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The low humming of chattering voices is starting to become grating. The lights are too bright, blaring like the desert sun. Glasses clink and beer spills, the smell pouring into the air, with the sweat and lingering scent of cigarette smoke. The patrons of the Bloody Hook roar with cheer, slam fists on tables, push back chairs, the legs scraping against the timber floors. Somewhere a glass shatters, someone yells. Feet stomp and GT Blitz’s smug voice booms from the TV. Another day of racing over, another victory won, another knife aimed at his throat.
Burying his face in his hands, Jak tries to silence the noise that rises around him, as thunderous as a storm. The persistent ache between his eye’s flares, radiating through his skull, sending electric jolts down the back of his neck. Blitz’s voice claws at his brain, white-tooth smile flashing in his mind, cameras flashing, lights flashing. Jak’s stomach clenches, churning in protest against the bitter beer and what little he ate today.
He hears his own voice drift through the din, words short and clipped, tone sharp and gravelled. It’s almost unrecognisable, almost painful to hear. Jak doesn’t like the person Kras City is forcing him to become. Though it’s easy to blame the city, blame Blitz and Krew and Razor, when in truth, this twisted anger, this burning rage isn’t unfamiliar. Jak just thought it was over, that he’d outgrown the reckless, angry hero. For a time, Jak was happy, was better. He worked hard to reach those milestones, now he’s sitting in a dingy bar, in a city built of blood and lies, feeling like the world is about to come apart.
Not the entire world, for once its survival isn’t hanging in the balance, resting upon young shoulders, but if he fails then the world might as well stop spinning. If he doesn’t win the Grand Prix, then he’ll lose everything. His best friend, the love of his life, the mix-matched friends who are more like family. Their lives are in his hands, and no matter how tight he holds on, he still feels them slipping away. Tension, animosity and uncertainty brews between them, testing their limits, pushing them to breaking point.
At least, even within all this chaos and looming threats of death, his love for Keira, renewed and old as time, remains strong. Her love is a burning light fighting against the approaching dark. Ashelin has withdrawn, and Torn wears a layer of thorns. Daxter is panicked, Samos is grave, and Jaks so many fucking things it would take all night to label them. But Keira hasn’t been dulled by fear, silenced by threats. She has remained strong, dignified, facing their uncertainty with grace and unrelenting optimism.
She trusts him to save them, to save her, like he always does. This time feels different, though. He feels different. It’s not the first time he’s been fuelled by rage, lashing out and acting recklessly. When he lifts his heavy head, eyes meeting the reflection in the aquarium, he can barely recognise the person staring back. The young man in the glass looks ill, tormented, on the cusp of collapse.
Jak closes his eyes against the sight, headache flaring to the point of maddening. God, he feels sick. Sick to his stomach, to the soles of his feet. The chatter, the blaring TV, the clink and crunch and thud blend into a jumbled mess of deafening sounds and for a dizzying moment he thinks he might scream. Might lose control. He could end this, could tear through this city like a hurricane, cutting down anyone and everything in his path. Razor and his goons wouldn’t stand a chance against his dark powers. He could paint the town red, end every crime boss with one strike. He could plunge Kras City into chaos, soak it with blood, scatter it with bones.
Shuddering at the gruesome imaginary, Jak shoves the twisted thought deep down, locking it up where the dark things go. This city is making a monster of him or is awakening the one that was made long ago, in a different city, by different men, with different intentions. The pain throbs between his eyes, pressure building like his head is being squeezed by a vice. Precursor's it hurts. He should just leave, just go back to the garish motel room, strip off his racing gear and crawl into bed. But he can’t leave, he’s waiting for Keira.
They haven't spent much time together recently - outside fixing the Road Blade in the garage and sharing fleeting need driven moments together in the privy of their hotel room. The final race looms, an axe hanging above their heads, and each day, each minute the fear grows. Tonight is meant to be a temporary escape, a quiet pause to whatever madness the following day brings. Jak got Keira into this mess, bought her to this wild city of crime and chaos, the least he could do is take her on a nice date.
Their time together is precious. The clock is ticking, counting down the seconds, bringing them closer to the inevitable ending.
Pain tugs at his chest, body filling with a sinking feeling of dread. Head falling back into his hands, breath hitching with the effort of holding back a strangled cry, Jak falls deeper into despair. Pain thuds between his eyes, nerves burn and twitch like livewires, muscles and tendons straining. The noise swells, footsteps, raised voices, a song screeching from the jukebox. The pressure crescendo’s, fighting, a shuffle, another crash. Blunt nails dig into pounding temples, veins strumming with eco. He’s about to snap, break.
“Jak?”
His name drifts to him, carried above the clash of sounds, settling on his skin like a warm embrace, seeping deep into his bones, allowing him to swim, rise, resurface. Inhaling stale air, opening tired, burning eyes, Jak turns to the right, finding Keira at his side. The pain stops. Everything stops, and for a heartbeat of a moment, he is left in a pocket of time where it’s just him and the girl he loves. Keira is the only thing tethering him to sanity, the only colour and clarity he can see.
Precursor’s she is beautiful. She’s all dressed up in frills and glittery sequins. Is a splash of shimmering colour and softness standing out in a world of grey harshness. He wants to sink into her embrace, hold her tight, tight enough that nothing and no one could ever tear him from her arms. He wants to smile at her, reassure her that everything is okay, he is okay, they will be okay, but then there is a thunderous crash, the collapse of something big mixed with the break of something delicate.
The night rushes back in, angry and loud and bright. Jak scrunches his eyes shut against the blinding light, pain searing through his head. For a dizzying moment, Jak thinks he’s going to be sick, that he’s going to crumble to the sticky bar floor, shattered pieces gathering with the remains of peanut shells and ash. Jak swallows the burning bile and locks his joints together. He cannot show weakness, not here, not with so many watching, waiting, preying eyes. He needs to leave, go somewhere quiet and dark, shed his layers until he finds himself again.
“Jak.”
Keira’s voice calls to him again, name loaded and heavy with a dozen unspoken things. Her hands are on his skin, his clothes, touching and encouraging him up from the wonky bar stool. Her hand is in his, her petite frame pressed close, supporting his weight, guiding him out into the night. The noise of the Bloody Hook falls away, growing fainter with each step taken. The night air is cool and crisp, smelling strongly of fumes, faintly of the ocean.
He views the streets through watery eyes, the edges of his vision shimmering and distorting. Every step feels like a knife between his eyes, every hitch of breath adding tension to the already tightly coiled muscles in his neck. Keira holds onto him, anchoring him to the city so the icy wind that rolls in from the ocean cannot blow him away. The gleaming hotel that has become their home away from home rises in the distance, a hulking form of lights and glass.
The building is made of sharp angles that jut out against the darkening sky, is cold and metallic compared to Jak’s cosy apartment back in Haven. Kras is a city of high gloss buildings made of large panels of glass and winking metals. Apart from the ocean, there is truly little nature to be found within the concrete confines of the city. It’s miles away from the familiar streets of Haven, from the lush depths of Haven Forest and the scorching sands of the desert.
Jak feels no eco here, feels no comfort in the breeze, no peace watching the sun set over the ocean. Perhaps it’s just the worry, the unrelenting stress and daily threats of death that have numbed him to these things. Maybe it’s something else, something sinister lurking in the shadows, something overlooked. Shuddering, Jak feels the pain intensify, making him sway, vision swim. Keira keeps him steady, guiding him the last few feet to the hotel lobby.
“Almost there, Jak.”
Her words rise above the hushed sounds of the lobby. As they make their way to the elevators - which have doors made of shiny, perfect marble - Jak can feel eyes following them. He is not unaccustomed to the judgement of others, to the prickle of curious and sometimes fearful gazes. He is the talk of the town. Tales of his adventures and heroics swirling through the streets, name hot on everyone’s lips. They want to know who he is, want to uncover his secrets and regrets, turn over every stone and bleed every source. They whisper, and they assume, tell lies that sell and spin tales that make attention-grabbing headlines. He is becoming dangerously close to feeling like a puppet, Blitz pulling his strings, greedy hands replacing those of the men who used to have hold of him.
The rage quivers deep inside, dark eco crackling, pulsating to the point of painful. The marble elevator doors part and Jak throws himself in before the anger boils over. In his blind haste, he collides with the mirrored panelled wall, deflating, wrecked. The coolness of the glass is pleasant against the heat of his skin, soothing, calming. The floor lurches, elevator surging up, up, up. Stomach rolling, heart fluttering, Jak forces himself to take several deep breathes, teetering dangerously, on the edge collapse.
“Jak, hey, talk to me.” Keira is at his side, hands travelling from his back to his tense shoulders.
“I’m fine,” he said through clenched teeth. “Just need to lie down for a bit.”
“You are not fine,” Keira objected. “Do I need to get father? Are you hurt?”
“No.” He glances at her, face still seeping the coolness from the mirrored wall. “It’s just a headache. Nothing some sleep won’t fix.”
Keira looks unconvinced, emerald eyes glistening with concern under knitted brows. Jak thinks she might insist they seek her father's help, but then the doors are parting, revealing the pristine white walls of the tenth-floor hallway. Keira takes Jak by the hand once more, helping him the last few feet to their hotel room door. Once inside, she leads him to the bedroom, helping him to strip off his layers. The jacket comes first, discarded by the door, goggles, that feel like a vice on his head, gone next, placed safely on the nightstand.
Gloves are carelessly tossed aside, boots unlaced and kicked off in different directions. The layers fall away, the carefully constructed image of a fearless racer coming undone. Stripped, skin and scars bared to the night, Jak collapses onto the bed, exhausted, boneless.
His head is spinning, bursts of bright lights flashing behind closed lids. Smile for the cameras, grin like a winner, say something heroic. The pain intensifies, seizing every muscle and tendon. Jak groans, scrunching the expensive cotton sheets between his shaking fingers. The mattress dips, calloused fingers inspecting the sensitive skin at the base of his neck. A low hiss escapes past his clenched teeth as Keira discovers a painful knot in the curve between his shoulder and neck.
“Sorry,” she said, planting a kiss to the tender spot, “but I’ve gotta massage it out, think you can handle it?”
“Look who you’re talking too?” he murmured, cracking open an eye to peer up at Keira. The slight motion leaving his stomach-churning. The flare of pain, causing him to shudder.
“That bad, huh?”
“I’ve definitely felt better,” he replied, reaching blindly for Keira’s hand, finding her thigh instead, “but I’ll be okay,” he reassured. “It’s just a headache.”
Keira sighed, her worry thickening in the air. Even behind closed lids, Jak could see her worried expression, brows furrowed over troubled eyes, lips curved in thought as she circled through what step to take next. A moment later the bed shifts, Jak’s fingers clutching at the rumpled covers, missing Keira’s warmth. There is the sound of rustling, the sense of movement, a drawer being opened and closed then Keira is back at his side.
The sweet scent of lavender and the earthy aroma of green eco fill the room, tugging free memories of colourful spring days and golden afternoons after thunderstorms. The smell of home seeps into aching muscles, massaged in by nimble fingers. Keira works at the knots in his shoulders, skilled fingers kneading away the tension. Jak tries to say, ‘I'm sorry,’ tries to say, ‘I need to tell you something,’ but his tongue is thick and dry in his mouth, the words refusing to come out.
Later, he will try to speak them later. For now, the darkness is rushing in, and for once he embraces it, letting it carry him away to a place and time where his friends are safe, and he's not hiding a terrible secret.
~X~X~X~
Jak wakes sometime later to the sound of running water. The frigid air smells heavily of lavender and sweat, the bed covers rumpled and twisted around his legs. The pain in his head is a dull throb, the ache in his neck and shoulders a faint whisper. He feels a little disoriented, a little sluggish. Untangling himself from the covers, he slowly sits up, giving the room a moment to right itself before placing his feet on the carpeted floor.
Unsteadily he rises, shuffling through the moonlit room, towards the source of the sound. Warm light flickers under the bathroom door with the murmurer of humming, Keira’s sweet voice puncturing the quiet of the night. Jak rests his forehead against the door, hesitant hand curling around the knob, heart hammering in time with the pounding of his head. Things between him and Keira were effortless before Kras. There were no doubts or fear, no impending death looming closer with each passing day.
Life had been good, hell, it had been normal, well as close to normal as Jak could tolerate. A life of stillness wasn’t something he sought. He was always running, moving and seeking the next great adventure. Jak needed action, a spike of adrenaline to keep the wild thing inside him tamed. If it weren’t for Keira, he’d float away. He was a reckless kite swept up willingly in hurricane winds, Keira was his tether, the one able to reel him back when he drifted too far.
Her steady grace, her positivity and gentleness guiding him back home, no matter how far he strayed. Keira is his light, his lifeline, and in a few short weeks, if he fails, her life could be snuffed out. Her red string of fate, which bound them together, severed. And it would be his fault. He’d have to live without her, without everyone. Their lives are in his hands and his need for adventure, his curiosity, is what put them there. It should have been obvious that Krew would still cause trouble, even after death. He should have torn up the letter, burned the remains. Daxter wanted him too, but Jak was getting a little restless, was wanting something new to chase.
Regret collects like an old friend, weighing him down, bringing tears to his eyes. He scrunches his eyes shut against the sting, fingers curling tightly around the knob, the metal bending under the pressure. Suspended in a churning sea of self-loathing and fear so immense it feels like it will swallow him whole, Jak teeters dangerously close to losing control. One light of a match, one wrong word, one invading touch, and up he’d go. Dark eco skitters beneath his skin, an electric undercurrent that burns and sears, forcing teeth to grind, the tension fuel for his headache.
All that he can think, all he can feel in this moment is anguish, is grief for a loss that hasn’t happened. It’s his fault. It’s all his fault.
Then the doorknob twist in his hand, scattering the dark eco, the choking cloud of grief. Jak steps back, trying to arrange his expression into something that doesn't look desolate and haunted. A rush of sweet-smelling steam billows into the room, settling on Jak's shivering skin. Keira stands before him, naked, skin glistening in the golden light. She smells like roses and wine, smiles like everything is okay, and this is just another ordinary night.
She takes his hands, her touch calming the hurricane within. Jak deflates, allowing Keira to pull him into the bathroom, over to the spa bath that is filled almost to the brim with rose-scented water and shimmering bubbles. Striping off his last article of clothing, Jak steps in, muscles relaxing as he sinks into the warm water. Tilting his head back, he gazes up at the marble ceiling, watching the candlelight sparkle on the chunks of glitter.
“I could get used to this,” Keira said, sighing.
Jak lowered his gaze, lips curling into a smile at the sight of Keira submerged in bubbles, sipping contently at a glass of wine. “Yeah, I think we’re going to have a hard time getting Daxter to leave this place.”
“Krew might have been a bastard, but at least he had good taste.” Keira raised her glass, the pink liquid sloshing about, then took another sip. “May he rest in pieces.”
Despite the pain clouding his head and the regret collecting in his chest alongside the fear, a genuine laugh burst from Jak’s lips. The dangerous, violent world of combat racing felt miles away, death threats and flashing cameras held back by candlelight and rose-scented steam. This moment belonged to them, this room was their pocket of safety, and as long as they stayed here, submerged in this expensive marble tub, everything would be all right.
At least for a heartbeat of a moment, before Keira’s glistening gaze darkened and the candles flickered, spell broken as quickly as it was cast.
“Jak…” Keira stretches out his name, layering it with a thousand unspoken things, lacing it with love and concern. “Talk to me, please?" She moves closer, he gravitates towards her, pulled right into her orbit. “What's going through that mind of yours?" she asked, tapping gently at his temple.
"Besides a killer headache, constantly worrying about death threats.” He lists, edging around the truth. “And winning races?”
“Besides that.” Her tone is unwavering, her determination chipping at Jak’s walls.
His heart stutters in his chest, breath catching in his throat as he forces out, "I'm just under a lot of pressure.”
"I know you are, love, but this is different.” She paused, running her fingers through Jak's shortly cropped hair. “You're pulling away again, I can feel it.”
That does it, the walls crack and tumble, defences smashed to pieces by the pain in Keira’s voice. Jak lowers his gaze, stomach knotting as the secret he’s held so close starts to work its way up his throat. “I’m… I wasn’t…” the words, sharp and bitter, finally free themselves. "I'm not poisoned." He should say more, explain that he isn't a hundred per cent sure as he never underwent tests to confirm this - and no one pushed him when he refused blood samples to prove Krew wasn't lying about the poison - but Keira deserves better than excuses and half-truths. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I should have told you sooner, I just… I was ashamed.” He closed his eyes against the sting of tears, feeling flayed open. “I am ashamed.”
“Jak.” Keira cups his chin in the crock of her fingers, encouraging him to lift his head, open his eyes. “It’s not your fault.”
Logically he knows this. Any injury, from a papercut to a gaping slash from a marauders blade, is healed by the light eco. Yet his heart carries guilt all the same. “I know… but…” words stick to his tongue, voice uneven and unsure even after all these years of use. “I feel like I’ve betrayed you and Dax. I am fine; meanwhile, everyone I care about is slowly dying." Dying it tastes like ash in his mouth, tugs at the jagged edges of his heart, tearing out grief. “I hate that I can’t fight my way out of this. I hate myself for letting us come here.”
“Jak, hey, this isn’t your fault,” Keira repeats, voice full of conviction. “We all agreed to come here. I was just as curious as you. Admittedly, we made a terrible choice, but we made it together.” She seals her words with a kiss, lips tasting of wine and strawberries. “And Jak, it’s not just on you to save us. Not this time. We’re in this together, you don’t have to carry this alone.” She places a hand over his heart, thumb stroking at the scarred flesh there. “We’re a team, remember?”
Jak deflates, strings of guilt and shame unravelling by by Keira’s words. By her love. He leans forward, resting his forehead against hers. “I can't bear the thought of losing you.”
“And I can’t stand the thought of losing you.” Her voice catches, trembles. “I know you are willing to do whatever it takes to win the antidote, but it’s not worth it if we lose you in the process.”
“Keir.” He takes her face into his hands. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“I know you’re protected by the light and dark eco.” Anguish contorts her face, dulling the sparkle in her eyes. "But you are not indestructible.” Her fingers curl into a fist above his heart. “You need to stop being so reckless. Mizo isn’t playing around.”
“And neither am I,” he replied gruffly. “Mizo doesn’t scare me, I’ve faced worst.”
“He scares me.” Keira snaps, breaks, poise and grace, determination and optimism faltering, falling into the cooling water with her tears. “I’m terrified, Jak. Of him, of Razor, of this entire God-awful city.”
“Keira.” Jak’s heart clenches painfully in his chest, hands moving from her face to wind around her quivering frame, pulling her in for a hug. “I won’t let anyone hurt you, I promise.”
“And I won’t let you die for me,” she declared, words whispered against his skin. “So, please be careful, Jak. Please.”
The ache in his chest swells, voice catching in his throat as he says, “I will.” He’s been so consumed by anger and self-loathing that it’s spilled into self-destruction. It has blinded him to Keira’s anguish. It tugs at the remnants of guilt, threatening to blow them into a fire, but he’s spent enough time throwing himself a pity party. He can’t undo what’s been done and, as much he would like to, he can’t fight his way out of this. Their only hope is to win, and their only chance at winning is to survive the blood-thirsty competition.
It’s not going to be easy; danger and death lurk at every turn. Mizo and his men are everywhere, they watch from the shadows, are faceless spectres hiding on the other side of a lens. Every stranger passing by on the streets, the hotel hallways, could be working for Mizo. Anyone could pull out a gun or brandish a knife, and in the space of a heartbeat snuff out a life. It could be Keira’s, it could be Daxter, it could be his.
They are far from home, in a city out for their blood and the people he loves have poison coursing through their veins. Until now Jak hasn’t given much attention to the fear festering under his skin, has allowed rage and a reckless determination take centre stage, but now, in the late hours of the night, Jak lets the fear rise. And he is utterly terrified. For Keira, the love of his life. For Daxter, his best friend. For Torn and Ashelin, his mentors and guardians, and for himself.
Jak bows his head, letting the fear crest over him, scattering the guilt and calming the rage. Fear unpacks a home in his chest, but it does not weaken him, does not paralyse him, it gives him strength. Jak lifts his head, renewed determination burning brightly through him. He’s going to win, he’s going to save Keira’s life, but he’ll do his damn best to make sure he survives too. There is life waiting for him at the end of all this, a girl that loves him, and she’s sitting before him, eyes glistening, cheeks and nose rosy from a combination of heat, wine and tears.
Jak’s mouth curls into a small smile, right hand reaching out to brush away a stray tear as he asks, "are you okay?"
“Yeah, I'm okay,” she replied, mirroring Jak’s smile, though it’s a little lopsided. “I've just had a little too much wine.” She smooths her pruned fingers over his brows, droplets of water sliding down his nose. “How's your head?”
“Better.” He takes her hand, bringing it to his lips, kissing her fingertips. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner, about the poison."
“Honestly, it had crossed my mind,” she admitted, squeezing Jak’s hand, “but I figured you’d tell me when you were ready.”
“Oh.” His smile falters, gaze lowering to rest with the cooling water. “I still should have told you.”
“Jak, it’s okay.” Keira leans forward, kissing the tip of his nose. “You’re not the only one who was holding a secret.”
Jak looks up, meeting Keira’s eyes, the flames from the candles make them glow and glimmer like green eco. Even after all these years, he’s still disarmed by her beauty, spellbound, breathless. For the last few weeks Keira’s been terrified, which she masked behind flirtatious smiles and fluttering lashes. She distracted Jak from her pain, her fears, with charm and flattery. Put on a brave face, day after day, to keep his spirits high.
“You don’t have to hide your fears, Keira.” He tilts his head forwards, capturing her lips in a gentle kiss, tasting her tears on his tongue. “It’s okay to be afraid. I am.”
“I know.” She sighed. “But we’re going to be okay.” She placed her hands on his shoulders, fingers lacing a crown behind his neck. “I believe in you, Jak. I believe in us. We’re going to win this thing, together.” She speaks with absolute faith, with unwavering conviction. “And Jak, remember, it’s not on you to save everyone, not this time,” she continued. “You can let go of the guilt you’re carrying, my love. It’s not your fault, any of it.”
Tears sting Jak’s eyes, something painful and sharp tugs in his chest, a cord made of shame and guilt ripped free. Jak feels a shift, a release that takes the air from his lungs. He feels lighter, feels the water a little warmer and sees the flames a little brighter. Hope is bursting back to life, beating like a wild thing in his chest. The stranger he's become shatters under Keira's words, chased away by her fingertips and sweet kisses.
Fear still resides within, but it's claws no longer dig in deep enough to draw blood, to awaken callousness and rage. Keira’s right, though she’s always is, they’re going to win. They’re going to make it out of this alive and go home with one hell of a story to tell when they get old, together. Bathed in a golden light, in the arms of the girl he loves, Jak decides that when this is over, and they’re home safe and sound, he is going to ask Keira to marry him.
Right now, in this fleeting moment, with words still caught in his throat, Jak draws Keira in, pouring his heart and soul into a searing kiss, promising to be careful. Vowing to stay alive.