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The next two weeks passed in a grueling haze. Each morning, Jak would wake and remind himself that freedom was his new reality, and each night as the Baron’s voice came over the radios, he would wish with a sinking guilt that it was just a nightmare. Despite the obvious weight of the topic, his gruesome transformation had not been brought up since that night’s dinner. Jak felt this was just as well, considering he wasn’t sure what he would say about it if it were. Even having seen himself on the projector in town, it had been nearly impossible to believe, and it took discovering traces of dried blood on the cuffs of his sleeves and beneath his fingernails to really set in completely. Through all of the torture of the last two years, fear was an emotion that Jak had become intimately acquainted with, but now the fear was not of something on the outside-- the KG, or the chair, or Erol, or the Baron. For the first time in his entire life, what he feared most was himself. He feared what he was capable of becoming.

It was this nagging anxiety that was making even Tawniey’s cheerful apartment feel as restricting as his prison cell, and he found himself grumbling incoherently as he sat down on one of the new spindle stools that had been arranged around the island counter to join the others for breakfast. Upon arrival, Daxter pushed a platter full of eggs and roasted vegetables toward him as he helped himself to more milk from a glass jug. Tawniey was absently poking the eggs on her plate as she leafed through a newspaper with prominent headlines describing the latest KG victories and upcoming NYFE races. The center page had been pulled out and set aside, and the small tight boxes of classified ads had been marked nearly beyond legibility by a red felt-tipped pen.

“Let me guess,” Daxter started, wiping milk from the fur of his upper lip with the back of his hand, “The Metalheads are attacking, the KG are winning, and all your friends and neighbors are traitors. Why do you read that trash, Tawn?”

Tawniey sighed heavily as though in agreement.

“Because as slanted as it always is, it’s still a good source of information if you know what to look for. For instance--” she said folding the paper to frame the front page and pushing it to Daxter, “The next NYFE race is still weeks out, hardly headline news, yet it’s sharing the front page with an article about the outer-wall fights with the Metalheads near Haven Forest on Tuesday. But, Tuesday I was out by Haven Forest looking for that eco compression machine for a client, and I can tell you with 100% certainty that there were no guards stationed there all day.”

Jak pulled the paper across the table toward him to get a closer look, “So you think they’re trying to cover something up.”

“Exactly.” She replied, leaning across the counter and turning to the fifth page for him. “So I looked at the articles further in where they had the ‘honorable casualties’ of the so-called fight, when I saw this tiny article here about an explosion in the KG fortress. It doesn’t say much except that it was believed to be caused by a fault in the eco grid and that, miraculously, everyone survived.”

“Well, that smells fishier than your dad after a trip to the river.” Daxter jabbed to Tawniey.

Jak fought to suppress a laugh as Daxter dodged Tawniey’s resulting attempt to push him off of the counter. Just then, there was a loud buzzing from Tawniey’s pocket, and the ottsel used the opportunity to climb up onto Jak’s shoulder and out of reach. Tawniey pulled out her access pass and flipped it open.

“Speaking of…” she said. “It turns out that client is ready to meet up.”

Jak watched her stand up with new urgency and begin weaving her way through the apartment to gather her things.

“That’s great, because we’re running low on food.” Daxter called after her.

“Yeah, I know.” She replied, poking her head back around the corner as she hopped into one of her boots. “I’ll tell you what. This payoff is pretty big, so lets go out to celebrate tonight. We can get dinner and drinks.”

“Sounds good.” Jak replied.

“Yeah, and in the meantime, Jak and I can spend the day on the town.” Daxter grinned, playfully elbowing at Jak’s head.

“Great.” Tawniey said, standing up straight. She tightened the last of her armor, slung a large bag over her shoulder and headed toward the door. “I’ll meet you guys at The Cellar around sundown, okay?”

Jak nodded, finally taking a bite of the eggs on his plate. The ottsel on his shoulder gave Tawniey a double thumbs-up as she disappeared around the doorframe. As the door slid shut behind her, the great wave of sudden energy that had built around her was swept out the door as well. Daxter exhaled deeply and hopped from Jak’s shoulder to the floor.

“Well, now that she’s gone, let’s finally go have some fun.” Daxter said mischievously.

Jak raised an eyebrow at him.

“Oh come on, the last few weeks we’ve only been to boring places. Don’t you want to see where the real fun is? The night life? Sure, it’s day right now, but that doesn’t mean the party’s not happenin’. C’mon, Jak, finish your breakfast. Let’s paint the town!”

Even if he would have had reservations, Jak didn’t see much use in resisting Daxter’s excited plans. Truthfully, Jak wasn’t as much concerned as he was at a loss for what to expect. Considering that Daxter’s previous social habits had been limited to the small pool of Sandover Village, this much enthusiasm had been reserved for plans of pranking the old sage, chasing seagulls, or pestering Keira while she worked. However, between the broad reassuring grin across the ottsels face and the understanding that Daxter seemed far more in his element in this bustling metropolis, Jak couldn’t help but get a bit excited too, and it wasn’t long before they were walking down the dingy streets of Haven.

They worked their way through the winding slums, the industrial section, and the Eastern Bazaar; the ottsel chattering on about the places they passed while his friend patiently listened. Daxter’s voice grew impressively loud as they had to pass another of the Baron’s news machines, nearly drowning out the booming announcement about the upcoming Haven City Tricentennial.

“And that,” Daxter said, pointing to a large building with blacked out windows and a bright neon sign, “is where the real action is on a Friday night, if you’re into dancing. Boy, can those girls dance.”

Jak had just opened his mouth to reply when a piercingly loud noise came from a few blocks behind them. Jak stopped.

“That sounded like gunshots.” Jak said.

“Yeah, it did.” Daxter said uneasily from his shoulder.

“Let’s go check it out, Dax.”

“Jak, I’m not sure that’s a good idea--”

But Jak wasn’t listening. Instead, he was quickly weaving his way upstream through the flow of people and toward the source of the sound. He wasn’t sure what drove him forward. Logic would dictate that gunshots meant Krimzon Guard, and Krimzon Guard meant the very real possibility of being shot down or captured. Somehow, however, the racing of his heart was not from fear, but from excitement. Without realizing, his face had spread into a wide grin.

As they rounded the corner, they spotted a group of guards standing around a small shop. Within a second of observing the scene, it was clear that they had found the source of the commotion. There were at least two bodies on the ground already, and though the Guards were now still, their rifles were pointed squarely at the chests of a dozen terrified citizens.

“Please!” Someone shouted in a trembling voice. One guard simply repositioned his rifle in response.

“Any more outbursts and we will be forced to open fire.” the center guard announced. “This establishment is in violation of city ordinance 76D. By order of his eminence, Baron Praxis, everyone in this area is under arrest until further investigation.”

As Jak watched the center guard raise the butt of his rifle to a cowering man who must have been the shopkeeper, he suddenly felt a jolt as the world ripped away from him. He was no longer standing on the dusty dirt road of the Eastern Bazaar. He was fifteen, his bare feet on cold metal in an unfamiliar city. He was hopelessly outnumbered by men twice his size, surrounding him, taking him in, looking him over hungrily like vultures. He was being lifted forcefully from a pitch black cell and yanked out into the light. He was being stripped down to nothing, shoved into a moldy shower room and redressed in a loose green uniform. He was being strapped down to a cold metal chair as dark eco pumped into him from a machine above, searing through his skin, setting fire to his very bones.

His heart was pounding furiously in his chest. Every muscle in his body was screaming for him to move, to run to the red armored officers and rip out their throats, to impale them on his claws and empty their organs into the streets. He wanted to feel the warmth of their blood as it coated his hands. He wanted to bathe in it.

Not even Daxter’s voice could reach him as he readied himself to charge, but as he started to take the first step forward, he stopped.

They were falling.

The guards were falling, as if in slow motion, one by one, with no warning and no sound. While they crumpled to their knees, the civilians scattered for cover.

Jak whirled his head around, the realization that there was a gunman nearby beginning to slowly wash over him as he returned to his senses; but no matter how hard he searched, there was no attacker to be seen.

The citizens were starting to come out from their shelters, their voices soft and nearly unintelligible.

“Do you think that was…?”

“It could be.”

“The Underground. Bless them.”

“By Mar, we’re saved.”

“Jak?” Daxter’s voice asked warily from behind him. “You okay, buddy?”

“I’m fine.” Jak lied after a moment. His head was starting to spin, but he forced himself steady. The bodies of the Guards and the two civilians were still lying in the middle of the street. Though the overwhelming rage Jak had so recently felt had disappeared almost completely in the shock of the ensuing events, he found himself watching as the dirt darkened around the corpses. Even as Daxter climbed back onto his shoulder, it took all of his effort to tear his eyes away.

Using the excuse that the sun was nearly setting and Tawniey would be expecting them soon, they decided to make their way back through the Bazaar. The incident seemed to have cleared the streets of Krimzon Guard, and Jak found himself wondering cynically if that meant that they had been called away as reinforcements or told to vacate for their own safety. Though the two stopped by a few shops and watched a few street artisans make their wares just as they had on their way in, Jak was now finding it difficult to respond to any of his friend’s quips. Thankfully, Daxter seemed to understand this, and they settled comfortably into the routine of his speech and Jak’s silence with ease.

By the time they reached The Cellar, the mood had calmed considerably. As Jak pushed open the door and stepped inside, they were immediately hit by the smell of hot food and the sounds of music and laughter. A chipper young hostess immediately pointed them toward a booth at the side of the room, and Jak smiled graciously in return. Daxter told their waitress that they were waiting for a friend but to start a tab in Tawniey’s name until she got there, and soon they were brought two large mugs of ale and a basket of chips.

“Hot damn, what a day.” Daxter said, hopping up onto the table and taking a long drink from his own mug.

Jak nodded and leaned back into his seat. There was something about the lively nature of the inn that made him feel relaxed. Perhaps it was the warmth of the kitchen and bustling people, or perhaps it was just that the noise of their chatter was effective at drowning out his thoughts. As Daxter started poring over the menu, Jak let his eyes and ears wander to the others in the bar.

In the far corner, there was a large group of people all surrounded in a thick cloud of cigar smoke, happily playing cards. Nearer to the center, there were pale green streamers wrapped around the chairs of at least five tables. Congratulations were being given to a young brown haired man with in ruffled work attire who appeared to be elatedly describing every tiny feature of his newborn child to anyone who would listen. Further toward the bar, there were several angry looking people who were drowning the sorrows of lost promotions and workplace rivals in copious amounts of a dark colored liquor, and immediately to their left were a white haired teen and a dark haired man laughing about upcoming races.

Jak couldn’t be sure how long he and Daxter had waited, or how many mugs he had consumed, when a table nearby caught his attention. They were talking in grave whispers under the dull roar of the bar.

“---a shooting earlier in the Bazaar. The KG were after some glassmaker without a permit, two down already---”

“Of course they were.”

“---when he took them out. All of them. The whole squad.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m not. The KG have got it coming. It’s no wonder he’s Torn’s right hand.”

“No wonder at all. Hey, did you hear what Jinx did to the barracks?”

“Yeah, I did. That was expertly done. We’ve got them on guard now. The Baron will be-- ”

Jak stood at the mention of the Baron’s name.

Suddenly, he didn’t care whether they were supposed to meet Tawniey or not. Nothing about sitting and listening felt appealing at all. He needed to move.

“I’m out of here.” He said quietly to Daxter, who blinked at him over the rim of his now empty glass before clambering onto his shoulder.

Jak wove through the crowd with some difficulty. When he finally reached the door, he shoved it open aggressively and stormed his way through, nearly ramming into a man who’d been smoking near the entrance.

“Watch it!” he heard from behind him.

Grinding his teeth, Jak rounded on the man. He was fully aware that it was his fault, but the bitterness simmering in his chest was beginning to cloud his judgement. The man had squared his shoulders, lowered his cigarette and looked ready to retaliate. He was a full head taller than Jak, and even beneath his garishly bright windbreaker, Jak could tell he had a lean fighter’s build. There was a long rifle slung across his back with a cloth strap, but he did not seem to be making a move for his weapon. Jak felt a smirk tugging at his lips as he met the man’s glare. Whoever he was, he had chosen the wrong fight.

“Sorry!” Daxter said hastily from Jak’s shoulder. “We were just passing through.”

Jak opened his mouth to tell Daxter to be quiet, but his would-be opponent had already appeared to back down. His gold eyes had softened from a harsh glare to curious appraisal.

“You’re the kid who’s got the KG in a panic.” The man said at last, his voice nearly reverent. “The escaped experiment. I heard you cut down a dozen squads with your bare hands.”

Jak stopped.

“What?” he asked incredulously, rebounding immediately. “What of it?”

“Oh, nothing.” The man replied. He huffed a short laugh and returned to his cigarette, leaning back against the wall. “It’s just an honor to meet the Baron’s latest toy.”

Jak’s fists clenched involuntarily, rage building inside of him. What felt like static electricity zapped from his hand to his leg and Daxter shifted on his shoulder.

“Look, I don’t know who you are, but I am not anyone’s toy.” He shot back.

“No, you took care of that with finesse, didn’t you?” The man replied sympathetically. “I’d imagine that if it was me who’d been played with like that, I’d want to strike back.”

For a moment, Jak’s resolve flickered. Strike back? How could he strike back? The KG outnumbered him by the thousands. There was no way into the palace, no way to confront the Baron on equal footing.

As though he was reading Jak’s very thoughts, the stranger continued.

“You can’t do it alone,” he said, taking a few ambling steps toward Jak, “but then again you don’t have to. There are people fighting back already. I’m sure you’ve heard the whispers. The Baron will never say it, but the city is at war-- and not just with the metalheads. And a war is a perfect opportunity… is it one you’re willing to take?"

"You seem to know a whole lot for some guy we’ve never met before." Daxter interjected. "Let’s get out of here, Jak."

Jak knew Daxter was right, but still, his feet remained firmly rooted where they were.

“It’s my business to know things.” The man chuckled. “I’m an informant for the Underground.”

The Underground?

A shiver ran up Jak’s spine as he realized where he had heard that name before. That had been the word that was used by the people that had been saved from the KG. Was this the group that was fighting the Guard?

“I could help you.” The man offered, “Or, if you’d like, you’ll never see me again. I just thought that someone like you-- with your skill, and your power-- would have the guts to push back against Praxis.”

Jak’s jaw tensed habitually at the mention of the Baron’s name, but he stayed silent, crossing his arms. The man in front of him took one last drag on his cigarette as he expectantly watched Jak, as though waiting for some sort of verbal response. After a moment, however, he disappointedly dropped the butt end and crushed it under his boot.

“I’ll tell you what.” he said, finally. “Take some time to think about it. After all, it is an awfully big decision. You’re already wanted, so why put yourself in more danger just for a little revenge…see you around, Jak.”

With that, he started away, leaving Jak and Daxter standing in the dim light of The Cellar’s windows. Jak’s thoughts were racing.

This was it. This was his chance to take what he so desperately wanted. For as good as it had been to be freed from the walls of the prison, the city streets were just a bigger cage. Though it had never been so solidified in his mind, he could tell he always knew that he would not be able to rest as long as Praxis ruled over Haven City.

For the last two weeks, Jak had been fighting off nightmares and waking visions of taking vengeance on the Baron and his men. He had thought that this must have been a result of the darkness that had been slowly consuming his mind, that had been planted by Praxis himself; but if it meant killing Baron Praxis, what reason did he have to hesitate? Perhaps the best way to silence the nightmares was to bring them into reality.

Without warning, Jak turned back toward the street where he had watched the man walk away, causing Daxter to nearly lose his footing. He could barely hear as the ottsel tried to grab his attention, saying something about Tawniey and the bar. Instead, Jak focused all of his concentration on catching up to the stranger at the end of the street.

He had stopped as soon as Jak’s footsteps had become audible, and turned to Jak expectantly.

“I don’t need time to think.” Jak said. “If you’re taking on the Baron, I’m in.”

“Good to hear.” The man grinned in response, pulling his hands from his pockets. “Now, pay attention. There’s a graffitied wall in a dead end of the slums. South-Eastern side, near the city wall. Go there tomorrow around noon. Knock three times, someone will answer. Ask for Torn. Got it?”

“Got it.” Jak replied automatically.

“Then I’ll see you soon.” the man said.

Daxter stood up on Jak’s shoulder and crossed his arms as the man headed into a nearby alley and disappeared from sight. Tawniey’s voice was echoing down the empty street after them as she jogged to where they stood.

“Hey! Woah, wait, I specifically didn’t eat yet ‘cos I really wanted those turken tenders,” she called after them.

Upon reaching her friends, Tawniey’s smile faded. Jak looked almost crazed with excitement. His eyes were unfocused, fixed on the ground, but a wide grin was still visible even in the shadows. Tawniey looked between him and Daxter, unable to read the atmosphere as anything other than charged with adrenaline.

"What just happened?" she asked at last, bracing herself for the answer.

"I think," Daxter replied slowly, shaking his head, "We just joined a revolution.”

Description
The next two weeks passed in a grueling haze. Each morning, Jak would wake and remind himself that freedom was his new reality, and each night as the Baron’s voice came over the radios, he would wish with a sinking guilt that it was just a nightmare. Despite the obvious weight of the topic, his gruesome transformation had not been brought up since that night’s dinner. Jak felt this was just as well, considering he wasn’t sure what he would say about it if it were. Even having seen himself on the projector in town, it had been nearly impossible to believe, and it took discovering traces of dried blood on the cuffs of his sleeves and beneath his fingernails to really set in completely. Through all of the torture of the last two years, fear was an emotion that Jak had become intimately acquainted with, but now the fear was not of something on the outside-- the KG, or the chair, or Erol, or the Baron. For the first time in his entire life, what he feared most was himself. He feared what he was capable of becoming.

It was this nagging anxiety that was making even Tawniey’s cheerful apartment feel as restricting as his prison cell, and he found himself grumbling incoherently as he sat down on one of the new spindle stools that had been arranged around the island counter to join the others for breakfast. Upon arrival, Daxter pushed a platter full of eggs and roasted vegetables toward him as he helped himself to more milk from a glass jug. Tawniey was absently poking the eggs on her plate as she leafed through a newspaper with prominent headlines describing the latest KG victories and upcoming NYFE races. The center page had been pulled out and set aside, and the small tight boxes of classified ads had been marked nearly beyond legibility by a red felt-tipped pen.

“Let me guess,” Daxter started, wiping milk from the fur of his upper lip with the back of his hand, “The Metalheads are attacking, the KG are winning, and all your friends and neighbors are traitors. Why do you read that trash, Tawn?”

Tawniey sighed heavily as though in agreement.

“Because as slanted as it always is, it’s still a good source of information if you know what to look for. For instance--” she said folding the paper to frame the front page and pushing it to Daxter, “The next NYFE race is still weeks out, hardly headline news, yet it’s sharing the front page with an article about the outer-wall fights with the Metalheads near Haven Forest on Tuesday. But, Tuesday I was out by Haven Forest looking for that eco compression machine for a client, and I can tell you with 100% certainty that there were no guards stationed there all day.”

Jak pulled the paper across the table toward him to get a closer look, “So you think they’re trying to cover something up.”

“Exactly.” She replied, leaning across the counter and turning to the fifth page for him. “So I looked at the articles further in where they had the ‘honorable casualties’ of the so-called fight, when I saw this tiny article here about an explosion in the KG fortress. It doesn’t say much except that it was believed to be caused by a fault in the eco grid and that, miraculously, everyone survived.”

“Well, that smells fishier than your dad after a trip to the river.” Daxter jabbed to Tawniey.

Jak fought to suppress a laugh as Daxter dodged Tawniey’s resulting attempt to push him off of the counter. Just then, there was a loud buzzing from Tawniey’s pocket, and the ottsel used the opportunity to climb up onto Jak’s shoulder and out of reach. Tawniey pulled out her access pass and flipped it open.

“Speaking of…” she said. “It turns out that client is ready to meet up.”

Jak watched her stand up with new urgency and begin weaving her way through the apartment to gather her things.

“That’s great, because we’re running low on food.” Daxter called after her.

“Yeah, I know.” She replied, poking her head back around the corner as she hopped into one of her boots. “I’ll tell you what. This payoff is pretty big, so lets go out to celebrate tonight. We can get dinner and drinks.”

“Sounds good.” Jak replied.

“Yeah, and in the meantime, Jak and I can spend the day on the town.” Daxter grinned, playfully elbowing at Jak’s head.

“Great.” Tawniey said, standing up straight. She tightened the last of her armor, slung a large bag over her shoulder and headed toward the door. “I’ll meet you guys at The Cellar around sundown, okay?”

Jak nodded, finally taking a bite of the eggs on his plate. The ottsel on his shoulder gave Tawniey a double thumbs-up as she disappeared around the doorframe. As the door slid shut behind her, the great wave of sudden energy that had built around her was swept out the door as well. Daxter exhaled deeply and hopped from Jak’s shoulder to the floor.

“Well, now that she’s gone, let’s finally go have some fun.” Daxter said mischievously.

Jak raised an eyebrow at him.

“Oh come on, the last few weeks we’ve only been to boring places. Don’t you want to see where the real fun is? The night life? Sure, it’s day right now, but that doesn’t mean the party’s not happenin’. C’mon, Jak, finish your breakfast. Let’s paint the town!”

Even if he would have had reservations, Jak didn’t see much use in resisting Daxter’s excited plans. Truthfully, Jak wasn’t as much concerned as he was at a loss for what to expect. Considering that Daxter’s previous social habits had been limited to the small pool of Sandover Village, this much enthusiasm had been reserved for plans of pranking the old sage, chasing seagulls, or pestering Keira while she worked. However, between the broad reassuring grin across the ottsels face and the understanding that Daxter seemed far more in his element in this bustling metropolis, Jak couldn’t help but get a bit excited too, and it wasn’t long before they were walking down the dingy streets of Haven.

They worked their way through the winding slums, the industrial section, and the Eastern Bazaar; the ottsel chattering on about the places they passed while his friend patiently listened. Daxter’s voice grew impressively loud as they had to pass another of the Baron’s news machines, nearly drowning out the booming announcement about the upcoming Haven City Tricentennial.

“And that,” Daxter said, pointing to a large building with blacked out windows and a bright neon sign, “is where the real action is on a Friday night, if you’re into dancing. Boy, can those girls dance.”

Jak had just opened his mouth to reply when a piercingly loud noise came from a few blocks behind them. Jak stopped.

“That sounded like gunshots.” Jak said.

“Yeah, it did.” Daxter said uneasily from his shoulder.

“Let’s go check it out, Dax.”

“Jak, I’m not sure that’s a good idea--”

But Jak wasn’t listening. Instead, he was quickly weaving his way upstream through the flow of people and toward the source of the sound. He wasn’t sure what drove him forward. Logic would dictate that gunshots meant Krimzon Guard, and Krimzon Guard meant the very real possibility of being shot down or captured. Somehow, however, the racing of his heart was not from fear, but from excitement. Without realizing, his face had spread into a wide grin.

As they rounded the corner, they spotted a group of guards standing around a small shop. Within a second of observing the scene, it was clear that they had found the source of the commotion. There were at least two bodies on the ground already, and though the Guards were now still, their rifles were pointed squarely at the chests of a dozen terrified citizens.

“Please!” Someone shouted in a trembling voice. One guard simply repositioned his rifle in response.

“Any more outbursts and we will be forced to open fire.” the center guard announced. “This establishment is in violation of city ordinance 76D. By order of his eminence, Baron Praxis, everyone in this area is under arrest until further investigation.”

As Jak watched the center guard raise the butt of his rifle to a cowering man who must have been the shopkeeper, he suddenly felt a jolt as the world ripped away from him. He was no longer standing on the dusty dirt road of the Eastern Bazaar. He was fifteen, his bare feet on cold metal in an unfamiliar city. He was hopelessly outnumbered by men twice his size, surrounding him, taking him in, looking him over hungrily like vultures. He was being lifted forcefully from a pitch black cell and yanked out into the light. He was being stripped down to nothing, shoved into a moldy shower room and redressed in a loose green uniform. He was being strapped down to a cold metal chair as dark eco pumped into him from a machine above, searing through his skin, setting fire to his very bones.

His heart was pounding furiously in his chest. Every muscle in his body was screaming for him to move, to run to the red armored officers and rip out their throats, to impale them on his claws and empty their organs into the streets. He wanted to feel the warmth of their blood as it coated his hands. He wanted to bathe in it.

Not even Daxter’s voice could reach him as he readied himself to charge, but as he started to take the first step forward, he stopped.

They were falling.

The guards were falling, as if in slow motion, one by one, with no warning and no sound. While they crumpled to their knees, the civilians scattered for cover.

Jak whirled his head around, the realization that there was a gunman nearby beginning to slowly wash over him as he returned to his senses; but no matter how hard he searched, there was no attacker to be seen.

The citizens were starting to come out from their shelters, their voices soft and nearly unintelligible.

“Do you think that was…?”

“It could be.”

“The Underground. Bless them.”

“By Mar, we’re saved.”

“Jak?” Daxter’s voice asked warily from behind him. “You okay, buddy?”

“I’m fine.” Jak lied after a moment. His head was starting to spin, but he forced himself steady. The bodies of the Guards and the two civilians were still lying in the middle of the street. Though the overwhelming rage Jak had so recently felt had disappeared almost completely in the shock of the ensuing events, he found himself watching as the dirt darkened around the corpses. Even as Daxter climbed back onto his shoulder, it took all of his effort to tear his eyes away.

Using the excuse that the sun was nearly setting and Tawniey would be expecting them soon, they decided to make their way back through the Bazaar. The incident seemed to have cleared the streets of Krimzon Guard, and Jak found himself wondering cynically if that meant that they had been called away as reinforcements or told to vacate for their own safety. Though the two stopped by a few shops and watched a few street artisans make their wares just as they had on their way in, Jak was now finding it difficult to respond to any of his friend’s quips. Thankfully, Daxter seemed to understand this, and they settled comfortably into the routine of his speech and Jak’s silence with ease.

By the time they reached The Cellar, the mood had calmed considerably. As Jak pushed open the door and stepped inside, they were immediately hit by the smell of hot food and the sounds of music and laughter. A chipper young hostess immediately pointed them toward a booth at the side of the room, and Jak smiled graciously in return. Daxter told their waitress that they were waiting for a friend but to start a tab in Tawniey’s name until she got there, and soon they were brought two large mugs of ale and a basket of chips.

“Hot damn, what a day.” Daxter said, hopping up onto the table and taking a long drink from his own mug.

Jak nodded and leaned back into his seat. There was something about the lively nature of the inn that made him feel relaxed. Perhaps it was the warmth of the kitchen and bustling people, or perhaps it was just that the noise of their chatter was effective at drowning out his thoughts. As Daxter started poring over the menu, Jak let his eyes and ears wander to the others in the bar.

In the far corner, there was a large group of people all surrounded in a thick cloud of cigar smoke, happily playing cards. Nearer to the center, there were pale green streamers wrapped around the chairs of at least five tables. Congratulations were being given to a young brown haired man with in ruffled work attire who appeared to be elatedly describing every tiny feature of his newborn child to anyone who would listen. Further toward the bar, there were several angry looking people who were drowning the sorrows of lost promotions and workplace rivals in copious amounts of a dark colored liquor, and immediately to their left were a white haired teen and a dark haired man laughing about upcoming races.

Jak couldn’t be sure how long he and Daxter had waited, or how many mugs he had consumed, when a table nearby caught his attention. They were talking in grave whispers under the dull roar of the bar.

“---a shooting earlier in the Bazaar. The KG were after some glassmaker without a permit, two down already---”

“Of course they were.”

“---when he took them out. All of them. The whole squad.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m not. The KG have got it coming. It’s no wonder he’s Torn’s right hand.”

“No wonder at all. Hey, did you hear what Jinx did to the barracks?”

“Yeah, I did. That was expertly done. We’ve got them on guard now. The Baron will be-- ”

Jak stood at the mention of the Baron’s name.

Suddenly, he didn’t care whether they were supposed to meet Tawniey or not. Nothing about sitting and listening felt appealing at all. He needed to move.

“I’m out of here.” He said quietly to Daxter, who blinked at him over the rim of his now empty glass before clambering onto his shoulder.

Jak wove through the crowd with some difficulty. When he finally reached the door, he shoved it open aggressively and stormed his way through, nearly ramming into a man who’d been smoking near the entrance.

“Watch it!” he heard from behind him.

Grinding his teeth, Jak rounded on the man. He was fully aware that it was his fault, but the bitterness simmering in his chest was beginning to cloud his judgement. The man had squared his shoulders, lowered his cigarette and looked ready to retaliate. He was a full head taller than Jak, and even beneath his garishly bright windbreaker, Jak could tell he had a lean fighter’s build. There was a long rifle slung across his back with a cloth strap, but he did not seem to be making a move for his weapon. Jak felt a smirk tugging at his lips as he met the man’s glare. Whoever he was, he had chosen the wrong fight.

“Sorry!” Daxter said hastily from Jak’s shoulder. “We were just passing through.”

Jak opened his mouth to tell Daxter to be quiet, but his would-be opponent had already appeared to back down. His gold eyes had softened from a harsh glare to curious appraisal.

“You’re the kid who’s got the KG in a panic.” The man said at last, his voice nearly reverent. “The escaped experiment. I heard you cut down a dozen squads with your bare hands.”

Jak stopped.

“What?” he asked incredulously, rebounding immediately. “What of it?”

“Oh, nothing.” The man replied. He huffed a short laugh and returned to his cigarette, leaning back against the wall. “It’s just an honor to meet the Baron’s latest toy.”

Jak’s fists clenched involuntarily, rage building inside of him. What felt like static electricity zapped from his hand to his leg and Daxter shifted on his shoulder.

“Look, I don’t know who you are, but I am not anyone’s toy.” He shot back.

“No, you took care of that with finesse, didn’t you?” The man replied sympathetically. “I’d imagine that if it was me who’d been played with like that, I’d want to strike back.”

For a moment, Jak’s resolve flickered. Strike back? How could he strike back? The KG outnumbered him by the thousands. There was no way into the palace, no way to confront the Baron on equal footing.

As though he was reading Jak’s very thoughts, the stranger continued.

“You can’t do it alone,” he said, taking a few ambling steps toward Jak, “but then again you don’t have to. There are people fighting back already. I’m sure you’ve heard the whispers. The Baron will never say it, but the city is at war-- and not just with the metalheads. And a war is a perfect opportunity… is it one you’re willing to take?"

"You seem to know a whole lot for some guy we’ve never met before." Daxter interjected. "Let’s get out of here, Jak."

Jak knew Daxter was right, but still, his feet remained firmly rooted where they were.

“It’s my business to know things.” The man chuckled. “I’m an informant for the Underground.”

The Underground?

A shiver ran up Jak’s spine as he realized where he had heard that name before. That had been the word that was used by the people that had been saved from the KG. Was this the group that was fighting the Guard?

“I could help you.” The man offered, “Or, if you’d like, you’ll never see me again. I just thought that someone like you-- with your skill, and your power-- would have the guts to push back against Praxis.”

Jak’s jaw tensed habitually at the mention of the Baron’s name, but he stayed silent, crossing his arms. The man in front of him took one last drag on his cigarette as he expectantly watched Jak, as though waiting for some sort of verbal response. After a moment, however, he disappointedly dropped the butt end and crushed it under his boot.

“I’ll tell you what.” he said, finally. “Take some time to think about it. After all, it is an awfully big decision. You’re already wanted, so why put yourself in more danger just for a little revenge…see you around, Jak.”

With that, he started away, leaving Jak and Daxter standing in the dim light of The Cellar’s windows. Jak’s thoughts were racing.

This was it. This was his chance to take what he so desperately wanted. For as good as it had been to be freed from the walls of the prison, the city streets were just a bigger cage. Though it had never been so solidified in his mind, he could tell he always knew that he would not be able to rest as long as Praxis ruled over Haven City.

For the last two weeks, Jak had been fighting off nightmares and waking visions of taking vengeance on the Baron and his men. He had thought that this must have been a result of the darkness that had been slowly consuming his mind, that had been planted by Praxis himself; but if it meant killing Baron Praxis, what reason did he have to hesitate? Perhaps the best way to silence the nightmares was to bring them into reality.

Without warning, Jak turned back toward the street where he had watched the man walk away, causing Daxter to nearly lose his footing. He could barely hear as the ottsel tried to grab his attention, saying something about Tawniey and the bar. Instead, Jak focused all of his concentration on catching up to the stranger at the end of the street.

He had stopped as soon as Jak’s footsteps had become audible, and turned to Jak expectantly.

“I don’t need time to think.” Jak said. “If you’re taking on the Baron, I’m in.”

“Good to hear.” The man grinned in response, pulling his hands from his pockets. “Now, pay attention. There’s a graffitied wall in a dead end of the slums. South-Eastern side, near the city wall. Go there tomorrow around noon. Knock three times, someone will answer. Ask for Torn. Got it?”

“Got it.” Jak replied automatically.

“Then I’ll see you soon.” the man said.

Daxter stood up on Jak’s shoulder and crossed his arms as the man headed into a nearby alley and disappeared from sight. Tawniey’s voice was echoing down the empty street after them as she jogged to where they stood.

“Hey! Woah, wait, I specifically didn’t eat yet ‘cos I really wanted those turken tenders,” she called after them.

Upon reaching her friends, Tawniey’s smile faded. Jak looked almost crazed with excitement. His eyes were unfocused, fixed on the ground, but a wide grin was still visible even in the shadows. Tawniey looked between him and Daxter, unable to read the atmosphere as anything other than charged with adrenaline.

"What just happened?" she asked at last, bracing herself for the answer.

"I think," Daxter replied slowly, shaking his head, "We just joined a revolution.”