I hold on to the railing as the machinery begins to rise, gripping it so hard my knuckles turn white. “How is that supposed to make me feel better?” I ask quietly.
“It's not,” he flat lined, “I don't know what's going on around here, but I don't think the Baron was exactly... charitable to our good old Jakky boy.”
“Oh.” My voice is even smaller than before.
The platform comes to a stop in a foreboding chamber completely made of steel, and I see a familiar figure clad in a pale green prisoner's outfit.
“Ding ding, third floor! Body chains, roach food, torture devices,” Daxter calls out, stepping onto the metal floor.
I follow him, but try to keep my distance from the unconscious man strapped down under a bunch of equipment. Daxter does the exact opposite, leaping up to land right on his chest.
I wince, but the man doesn't seem to notice.
“Hey buddy,” Daxter begins talking, “You seen any heroes around here?”
For a second I think he's being serious, but his next statement makes me realize that both of us know the person that's being held down.
The orange ottsel's ears droop. “Jak, it's me... Daxter!” In response, his eyes flutter open for a second. “That's a fine hello,” Daxter snaps, placing both hands on his hips.
It was hard to realize it at first, but I see it now. His hair still has the telltale yellow, albeit with green at the roots and on his newly grown goatee. Not to mention he looks awfully skinny. I shouldn't be surprised, jails don't exactly give their hostages luxury care, but I'm still shocked by how weak he looks.
I turn away, partiall...
... middle of paper ...
...d encouraged me to look to another familiar face for the relationship that I wanted. …......................
As I climbed down the rocks, I could hear her voice projected out onto the sea, carrying a light tune.
“Don't mind the wind or the rolling sea
The weary nights never trouble me
But the hardest time in a sailor's day
Is to watch the sun as it sinks away”
She reaches down to the water with one hand and uses her pointer finger to trace shapes on the surface, then continues to hum. I want to ask her the rest of the words, but something inside of me is afraid of interrupting her moment.
I wait for some time longer, debating on whether or not to speak up. Just as I'm about to say something, Hannah turns to look behind her and immediately ceases her hymn. Her body goes rigid, as if she's building up the brick wall inside of her, but a second later she relaxes .
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