'd known it was a Final Trial. Maybe I wouldn't have panicked."

Jak stared at him in disbelief for several seconds. For reasons he couldn't quite explain, he blurted out an accusation with no bite to it.

"What, did you forget I didn't grow up here?"

When he was met with chagrined silence, his eyes widened.

"Oh my gods you did. How?! You're the one that found me out there!"

Clearly embarrassed, Damas shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know what to tell you. There are days when it just...seems as though I have known you for much longer than seven months."

Jak took that statement, turned it over in his mind. The version of Damas in his head wasn't quite matching the one in front of him. Even before things had become strained between them, he hadn't had the context to understand the way Damas saw him. He still didn't- not completely.

"Sorry," he said suddenly, and gestured to the soaked trousers. "I um. I don't usually...not in front of people, I mean-"

He leaned back against the stairs and stretched his legs out before him. The linen stuck to his legs in sodden wrinkles and folds, nearly transparent against his calves. It would dry quickly once he stepped outside again -- and the evaporating water would serve to cool his skin nicely. But for now, it drew his mind to his panic attack.

"Don't apologize." Damas laced his fingers together loosely and leaned his elbows against his knees. "May...may I ask what it was that sparked that kind of fear?"

Jak met Daxter's eyes, down in the water. The ottsel winced. He knew he'd taken it too far. He was just so sick of people acting like Jak was a trained dog with no autonomy of his own. And sometimes his desire to protect Jak’s emotions didn't mesh completely with what Jak needed at the moment.

Jak broke their gaze and began to pick at a scar on his elbow.

"...thought I was going to have to choose sides. Between you and Dax."

"Why would supporting Daxter cause you to panic?" Damas pressed.

"Because," he muttered with a shrug.

He'd assumed without question that Jak would take Daxter's side. Jak didn't know whether to be amused or grateful or just tired.

"Because?"

"Because I- I wanted this to still be home." Jak made a vague gesture encompassing the room, and its occupants.

"This is your home," Damas insisted. He glanced to the empty Oracle with a thoughtful frown.

Something lingered in the corners of Jak's eyes. A concern he wasn't voicing. Did he still believe he could be so easily forsaken?

"If this is where the desert brought you, then this is where the desert meant you to thrive."

But then, he had been cast out of Haven on the flimsiest of pretenses. His faith in hu'menity was shaken. For a moment, Damas considered changing the subject. He could talk about the coming trials, give Jak something else to think about.

Or he could meet him on his level. Show him the same vulnerability he'd so unwillingly displayed.

The words stuck to his tongue, stabbed like needles into the roof of his mouth as he forced them through his teeth.

"I...had a son. Some years ago."

"Had". Was there ever such a horrible word?

"He was like you -- or, he would have been, when he was older."

Under his breath he added, "if he ever got the chance to get older."

Jak's brows knit together, then went slack. From tiny pinpricks in the centers of his eyes, horror flooded out to the rest of his face.

"You have a child?"

After a moment to collect himself, the king nodded.

His head dipped lower, nearly brushing the steeple of his fingertips.

"I did. He was taken from me, by some of the same people who seem to have orchestrated your own suffering."

"I pray that my son still lives but- he was so young. So small. So-"

Damas’s voice cracked.

"So very small."

Guilt played across Jak's face for a moment, then was swallowed up by a deep sadness that welled up from within. Haven was a city of devils. He wondered if Damas’s child had been taken during the time when Praxis was snatching children en masse in his search for Jak's childhood self.

Did that make it his fault that Damas was so bereaved?

"That's-"

That's not fair. It's an abomination. Hurting a kid should be enough to make the Precursors strike you dead on the spot. Errol should've died the first time he put me in the Chair-

Jak's thoughts spiraled out of control, and he had to fight to return his focus to the moment.

"That's terrible."

Inhaling sharply, Damas raised his head and straightened his spine. One warm, callused hand found its way to Jak’s shoulder and squeezed.

He felt his throat closing up, snapping his voice into grating pieces.

"The reason I tell you this is so that you will understand this: It would take more than a little teenaged defiance to make me turn my back on you."

"I lost my son, Jak," he croaked, "I cannot lose you, too."

The laryngeal vibration began again -- from Jak, this time. The nearly autonomous response was as much a subconscious desire to comfort Damas as it was self-soothing. Even so, his chest ached dully. How old, he wondered, had Damas’s son been when he was taken? He must have been so scared! Did he call out for his father? Did Damas call out for him?

"In...war," Damas said hesitantly, "Sacrifices are sometimes required of us. In my case, I had to stay and rebuild the part of the wall the attackers destroyed. To protect thousands from the storms and the Marauders. I knew that, but it still took days for Sig to convince me to send him to Haven in my place."

"Yeah," Jak muttered, "I know about sacrfices."

But Damas shook his head. "It's hardly a sacrifice if someone else chose it for you out of convenience. That's just betrayal."

Silence fell again, but there was no tension to it. A sense of introspection lingered between them, each consumed with his own thoughts. Even Daxter's anger had muted itself -- now overlayed with guilt, berating himself for jumping to fight Jak's battles without bothering to see what Jak himself wanted.

The moment of quiet ended with a crackling of the city radio from which Damas monitored all official channels.

"Oh not now," the man groaned with a most unkingly attitude. "Can I have a moment of peace?"

"No way," Jak scoffed, finding a glimmer of humor in the situation, "You jinxed it by letting us take a break. Now something crazy is going to happen."

Damas narrowed his eyes. "Boy, if you will that into reality-" he warned, with no real way to finish the threat.

The second he picked up the receiver, he knew it was going to be a headache.

"Sire! We've got three different Marauder patrols converging on the city gates! There's a fourth on the radar crossing the river now!"

Daxter pulled himself out of the water and cringed. "How many cars is that?"

"Twelve, at least," Jak gulped.

Damas did not take this information the way he normally would have. He seemed to be fuming as he stood up and stomped up the stairs to retrieve his staff. Jak could hear him muttering under his breath.

His voice rose to something more audible. "I'm not in the mood for this, Egil," he snapped, addressing the thane of the Marauders as if he were present.

"Not the time, Egil, this is not the time to test me! Just got my kid back, got threatened by a bloody Oracle-"

Jak decided, for the sake of being able to focus during a fight, to just pretend he hadn't heard Damas referring to him as his own kid. He could come back to that and freak out later. Right now, there was a fight to be had. He held an arm down for Daxter to use as a ramp, then stood.

"Where do you need me?" he asked.

Damas gave him a searching look. For an instant, his gaze flicked to the lifeless Oracle. That seemed to reinforce his resolve.

"With me," he said shortly. "We're taking the Dozer. You're on the turret gun."

The way Jak's -- and even Daxter's -- eyes lit up almost made up for the hassle Damas knew this skirmish was going to be. He cast one last look at the Oracle before shepherding them to the lift.

Keep your counsel, he thought, and I will keep mine. I don't need your permission to add a son to my House. What of that, eh? The Heir and your renegade Pawn allied against you!

"Hey, maybe I should drive," Jak suggested as the lift began to move."

"Hm." Damas pretended to consider it. "No."

"Why not?!"

"You can't reach the pedals yet."

He could have simply explained that he preferred to drive his favorite vehicle himself. But, the slightest bit giddy at the thought of open rebellion against fate, Damas instead bent slightly to offer a teasing grin.

"What?! Oh come on!"

The elevator sank out of sight, and the water wheel trembled. The statue vibrated and the pools bubbled and boiled with the helpless fury of a falconer whose birds had long since slipped the jesses to fly free. But the boy had not spoken falsley: it was not a Precursor, merely the echo of one's memory. In the face of hu'men defiance, it was helpless to retaliate in any meaningful way. Even withholding the truth of the Hero's identity had been robbed of its intended effect, considering the Fallen Heir and the Hero had gone ahead and reformed the broken bond between them anyway!

The Oracle could not comprehend their motives, nor could it ever hope to understand the complexities of the hu'men mind.

It could only watch and seethe.

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Even when you're in detention, your best bud will still help you with your homework

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In the end, despite everything, they're together again.

Their family is a little bigger, now. And it's better for it.

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Raspberry takes one look at Jak, and despite the valid concern she wouldn't care for him as much as Damas does, she sees enough of herself in him; and enough of Damas AND Sig. She can't help but love him as well.

Damas says he's their son. That means he's her son, too.

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After the End of Kor and his nest, after the reign of Praxis has been dismantled, after Spargus takes Haven as a territory and formally inducts the crumbling city state into the Wasteland Federation, after all the boring and awful meetings and calls of council-

Two teenagers stand just out of frame, and in their boredom silently daring one another to perform whatever minor breach of etiquette that they can get away with just to pass the time until they're finally allowed to leave

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sleeping in

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street food snacks between missions

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I feel bad. i haven't posted any art in a while...

Feeling like going through my sketchbooks and marking all the ones I HAVE posted and then just mass post the rest with no context outside of the tags.

I haven't the brainpower to explain myself, but I do have a need to share all the little things I've been doing.

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I’m playing The Lost Frontier and so far my theory is that this is all an alcohol dream Jak is having after a night of binge drinking with Daxter to celebrate winning the Kras City Championship

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Wild to me how, for a game series that was very much about the unbreakable bond between two best buds and how they survive a whole heap of nightmare scenarios, so many people just fucking hate Daxter for even being around.

Like the guy's worst crimes are having an irritating voice and poor comic timing. "Oh he's a womanizer" shut the fuck up he's 17 and stuck in a literal animal body. He gets a pass. The only woman who goes for him is a bombshell AND a freak. His best friend is an emotionally unstable megatwunk that would break time and space for his sake. Daxter will sass machine death and God with every breath in his tiny rodent body for them. To his best friend and his girl, he is DEVOTED. I'm convinced the hate is jealousy. You wish you had what they have.

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Wastelanders: these kids are old enough to be semi-independent, why are you making them stay here???

Jak: *encourages his kid brother to eat a scorpion*

Damas:

Snippet Thursday: Baby Croc Chaos

(For context, the first time the boys were allowed outside, someone took a shot at Croc, because you don't see that every day. It ended up injuring his leg. Jak attacked the man, and Damas was called to break up the fight. Despite being presumed too young for Arena trials and not having cleared the necessary obstacle training course, Damas gives permission for Jak to demand a duel on Croc's behalf. Normally this would be done by the guardian or parent of the injured child, but it's clear that the boys have no parents. Obviously, Jak won.)

Most expected the angry shapeshifter from the Arena to start making more frequent appearances after the battle trial. He had his first amulet -- earlier than most orphans in the youth barracks got them -- and his gate pass now, making him eligible for the work roster. He could start finding artifacts of his own now, and earn enough to support the creatures he called his siblings. With the ferocity he'd shown in the ring, it had been assumed that he'd jump at the chance to carve out a place for himself in Spargus.

And yet the king had sent word that they were to be returned to C-Ward in the tower the moment the Arena settled. And no one had seen them since.

Perhaps it was a confinement of sorts. The king had been fairly displeased to find the foundling boy and Tarn in the holding cells after the market brawl. He'd been even angrier when he learned the context of it.

Those who had been in the market that day, and had witnessed the scaly spirit-child thing, suggested that Lord Damas was simply being cautious. As strange as "Croc" was -- even disturbing to some -- it was a child, unmistakably. There'd been no call for Tarn to fire at it -- and firing willy-nilly in the market was a good way to get a shell to the head anyway.

The matter came up during the city's weekly review of the wall defenses. Hutch, head of the city architects' guild, handed over the blueprints for his wall turret proposal and glanced to the far edge of the throne room. Strangely, the shapeshifter was there, sitting amongst the date palms with the talking animal and the spirit infant.

What a time to be alive that such a sentence could even be thought-!

Had Damas summoned the boy? For what purpose?

Hutch saw the orange creature point to one of the trees, and the boy moved as fast as lightning. He slapped a palm to the trunk as if trying to crush something, then took a small spray bottle from the mustelid.

Ah, the king had put them to work removing pests from the trees. Fifteen of the palms filled the room in large planters, and the architect pitied the foundlings for the unenviable task of applying pesticides to them all. Maybe they were being punished for something.

The king scanned the blueprints carefully before passing them to the director of finance.

"This design is compact enough that adding it to the wall wouldn't put a burden on the city's budget. However, I am concerned about the amount of eco an automated turret would consume. What do you plan to run it on?"

"S- solar...power...actually," Hutch answered sheepishly. "I've just realized my proposal for solar panels is still sitting on my desk."

Lottie, the finance director, looked at him dryly. "Probably would've helped to start with that one."

The architect flushed slightly. "It's been a busy week," he protested, "The monks have been at me for old archived blueprints of Tributary!"

Then he wearily asked, "Should I go home and get the other proposal, sire?"

Damas didn't answer right away, which was unlike him.

Instead, his eyes were fixed on the trio of inhu'men orphans working in the artificial grove. (What were they? Hutch didn't think they were actually spirits, but darned if he'd ever seen a Lurker with so little hair!)

After a moment, the king seemed to shake himself.

"No, that won't be necessary," he said quickly. "Just...explain it to Lottie when we adjourn for noon rest."

Unexpectedly, that week's patrol leader for the gate wall spoke up.

"They get noon rest too, right, sir?"

Evidently the presence of the shapeshifter and siblings had concerned him as well. Odolan shifted uncomfortably, whether because of the boys or because of -- apparently -- calling out the king himself.

"Shouldn't they be in the barracks during meetings?" Odolan pressed.

"No," answered the king. He sounded almost disinterested, as if the matter barely merited comment. "They have a room here. They just don't stay in it."

Now his other advisors began to shift and frown between each other. The only people who should've been living in the tower were the ruler of Spargus and his personal guards, a detachment of medics and patients in the warriors' Convalescence Ward, and the staff of the water treatment and kitchen facilities. Underage foundlings -- almost always rescues or defectors from Marauders, not exiles -- went to the youth barracks. They had to make connections with their age mates, to form Squads! It was a well-established part of Spargan culture by now. Why in the world would their king deny the new foundlings that? Was it because of their appearance?

Odolan looked deeply uncomfortable as he asked, "Is- is this because of how the boy killed Tarn? He was well within his rights to do so."

"Mhm. That's partially why." Damas didn't look up. He scratched notes quickly into a pad of recycled paper. "Here, Hutch. Look this over and tell me if it's sound."

He handed him a rough diagram of the front wall with alternate turret locations, then twirled the pencil between his fingers.

"Er...mostly, sire. But that junction there is above several wall residences."

"Ah, right. Scratch that one then." Damas took the pad back and drew a line through the box meant to represent a turret.

"Actually- here. Draw me those solar panels you're on about. Show me where you'd put them before you discuss it with Lottie."

When he finally glanced up, he saw that half the guild heads and advisors were still casting confused or curious glances over at the boys in the grove. The children were eavesdropping, of course. The chores had been implemented in an attempt to mitigate that somewhat, but with the amount of scarring and eco healing marks in their bones, Damas suspected they'd learned to listen carefully no matter how busy they looked. He couldn't explain to his council why he indulged Jak’s refusal to go back outside until Croc's nightmares stopped. Or admit that his own curiosity was keeping him from sending them to a barracks RA to sort out. It may have been -- he had trouble admitting it, even to himself, without pain -- the age of the youngest. He was no older than Mar had been when he was taken. He was small, and helpless, and the youth barracks were for teenagers, not toddlers. Separating Jak from his younger sibling just seemed cruel. And too much like how he'd lost Mar.

With a long-suffering look, Damas asked dryly, "Does anyone else have concerns about the gremlin gang they'd like to voice so that we can focus on the task at hand?"

Taking it as an invitation rather than sarcasm, -- she'd never been good at detecting sarcasm, in her defense -- Lottie remarked, "Who's going to look after the wee creatures when the lad enters his first Squad?"

Damas waved that off immediately. "They're not ready for Squads. Not in the least."

"Not ready for Squads?" Hutch muttered to Odolan, not quiet enough to go unheard, "How can a foundling not be ready for basic training?"

At that moment, the nature spirit thing came scampering out of the palms with an excited trill. Scuttling along before him was a very panicked scorpion -- no doubt it had been sleeping in the soil brought up for the planters. The scaly toddler crouched, tail lashing, then pounced. He held it it up by the tail, proudly showing the small arachnid to the adults, then his brothers.

"Good catch, Croc!" Jak ducked out of the palms. "Let me see it."

He ignored the presence of the council and crouched to examine the absolutely furious scorpion.

"Cool. Never seen one this small before. Check out the carapace-"

"Urr?"

"Hard shell. Body."

"Urr!"

"It ain't a juvenile. That means this sucker's got some pretty major poison in that stinger."

Damas opened his mouth to say something, then shut it again and shook his head. Perhaps eventually the council would learn what he had: it was completely and utterly useless to try to interrupt Jak when he was excited about something.

Carefully, Croc set the scorpion down and pinned it in place with his foot claws. With chubby fingers and the SparSign common to infants and toddlers, he asked, "I eat dat spicy bug?"

"Yeah sure, just not the tail."

Instant panic amongst the adults.

Damas launched out of the throne.

"Oh for the love of- Croc! No! Do not eat raw scorp-"

Too late.

The wide, wide mouth opened, and with a noticeable crunch, the scorpion met its end. While the adults stared in wide-eyed expressions ranging from disbelief to bravely stifling explosive laughter, Jak relieved Croc of the stinger.

"We'll put this with the other ones."

Jak finally looked up and stared impassively at Damas, still ignoring the council.

"What?"

"He's an infant, Jak! You don't know he can eat scorpions safely," Damas sighed.

The boy shrugged. "He's eaten way worse and been fine."

The orange one scurried out and up onto Jak’s head.

"Bald-faced lie. Eatin' KG gave him the most unholy flatulence and you know it."

Jak pretended not to hear this.

"Besides," he said, sounding cocky, "Dax and me ate scorpions plenty of times when we were little. It didn't hurt us."

This got an...interesting reaction from the Wastelanders. In what environment were young children allowed to catch and eat scorpions regularly? They were supervised, of course, they would have had to be-

"You realize," Daxter said with a hint of bitterness in his voice, "That we wouldn't have had to hunt scorpions if your absentee uncle had actually fed us instead of spending the grocery money on treasure maps every month."

Well then.

As one, the advisors turned to look at Damas. He simply gestured to the boys as if saying "you see?"

Dry as dust, the king asked, "Any other objections to continued adult supervision?"

Odolan shook his head and wondered how the strange orphans had even lived this long.

"I withdraw the question."

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Apologies are so easy, aren't they

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I was right behind you, Jak! ...Really, I was.

Pixel art bust of Jak & Daxter. Made on stream as a Subscriber Suggestion