Chapter Text
Time had ceased to exist in the dark halls beneath the ground. Days bled together, indistinguishable from the nights. Torture, agony, the stench of blood and sweat and dark eco. He fought back with all he had, screams tearing from his lungs when it became too much. For the longest time that was the only sound he made, unable to defend himself against the words they threw at him-- 'dumb animal', 'eco freak', 'monster'.
He had never spoken before, never had cause to really try. Daxter had always been there, had always been his voice. He was alone now, with no one to speak for him. He would force the words to come, sounds that were alien to his own ears, clumsy and strange on his tongue... words that caught in his throat, threatening to choke him; it felt deeply wrong but he spat them out anyway, in the dark of his cell where no one could hear...
'Prak... sis... m'not stupid... kill you...'
...But then they would come back, soldiers with angry voices and large rough hands, needles and chains and dark eco, and the words abandoned him again... in the end, only the screams were left.
'Dark eco injection cycle complete. Bio readings nominal and unchanged.'
The cool female voice sifted down through the haze of pain. Jak blinked, trying to focus and immediately regretting it; the all-too-familiar machinery rotated slowly above him and the manacles cut into his wrists despite the dirty bandages, and at the edge of the circle of light stood the two men who stalked his nightmares...
'Hmph, nothing!' The first man's voice was as harsh and severe as his appearance-- half his face covered in steel plates that concealed disfiguring scars, overcoat impeccably pressed and boots always spotless. 'I was informed that this one might be different!'
The second voice was clipped, soft with respect and a touch of fear-- not its usual tone. 'He is surprisingly resistant to your 'experiments', Baron Praxis...'
Everything faded as the darkness returned. He thought of sand and sun and sea, tried to recall what it was like back then, but he could no longer remember the smell of saltwater or the crash of waves against the shore, had forgotten the heat of sunlight on his skin. It was hard to believe that world had even existed; sometimes felt as though it must have been a fevered dream, as intangible as smoke against the cold reality of the prison...
'...RRRGH!' A large hand gripped the front of Jak's prison uniform, dragging him upright as far as the chair's shackles would allow. 'You should at least be dead, with all the dark eco I've pumped into you!' Spit misted his face but he didn't respond, glazed eyes half-closed against the too-bright lamps overhead; he dropped listlessly back when the Baron released him, his head throbbing and dark spots encroaching upon his already blurry vision...
His entire world was saturated in the acidic burn of dark eco and the reek of his own fear, the dread and resignation that no matter how long and fast he ran he would never escape, never reach the exit and feel the wind on his face, never taste cool clear water or ripe fruit or fresh-caught fish smoked over an open fire... Never again would he run the length of the beach with a skinny redhead laughing at his heels...
That voice was the only thing that was clear to him now-- the voice that had been there all through his mute childhood, carrying conversations on its own, talking to him and never expecting (never needing) more than a nod or a shrug or even the slightest glance in reply. Back then, it had been enough; there had been no need for him to force half-broken words from his unwilling throat...
'...will not be remembered as the man who lost this city to those vile creatures! Move forward with the final plan-- and finish off this... thing tonight.'
'As you wish,' the shorter man murmured as the Baron strode towards the exit-- then he turned back, fisting one hand in Jak's hair and pulling his head up, leaning in close until their faces were inches apart. 'I'll be back later,' Erol whispered, breath hot and foul against his captive's face...
The commander released him and his head dropped again, darkness clouding the edges of his vision; he could hear the man walking away, footsteps echoing in the vast darkness of the chamber... he recognised his tormenters by the sound of their footsteps yet he couldn't remember the faces of the villagers he had grown up with. He struggled against unconsciousness but only sank further into the eco-haze, his vision shot with now-familiar violet sparks...
...He was running, climbing before the rising tide, racing against dark foul-smelling liquid eco that threatened to engulf him. In another life, another time, he had made it out, had laughed it off afterwards. Now, he couldn't even remember what laughter felt like. The walls stretched above him to infinity, and his legs burned with the effort, and somewhere above him a chilling voice whispered, 'You cannot hide from me, boy...'
Footsteps returned from someplace far away, heavy boots ringing against the metal walkways. 'Well, eco freak, looks like this is it-- I finally get to finish you.' Cold slimy words, laced with a perverse sort of glee--
The monster loomed over him, its many yellow eyes flashing as its cruel laughter echoed in the dark. 'You will now play your final part...'
'Any last words?' Erol paused mockingly, giving him an opportunity to reply despite knowing he could not-- the oppressive eco-haze that followed the injections always stilled his tongue, silenced him; all he managed was a voiceless breath, hissing slightly as it passed his teeth. Erol smirked. 'Heh, I didn't think so.'
'Now that you've been altered with dark eco, you are nothing...'
A soft metallic sound cut through the stagnant air as Erol flicked a switchblade open; the wide demented grin spread across his face as he twisted gloved fingers into long green hair. 'I've been waiting for this, eco freak.'
'...there is no escape.'
The blade bit into his cheek but he hardly felt it against the burn of the dark eco in his blood; his veins were red-hot wires embedded in his flesh and every heartbeat drove fresh waves of agony through his body, pulsing faster and faster; the lights brightened and the shadows sharpened, their edges picked out in flickers of violet lightning--
He cried out, not a scream but a fierce growl that tore itself from his throat like a living thing; he tasted blood and eco and his head felt like it was splitting open. He twisted an arm and the metal at his wrist screeched as heavy bolts tore free-- his fist connected solidly with Erol's jaw; the force of the blow sent the commander flying and drove his own sharpened fingernails into his palm but he hardly noticed another small pain, throwing himself free of the thick shackles that could no longer hold him and crashing down on top of his tormenter.
Long black claws dragged over Erol's face, down across the brow before plunging deep into the eye socket; fluid burst around his fingers and screams other than his own echoed across the torture chamber, but he didn't feel so much as a flicker of remorse for his would-be killer. Dark eco and years of torture left no space for empathy or regret.
Erol still held the knife in his fist and aimed a strike at the prisoner's head-- a desperate and futile attack, as this was exactly the sort of creature he and Praxis had hoped to create when they first conceived their Dark Warrior Project; this was the vision that had inspired them to capture a frightened young eco channeler and subject him to two years of dark eco injections. They sought to create a supersoldier, a warrior of heightened strength and speed, a weapon to cut down metalheads as ordinary men could not.
They had succeeded, but their mistake had been thinking they would control the results.
Jak easily blocked Erol's wild strike, gripping the man's wrist with enough force to fracture bone. His other hand pressed down on Erol's shoulder, claws biting deep into the flesh. He wrenched the arm back and it tore free entirely, blood gouting over his hands and showering the walkway, the screams rising to a higher, sharper pitch.
He felt the footsteps of the approaching guards vibrating through the ground beneath his bare feet, heard their shouts but failed to parse the alarmed words; his mind was filtering out all information not immediately related to one single instinct, to fight, to survive. He rose to a crouch before springing at them, clubbing the nearest guard with Erol's severed arm and spinning to slam his foot through another's mask...
But he could feel that the eco was receding, strength bleeding back out of him as swiftly as it had come; it left him feeling hollow, empty. He clutched his pounding head with blood-slicked hands as half a dozen prison guards piled on him, pinning him to the ground. He struggled weakly against their grip as they held him down, one of them binding his arms securely behind his back.
'Commander, what do you want us to do with him?' The guards hauled Jak to his feet, turning him so he could see Erol-- a medic had applied a compress and some green eco to the mangled shoulder to staunch the worst of the bleeding, and he sat mostly upright, though he leaned heavily against the bank of equipment behind him. The right side of his face was pasty-white and the left was stained dark with blood from the now-empty eye socket.
'Take it back to its cell,' Erol snapped, but his usual arrogant air of command was gone; his remaining eye was wide with lingering terror, his voice pitched an octave higher than usual.
The guard shoved Jak forward; he stumbled and coughed, spitting out blood he wasn't sure was entirely his. He ducked a second shove and looked back at Erol, his gaze calm and level. 'What're... y'so 'fraid of, commander?' he asked softly, smiling as the rage spread across Erol's face-- for once it didn't matter if he slurred the words or pronounced the vowels slightly off; he had already won this fight and they both knew it. 'Ssn't this what y'wanted?' He tossed his head to shake the hair from his eyes, grinning coldly. 'Or di'you r'lly think I'd follow orders like a good li'l pet monster?'
'You'll pay for this, eco freak!' Erol pulled free of the medic's grip, quickly overbalancing without support; the guards only just managed to catch him before his aborted attempt to lunge forward could tip him off the narrow walkway. 'We will break you! You're mine, do you hear?!' He ignored the medic's attempt to calm him, pointing at Jak maniacally. 'I'LL BREAK YOU!'
Jak shook his head, smile fading and voice dropping to a careful, halting whisper. 'You can try, but I'll never give you what you want.'
The guards finally dragged him away, Erol's deranged shouts trailing after them down the corridors. Jak's mind was clearer now than it had been in months, and he thought about his last moments outside-- the unfamiliar city, smoggy and hard-edged, filled with people who quickly looked the other way when red-armoured soldiers approached... Daxter had promised a rescue, but after all this time there had been no sign of his friend, and as much as he trusted Daxter, he had to acknowledge that a rescue was unlikely. For all he knew, Daxter had been captured as well and needed help as much as he did... he couldn't keep waiting on someone else to save him.
He tumbled back into the cell, glaring defiantly at the guards as the heavily barred door swung closed. Praxis might have twisted him into a dark eco channeler, a monstrous creature no better than the Acherons he'd once defeated, but he wouldn't give that bastard the satisfaction of being right. He refused to be their dark warrior, some chained attack dog for them to unleash upon their enemies. Anyone foolish enough to try would be the first to fall.
The weapon they had forced into him would be his best chance at fighting back... and he would take it, even if that meant accepting what he'd become.
---
Daxter had quickly learned that Haven City was not kind to stray animals-- not that he was an animal, thank you very much, but looks were all that mattered to most Havenites. If you were a human who had the misfortune of being two feet tall and fuzzy... well, everyone just assumed you were someone's exceptionally well-trained pet, which got you a lot of attention, and not the good kind. It was better to let people assume you were just a normal stray, because they usually didn't try as hard if they thought you were animal-stupid.
And with what seemed like half of Haven's entire population out to get him, Daxter needed all the help he could get. The pest control jerks and the Krimzon assholes would have been hard enough to deal with on their own, but of course the universe couldn't let him catch a break-- it was nearly impossible to find a safe place to sleep, leaving him in a constant state of exhaustion. He had to avoid fights with the city's actual strays, and tight rations among the lower classes meant that he was in constant danger of becoming some desperate slum-dweller's dinner.
He'd never stopped thinking of Jak, but plotting heroic assaults on enemy strongholds just wasn't possible when every day was a struggle to survive. Finding stability had proved necessary-- he couldn't have made his current plan without a safe place and a trusted ally, but knowing this didn't stop him feeling guilty for having taken so long. And even after setting himself up with connections and determining that Jak was most likely imprisoned at the Krimzon Guard fortress, it still took precious months to gather the required information and resources.
As much as Daxter liked to imagine himself making a daring rescue, he had quickly learned that a flashy entrance would just raise the alarm prematurely, and he had no illusions about the sort of chances a lone ottsel would have against Haven's entire army. A handful of pilfered maps and security passes combined with his small size ensured that sneaking in would be easy enough-- finding Jak and escaping unscathed was bound to be difficult, but he stubbornly refused to accept that it might be impossible. At least his new friend seemed to approve of that attitude, even if they both knew he was just putting on a brave face.
Once he was in, Daxter was almost disappointed with how easy it was to sneak around unnoticed-- the fortress had more than enough ducts and out-of-the-way corners to keep out of sight, and most of the time since his break-in was spent waiting for guards to look the other way so he could check prison logs for any sign of his friend. It might have been boring if he wasn't so tense; the records were lengthy and most of the prisoners he glimpsed looked like average civilians who didn't seem capable of doing anything bad enough to deserve this place.
The fortress definitely had a way of getting you down-- not that the KG seemed to agree. The conversations he listened in on were casual, joking and discussing bets on the racing tournaments, trading tales of bravado and commiserating over getting stuck with the least-coveted assignments. Must be nice, Daxter thought acidly, if getting stuck on sewer patrol was the greatest of your worries-- he wanted to see those babies try sleeping down there; then they'd actually have something to complain about...
If not for the regular shift changes, Daxter would have lost track of how long he'd been crawling around the prison's ductwork. As it was, he estimated it had been about three days-- he was tired and hungry and had walked through more cobwebs than he could count, and after searching the main cell block top to bottom there was still no sign of Jak. According to the records and his own observations, it seemed that the people held in the main levels were primarily short-term detainees awaiting sentencing, while Jak had been captured over two years ago.
He wouldn't let himself think that Jak might not be here anymore. He told himself that he'd known all along that Jak would be in the top-security sublevels, that there was nothing to worry about. Time to make use of his diversion-- some acquaintance of his friend's knew a guy who was pretty smart and had a job working with something called an 'eco grid', and while Daxter was a bit fuzzy on the details he understood that if he pressed the button on the little device he'd been given, something big and important would go up in smoke, something the KG couldn't ignore.
Daxter pulled the detonator out of the little pouch he wore like a backpack, feeling very dramatic as he pressed the button with a flourish. Boom, baby.
Nothing happened immediately, creating a pause just long enough for him to feel slightly anticlimatic... but then the lights went out and the fortress rapidly took on the appearance of a wumpbee nest turned on its head. KGs bumbled around, their comm units crackling with confusion and growing alarm. Ottsel eyes had superior night vision to human ones, and Daxter had little trouble slipping past the security checkpoint.
The sublevels were dark and eerily quiet after the commotion above. Daxter turned a corner to find himself in the prison block, rows of cells with heavy barred doors lining the walls. There obviously wasn't time to search them all; he'd just have to slip into the records office and search for Jak's processing entry... Piece of cake, right?
---
Sometimes he couldn't remember his own name-- sometimes the entire world narrowed to a tiny dark cell and the most basic instincts, fight and survive and escape. He fought whenever he was lucid enough to break the chains and doors and red-armoured forms that stood in his way, fought with single-minded determination even when he only half-remembered why.
And sometimes in the dark echoing quiet he imagined he heard a familiar voice, calm and light-hearted, rattling off complaints to cover the secret secondary meaning that everything would be okay, they'd both be fine, because the voice would never complain if anything was really truly wrong. The voice wouldn't want him to worry. Other people thought the voice was annoying, but they didn't understand.
He fought through the haze, fought until the sheer numbers overpowered him. Fought blindly and wordlessly against a force he couldn't hope to overcome, broken champion for the voice that was never really there. It no longer mattered what was real, no longer mattered as long as he never surrendered, never gave That Man what he wanted. He had to struggle just to understand what they said, and only bothered because he had to know what they wanted if he was going to continue defying them.
He feared that if he ever stopped fighting he would lose himself entirely, lose the final vestiges of his sanity and free will. He feared losing the only thing he had left, the memory of a long-lost voice--
...A voice that was suddenly close and so impossibly real it hurt, echoing faintly against cold metal walls: 'Find Jak, I said. Can't be too hard, I said...'
He lifted his head and flexed his arms against the heavy chains. Here we go again...
---
Daxter was painfully aware that every wasted second was valuable time he couldn't afford to lose, and he wished a million curses on whatever KG architect had designed this damn prison and its absurd cell-numbering system. Nothing seemed to go in any sort of order, and he hadn't seen a single sign to help him find his way. It was a wonder the KGs could navigate this place without getting hopelessly lost, given the average level of intelligence they displayed.
By contrast, the records had been shockingly well-organised-- it had been easy to scan the processing dates during the correct timeframe, and while most of the entries didn't include names they all included estimated ages, and there was only one entry within the correct range of dates young enough to be Jak. Very little information aside from a serial number prefixed 'DWP' (whatever that meant) and the cell designation. Which should have been perfect, except the cells seemed to be numbered entirely at random.
'Fuck you, prison-designers; fuck you with a red-hot yakkow prod. May your underpants be filled with a plague of sand-fleas.'
This place really stank, both literally and figuratively. As he progressed he'd noticed the subtle acidic scent permeating the cool, stagnant air... he didn't think he'd ever forget the smell of dark eco; not when it had clung to him for weeks after Misty Island, constantly affronting his newly hypersensitive nose. Years later, it still set his teeth on edge, which did nothing to improve his mood.
'Piece of cake? What a load of crap. There must be insanity in my fam--'
Daxter stopped in the middle of a corridor lined with unmarked doors that didn't look like regular cells-- the sharp eco smell had suddenly intensified, forcing him to stifle a sneeze. He wiped watering eyes on his forearm, noticing the flickers of violet light that were visible through the crack beneath the nearest door... and he could hear the clink of chains and something growling within.
He held his breath, staying very still-- the thing didn't sound human and he didn't know of any animals that could tolerate dark eco besides metalheads, and he'd heard enough stories about those creatures to know that he had absolutely no desire to meet one face-to-face. He supposed it probably-almost-definitely couldn't get out, but he waited until whatever-it-was quieted again before creeping forward, sticking close against the opposite wall just in case. He had nearly made it past the door when something struck it hard enough to leave a large dent in the inches-thick metal, the loud clang reverberating down the hall.
Daxter skipped back several steps, fur standing on end-- he raised his arms to shield himself as the second blow knocked the door almost completely off its hinges, a surge of violet lightning rolling from the room. 'Hey, watch it!' he yelped, an automatic response fuelled by panic and alarm.
The absurdity of that demand sunk in as the creature straightened and turned to stare at him, claws carving deep gouges in the doorframe... its shape was unmistakably human, clothed in a tattered prison uniform, but everything about it was deeply wrong-- its eyes were a uniform inky-black and dark eco energy crackled and danced along its bare arms. Jagged teeth and too-long canines were bared in a snarl, though the expression turned more neutral as its head tilted to the side. 'Hrr?'
'Ohhh Precursors,' Daxter said softly.
The prisoner looked half-starved, all bones and wiry muscles, but it must have been stronger than its thin frame indicated; Daxter couldn't forget the large dent it put in the door. It took a step towards him, and he raised his hands in what hopefully looked like a placating gesture. 'H-hey now... don't mind me, I'm just tryin' to find my buddy. You wouldn't happen to know where cell B-413 is, would you?'
He didn't expect an answer, didn't even expect the creature to understand, but as a child in a small rural village Daxter had quickly learned that most animals understood differences in tone even if the words were beyond them; perhaps this prison-creature would pick up on his calm tone as well. He held very still, watching as the pale figure blinked slowly and started to reach out a hand--
'Hey, did you hear something?'
'I don't know, check down that hall.'
The creature's head snapped up, twisting towards the voices as its lips curled back from jagged, razor-sharp teeth.
'No, wait, isn't that where they put the--'
A Krimzon Guard rounded the corner and froze instantly upon seeing the creature-- the faint glow from the emergency lights illuminated the slender figure, violet sparks flickering through wild white hair that framed a gaunt snarling face, its eyes like blank dark pits. This sort of encounter must have been every prison guard's worst nightmare.
The creature tensed as though to launch itself at the guard, but then dove towards Daxter instead, fingers closing around the ottsel's slender body. He gave a startled and rather undignified yelp, imagining how easily those claws would slice through fur and muscle, and twisted against the hand that would surely reduce his bones to splinters in a matter of seconds...
'Shit!' The guard fumbled his gun, hands clumsy with fear. 'Call for backup, it's--!'
But he didn't have time to finish before the prisoner reached him, an almost comically small figure ramming into the burly guard's side and tackling him to the ground, ripping the weapon from his hands and swinging it hard into his face-- the mask shattered with a crunch and the guard's scream was abruptly silenced.
The prisoner discarded the battered rifle and dropped to a crouch, and Daxter's brain finally caught up with the panic, realising that the clawed fingers might be wrapped around his middle but the creature's grip was only tight enough to hold him firmly in place, claws carefully out of the way. It-- he?-- moved slowly now, like a predator stalking prey, and Daxter noticed another staticky KG voice, realized that his captor was tracking down the second guard. That alone stopped him from speaking up; the guards were enemies while this prisoner... Daxter hadn't made up his mind yet. Maybe he understood more than Daxter first anticipated; maybe he could be persuaded to help find Jak...
The guy must have had pretty good night vision too, or maybe he used other senses to navigate in the dark, but the ease with which he jumped the second guard without being spotted told Daxter that his senses were beyond those of an ordinary human. The strike was quick and brutal, without hesitation or restraint, though there was also a certain degree of desperation to it, like a wild animal backed into a corner.
He paused over the guard's inert body, still and silent, listening for a long moment before straightening-- apparently having determined that there were no other enemies nearby. Daxter thought this might be a good time to speak up. 'So uh, hey, ya think you could put me down now, tough guy?' This seemed to catch his attention so Daxter continued. 'See, I gotta find my buddy-- maybe if you help I could point ya the right way out?'
The prisoner twitched, stepping back against the wall and scanning the hall leading back towards the cells. The lightning had faded, leaving him a pale ghost in the shadows.
Daxter fidgeted. 'Hey, you even understand what I'm sayin'?'
The prisoner's mouth pressed into a thin line, his eyes narrowing; he almost looked as though he was trying to communicate something, but then a shout and running footsteps echoed down the hall and his head snapped up again. He hesitated briefly, as though trying to determine the number of enemies from only the sound-- then he turned and fled in the other direction.
'Put me d--' Daxter began, but the man curled his arm to hold Daxter tightly against his bony chest, muffling the ottsel's voice in a shirt that reeked of a dozen different kinds of filth. He sputtered into silence, resigned to being carried around-- maybe the guy did know where Jak was, maybe that's where they were headed...
They passed into a large chamber lined with cells and the prisoner emitted a low growl that made Daxter jump and prompted him to twist against his captor's grip for a better look-- the centre of the room was dominated by wicked-looking machinery, hanging from the ceiling over a reclined chair with heavy cuffs along the arm and leg rests. 'Huh, that looks pretty messed up... and that smell, pyeww! Wonder what they were... actually, I take that back, I really don't wanna know.'
The prisoner hissed out a breath, skirting along the wall rather than taking the most direct path across the chamber, his gaze carefully averted from the chair. Lightning flickered through his hair and along his arms, and Daxter could feel him vibrating slightly with anger... or perhaps fear.
When the next guard to get in their way met a particularly grisly end, Daxter decided it was definitely safer to let that particular question go unasked.
Their path through the fortress's sublevels was erratic, often looping back on itself; the prisoner didn't seem to have any sense of direction aside from heading upwards at every opportunity. When he turned a corner and a walkway near the security checkpoint came into view, his intentions became alarmingly clear-- he was planning to break out of the prison, and he meant to bring Daxter with him whether the ottsel liked it or not.
Like hell if Daxter was going to let that happen.
He twisted in the man's grip, struggling to pull free. 'Oi you, prison guy! You gotta put me down; my buddy's still down there and I can't just--' The KGs ahead had spotted them, and the prisoner ran faster, directly towards the gap. 'Hey! Are you even listening to me? I said stop!'
But it was no use. Daxter bit his hand and dug claws into the wiry arm until the eco-taint in the prisoner's blood forced him to let go, yet the prisoner didn't so much as flinch. He crackled with dark eco as he threw one guard into the other; they fell in a clatter of armour as he leapt across to the walkway, hitting the ground with a roll and skidding to a stop near the wall, pausing to get his bearings--
Daxter reached up and smacked him across the face. An ottsel's strength definitely wasn't enough to hurt or even sting, but it caught his attention; he blinked down at Daxter, momentarily stunned. Daxter stared the prisoner in the eyes, his fear of the monster-man nothing compared to the horror of leaving Jak behind.
'Do you even know what you've done? My best friend's stuck in there and it's been over two years and this might've been my only chance to get him out...' Daxter sniffed loudly; if he noticed the hurt look on the prisoner's face he was too upset to care. 'I don't even know if he's still...' Daxter swallowed hard, rubbing his eyes. 'He's all I've got, the only family I ever had, and now I'll never--'
'There it is!' a guard yelled from behind. 'Call in more backup!'
'Wait, did that rat just talk?' the second muttered.
'Shut up and focus!' hissed a third. 'D'you want that thing to slit your--'
'Hold your fire!' the first shouted in response to several guns going off, the sharp pops bringing the prisoner back to the alert--
KG squads were converging from both ends of the hall and he lunged to the side to avoid the stray gunfire, rolling back to his feet as one of the shots struck an unlucky guard instead. He started to lift Daxter, the ottsel still fighting against his grip.
'What's your problem anyway, why can't you just leave me alo--'
But then the prisoner set Daxter down on his bony shoulder-- the left shoulder-- and Daxter froze, staring at a profile that was suddenly eerily familiar, from the flat nose to the way the ears did that odd little twist at the ends... no, no it can't be, that's not...
A guard with captain's stripes on his armour cocked his gun. 'Surrender, demon! There's no escape; we've got you surrounded.'
'You really think that thing can understand you, Sir?' someone mumbled from behind.
'Of course not,' he snapped back. 'But that's not the--'
Daxter's fingers tightened on the grimy fabric under his hands. '...Jak?'
A broad smile spread over his face, exposing jagged teeth; anyone else might have found the expression menacing but to Daxter it felt like home, even if everything else about that face was wrong. Jak rubbed fingers over Daxter's shoulders as he straightened, staring down the captain as though he wanted to make sure the man was watching-- then he slowly lifted his hand, middle finger raised.
The guards froze, unsure what to make of the gesture coming from a creature they had assumed to be a mindless animal-- Jak took advantage of their hesitation, launching straight at the KGs blocking the walkway before any of them could react. Violet lightning arced out from his body to strike the nearest guards, and they screamed and dropped around him, sparks playing over their armour.
Guards on all sides began firing in a panicked frenzy, many of them swearing loudly or shouting taunts; Jak moved quickly enough that most of the eco blasts struck other KGs, though a couple shots managed to hit him. Daxter leaned over to examine the wounds, but while they bled sluggishly they seemed to be nothing more than light grazes, and Jak continued fighting as though he hadn't even noticed them.
But for every guard he killed or incapacitated, there were plenty more as backup, and the KG grew angrier and more reckless with each fallen comrade. One guard charged Jak while he was distracted, ramming his shockstick into the prisoner's side-- the momentum carried them both into the wall and Jak let out a pained grunt even as dark eco crackled over his skin, sparks jumping the length of the weapon.
The eco-shock forced his attacker to drop the gun with a curse and Jak kicked away from the wall, plunging claws into the guard's stomach... but his other hand was curled painfully over his own ribs and every ragged breath hurt like hell. He stumbled forward and slammed a fist into the ground, the shockwave catching several KGs and throwing them off the walkway. The damaged platform crumbled under his feet as he started running again; several more guards plummeted into the pit below as he made a final leap for the far side, his gore-encrusted claws just barely catching the edge, carving grooves into the platform as he hauled himself back up.
There were only a few guards left on this side of the gap, bright red blurs through the haze of pain; he bit it back and shoved past them, knowing his strikes were weak and they'd get back up, but the corridor ahead was clear and he ran, his vision narrowing...
And then Daxter's voice started again, the familiar weight on his left shoulder warm and solid, assuring him that this time his friend was undeniably real. 'Left, Jak, go left here!... Hey check that KG box, there might be green eco inside... Alright, just gotta climb these ledges, nice and easy...'
Every step sent jarring pain through his chest and his breath came fast and shallow, but Daxter's voice helped him focus, kept him going. He didn't understand how Daxter knew where to go, but he trusted his friend and the pain and eco-haze made complicated thoughts impossible to manage. Just do as he says, and everything will be fine...
He felt the air change, a damp breeze that tasted like machine oil and garbage blowing across his face; it wasn't clean or particularly fresh but it was better than the sterile, faintly chemical smell of prison air. He didn't need Daxter's guidance to climb towards the opening and jump down to the street below-- the rough broken concrete was still damp from recent rain, the early morning sky overcast. Jak straightened and took it all in, not entirely convinced he wasn't dreaming and afraid that the illusion might shatter in an instant.
For a moment, he could ignore the stabbing pain in his ribs and the wailing sirens, the stink of human waste and the hum of zoomers passing overhead. It didn't matter that they were still in the city, still in danger, and deep down he knew it was too late to escape the poison Praxis had forced into him-- but after months of fighting he was finally free, and for the moment that was enough.