Disclaimer: Not mine. The end. Original Characters are mine.

As is often the case when I have experience about the subject matter, this got a little long. Animals can survive internal temperatures of one hundred and eight, but not for extended periods of time. My roommate is an EMT and advised me on what you'd expect with a more human patient. Should you really wish, you can google unfamiliar terms, but I think most are either explained or common sense.

Mind the super tiny hint of a major spoiler in that game.

Comments are always welcome.

Doctor's Orders

By, Nicole Silverwolf

The late afternoon sun shone warm and bright through the archways of the medical house, bathing everything in rich red gold. Sounds of attendants straightening up punctuated the air along with quiet breathing from patients as they rested. Towards the end of the truncated room, two men recovering from wounds played an intricate strategy based card game.

The loud crackle of radios equipped on all the vehicles of Spargus startled the newer healer apprentices. Most seasoned workers however, barely flinched. An older man, worn from battles and far beyond his prime leaned forward in his seat to press a button.

"Go ahead Kliever." The dispatcher's voice had the practiced detachment and mild concern that only came from many calls in the past.

"'ey. Givin you blokes a heads up in da ER. We found live ones out wit tha beacon today. We'll be bringin' em back wit us. One boy, prolly late teens, an orange rat, 'bout the size of a kanga, and a monkaw."

An eyebrow split by scars, arched slightly in mild interest. It'd been a long time since anything living had been found when a beacon was picked up. Actually, it'd been a long time since one had been picked up at all. Well over a year at least.

Another beep as he depressed the receiver to respond. "Your ETA?"

Static grumbled across the line for a moment, and then an acknowledgment. "Maybe ten minutes. Better have some medics down here, or Doc Rian. They're alive, but Damas doesn't think it'll be fer much longer if they don't get help."

"Got it. We'll have a team down. Base out." He flagged the doctor.

"Jayen. What's on its way?"

"Three criticals, coming in with Damas' crew. Need transport and a full team at gate. ETA ten max, six if Lord Damas is driving. Man's more reckless than half of Haven."

The woman glanced over a group of medics eagerly eavesdropping, and motioned them away to prep for trauma. Slow had been an understatement for the last few days and these people were itching for some action. Two of the more experienced medics she pointed towards the door. "Nixon, your crew's going; get moving. Take Rik's team for backup."

"Kliever also said to request a doc down there ma'am. Specifically you according to Damas."

Critical dark brown eyes met his own deep gray ones in confusion.

"For newbies?" she asked.

Jayen shrugged faintly. "Maybe it's more than what we think."

The older woman sighed. "Get two-ways on the medics and just send them. Not much I'll be able to do in the field that they can't."

The man nodded ruefully, already half turned back to the desk. "Got it."


The Spargus gates were huge metal contraptions ingeniously designed very soon after the city became more than a huddled outpost of refugees.

Dusty sand kicked violently around as five medics waited between the doors that formally led to the city. A major sandstorm had appeared on the horizon and the men knew what was coming. Most were loosening pieces of cloth and the like to filter the worst particles away.

A sharp whine was all that was heard before the eco hydraulics that actually powered the gates drew them apart.

Damas was back. Though, according to the gate's computers, several men were still outside the city. The weather would dictate that at least a few of his party would have to return to the desert to retrieve them before the brunt of the storm hit.

The tall leader of Spargus was out of the vehicle first, his large boomstick waving the medics forward. Two of them took the lead, tough ex-KGs marked with tattoos but lacking the armor of their once stations.

"Medics! Now! Where is the doctor?" Damas' voice was commanding as always, and gruffly irritated as it often was too.

"Doc's miked in to us sir," the oldest man said even as he passed by the huge king and leapt onto the vehicle's roll cage.

"Jayen was supposed to let you know. Doc's back at the House. If we need to we can get info to her over comm." He crouched down in the back seat and started to check critical vitals methodically. "Geez, kid's young. Probably why he's still alive at all."

The others were moving around professional. One was removing the tiny rat from a side compartment to assess separately. His breathing was labored and body so rigid he was nearly spasming. A third was dealing with the monkaw, who seemed to have suffered the least of the group. Surprising considering he was a bird.

"This' a lucky bastard. Got under som shade 'e did," Kliever informed them.

"Alright, get him out of this and on stretcher," the KG bent down to take the teenager under the arms and lift him over the seat. "I want a temp on him right here. Get an IV in him; Rik get that crap off his arms and get me a decent vein."

The other former KG, featuring a heavily damaged ear hopped up to help maneuver the kid out. Passed a white pack of cooling solution to him, which was shoved under the kid's neck.

"How's the rat?"

"Hard to say. Never seen this kind of anatomy before."

"But," Nixon pressed impatiently. Zell wasn't the brightest of their bunch, but was steady in a pinch. Usually prized in such high stress situations. Right now though, he needed snap assessments.

"Mild to moderate hypertensity. Heatstroke minimally. Probably your top priority," the man concluded solidly after a moment.

"Alright, bolus 50ccs in him SQ right now. Get some alcohol on his ears, and get a temp. Keep an eye on the critical vitals, I don't wanna compromise his airway."

Damas was circling them again, having sent a few reliable men out to retrieve the missing Wastelanders. He eyed the boy critically, with more interest than he'd shown any of them upon their arrival in the city.

"Will they live?" was his curt question.

"Too early to say sir, they're not good right now. But they're young, healthy. Excuse us sir."

Thick and nimble fingers worked with a needle, yanking the cover off with his teeth, and inserting it with practiced ease. Rik had tore off and tossed away the kid's gloves and made hasty shreds of his shirt, exposing skin from the shoulder down. The material had been tough and only gave at the seams.

The leader (Damas couldn't recall his name) was ordering these medics around with a preciseness only gained through experience. Carefully dividing his attention between the two most critically ill patients and the comm where he was rapidly relaying figures that meant nothing to anyone but a doctor.

Within a minute, an efficient line of stretchers and men were heading through the second shield door and up the hills of sand. The one in charge, turned briefly to Damas as they passed. "Best to speak to the Doc about 'em now your lordship. She'll be in charge of their care once we get back."

"Good job citizen. That boy will owe you his life if he survives."

The younger man's smile was humorless as he rushed away.


At fifty eight, Doctor Rian was no longer young. Life in the desert was harsh and it showed in every thing and person in Spargus. She was no exception. An angular face was leathered and wrinkled from constant sand barrages, and even though she had been born with dark skin, it was considerably more black than it had been when she'd worked in Haven City Medical's Emergency Room.

A habit developed early in her stay here, she fingered the amulet all full citizens of Spargus kept on them. Though Damas claimed that everyone went through tests of strength to earn them, it had not been that way twenty odd years ago when her family had fled Haven City, its crumbling infrastructure and dangerous political climate. Then there had been only one other healer, and no real medical facility other than a tent. She was considered too valuable to be lost in combat. Her husband and later their two children had taken part in arena combat to remain members of Spargus.

An old lab coat, dingy with wear and tear covered typical Wastelander clothing. Not as revealing as Haven gear for practical purposes since sand got into everything. But they served their purpose with comfort.

This place was a field medics dream at best and a doctor's near nightmare at worst. Compared to the gleaming metal and clean beauty of Haven's most advanced hospital, this medical wing was downright primitive. She'd helped to make considerable improvements to it over the years, and as its most senior doctor she was proud of it.

But the knowledge that the facility wasn't state of the art even after importing, smuggling and illegally borrowing stuff from Haven weighed at the back of her thoughts. With the fall of Praxis, there had been a more ready flow of supplies, but equipment was harder to transport and maintain in this near open air facility. Sand was a bitch to keep out of mechanical devices.

Dehydration and heatstroke were common conditions they treated in Spargus. Even some of the most senior residents were prone to forgetting to keep hydrated, or were stuck outside the city without enough water from time to time. Animals however, she was a bit more concerned about. Though she could extrapolate what to do based on body weight and other factors, she was no expert.

Nixon appeared a second later, ordering new attendants around like the Lieutenant he had once been.

She strode alongside the man, eyes already assessing the boy's condition. Light skin was burned from intense sun exposure, already red and wreaking of sunstroke. The kid wasn't sweating—never a good sign with dehydrated patients—and did Nixon just say he had a fever of a hundred and five?

"Get him into the shade, continue with fluids, but don't bolus any in. CBC chem and a UA if possible, I'm sure his electrolyte levels are gonna be all out of whack but see what you can do. Cold alcohol compresses. Let's not dunk him yet, we don't need a shock trauma on our hands too."

A quick physical assessment followed, which revealed nothing necessarily unusual for something so serious. Pulling a worn second hand stethoscope away from his chest, she expertly looped it over her neck.

"Get rid of this," she gestured to his unruly thick, long, hair. "It's not keeping him any cooler. Temp him every five minutes, and we'll see how he's doing from there."

Striding across the floor, she stepped up to her first challenge. An ottsel by the looks of it, wearing a cap and...gloves?

A thick bump of already bolused fluids gave the appearance he had grown a tumor between his shoulder blades. When his temperature didn't drop with the addition of another IV and alcohol swabs on his ears Doctor Rian supervised a bath in the foul smelling isopropyl. Drying him off, and another ten minutes of direct monitoring and fanning finally seemed to be getting a response as a dangerous one hundred and eight fever began to crawl down.

It was quiet considering the level of activity. Proof that these were some of the most level headed of all of Spargus' citizens.

Monkaw next, and by the time she reached him was sporting a temp within a normal range for his species. He was even beginning to stir, despite the fact that the movements were uncoordinated and listless. "Good. Get fluids in him and take a CBC chem too. Start with electrolytes, three to one ratio."

This round robin treatment continued for hours. They'd shorn the kid's hair off so that it stood up in the more typical style of a Wastelander who took the effort to keep their hair at all. The goggles, red scarf and most of his other personal effects were carefully folded at his side.

The bird was awake now, weak but grateful to be alive. Doctor Rian and most of the staff had been surprised to hear the creature speak, and with an accent at that. He was reticent however, and refused to volunteer any information to them, including his own name. A more thorough physical, and a lot of lost feathers later, Doc Rian was on the verge of kicking him out even if he wasn't at full health. Rik and a new attendant had forced him to take in electrolytes and such, despite his behavior.

She was encouraged by the fact that the boy and ottsel were not in comas, but rather sleeping. Though the ottsel was still wavering much too close to the latter for her liking.

By morning, the bird was free to leave, having recovered remarkably well. Damas had sent for all of them as soon as they were medically able to. Kliever had come to escort the noisy one personally and no one was sad to see him go.


A needle was in his arm, and it itched and ached the same as it had every day for two years. Panic, instinctive and raw jumped up all at once. He couldn't let this happen to him again.

He wouldn't!

The clang and loud crash of metal instruments against each other and the floor jolted Nixon from his bedside doze. Apparently it awoke half the ward as well. Heads had shot up across the room, bathed in half shadow, dangerous even in their infirmity.

Nixon had a hand on his pistol, carefully aiming it at the patient who had been fast asleep until a second ago. Crouched in an aggressive stance, the young man had snatched a hemostat off the ground. Though he could barely stand he looked dangerous. Like he'd kill them all if they got too close.

"Hey now. Take it easy," the man tried conversationally. "You're fine. We're not here to hurt you." Despite those words he did not lower his gun, or move from the well balanced stance.

This did not go unnoticed by the blonde.

He was glancing around, but never long enough to be disabled. "Where the fuck am I?" he growled.

"You're a guest of Doc Rian's house man. Now get a grip on yourself cause I got no qualms about shooting you if you try something stupid. Even if this is a house of healing." Nixon replied tightly.

Foggy, still exhausted blue eyes crinkled in confusion. "Healing?"

"What's going on?" a severe voice barked in the ensuing silence.

A gesture of his head at the situation, as if she hadn't already assessed it. "That happened ma'am."

Her eyes met the young man's calmly, though she wondered at how composed she could remain under such intense scrutiny.

"You're bleeding," she spoke flatly. Indeed there was a thin trail of blood crawling down his left arm, where the IV had been violently removed from its vein. Rian had expected (maybe fancifully) to see dark eco flowing from him. But the red liquid looked remarkably similar to any other person's, like many who had come through this place before.

The young man didn't move, except to glance down at his arm, unconcerned. Dangerous blue eyes pinned her. "No needles," Jak asserted in a growl.

Nothing changed in her posture or her eyes. "That's fine. If you're awake you don't need an IV anymore."

Something seemed to occur to him and what could have been an attempt to relax abruptly ceased. He didn't try to look around again, though it seemed to be an internal struggle. "Where's Daxter?"

"Who's Daxter?" The same flat voice questioned again. Jak wasn't completely sure the question had been directed at him.

"Gotta be either that damn bird or the ottsel. Who the hell else would he be talking about?" Nixon's voice was frustrated and nervous. He didn't like situations like this. They'd dealt with them out in the desert before and it had been a near daily occurence in Haven City. But Doc Rian had strict rules about her place, and Nixon wasn't allowed to kill him. Not unless he wanted to be at the business end of a peacemaker when it was over.

"Where's Daxter?" and this time the kid was definitely angry. On the verge of panic maybe too.

Her response held a bit of emotion, too difficult and fleeting to place. "Will you knock all this nonsense off if I show you?"

A glint lit the blue eyes and a mocking grin turned faintly feral. "Probably not."

"Of course not," she huffed and gestured to a small bed. "Is that your friend?"

Something visibly changed when he got a glimpse of the sleeping ottsel. An IV was still taped carefully to the inside of his wrist and he was half covered with a thin blanket. Unconscious, Daxter looked far worse than he actually was.

An instinctive panic receded just a little from too large eyes. Taking a wary almost guilty glance at the patients watching him, the doctor, and the medic with the gun; Jak made a break across the floor. Strangely hesitant and too eager all at once. Odd how he'd been so concerned with himself until he saw the other.

Jak managed to stay on two feet, despite the nausea, weakness and ache of abused skin which he now remembered must have burned in the sun. Movement was agony, though there was the stiff feeling of drying gel on his arms and face. Eco maybe?

There was a distinct urge to get out of here and possibly kill the man with the gun trained on him but Daxter was clearly not doing well. He extended a hand but wasn't sure where to touch, afraid he'd somehow make it worse. Daxter was dwarfed on the bed, small, curled and Jak had never thought of him as helpless but at that moment...

This was his fault. The realization stung as much as was possible. Daxter hadn't been banished...could have stayed in Haven. He should have insisted, forced him, told Tess to lock him in the bar if necessary. Of course, that probably wouldn't have stopped Dax from sneaking aboard that transport but it would have been better than a half-hearted order in the early morning sun. Better than feeling nothing but relieved that his best friend hadn't abandoned him when everything else had.

A movement, too near to his threat perimeter broke his concentration. He didn't sense a gun, or multiple eyes on him as before. But he shifted to put himself between that threat and his best friend. The woman in the white coat however was approaching at a steady pace, eyes still placidly neutral.

"What's wrong with him?" The question came without warning and he hated how young he sounded. Knew he'd revealed a weakness that she could exploit if she wanted to.

Doc Rian inspected him for a moment before speaking.

"You all came in with a condition known as heatstroke. Very common for newcomers to the Wastelands. He was in far worse shape than you or that bird. Despite the fact that he looks as bad as he does, I am encouraged by his improvement. We were able to get some green eco for him, which got his temperature and breathing back within a decent basal limit for his species. He'll probably be weak for a day or so, nauseous like you probably feel due to electrolyte imbalance."

An urgency filled his next question. "You're sure he'll be alright?"

Her voice was clear and accurate, careful to make sure he didn't misinterpret her words. "I'm no Precursor, or I would never let a patient die. But he's recovering and if its anything like you seem to be, he should be feeling much better in a couple hours. Certainly by tomorrow I expect him to be awake."

The response should have been more complicated than that, because there was still a risk of brain damage, or loss of motor controls or any number of problems severe overheating could cause to the brain. But there was no real need to explain that. Not yet at least.

Whatever stubbornness that had kept him upright abruptly drained out of the kid's face. He leaned hard against the bed, fighting to keep steady.

"Sit. Take it easy," the woman scolded as if to a wayward child. "You need to rest, at least for a day."

Lucky for Jak there was a rickety chair for him to collapse on as he simply followed the doctor's orders without thought. He tugged a proffered blanket around his shoulders at her instruction to stem off his sudden shivering. Took the glass passed to him, and sipped slowly, per her orders. Was startled to taste warm yakow milk, a luxury he couldn't remember since Sandover. Blue eyes never left Daxter even as he swam in and out of focus.

After another attempt to ask for a name or even an age, she recognized his dazed silence for what it was. With a knowledge gained only from parenting, Rian efficiently scooped up the ottsel.

Mindful of the line of fluid, she placed him in the boy's arms. "I'll be back in the morning," she informed Jak, gently removing the half finished glass from his hand. "Just stay with him for now alright?"

Her voice was short but indulgent even as Jak seemed to curl around his friend more carefully than she would have expected. A hesitant finger--large and calloused--very gently touched the fur on his back, slowly working its way up until an entire hand cradled the thin form.

A world away, doctors and medicine forgotten, Jak fell asleep to the pulse of his best friend.


Daxter hadn't moved all night; so when he did stir just at the hint of sunrise, it registered to Jak. Blue eyes slid open and met a similar set watching him with a casual, deep, warm concern. From under his hand, a lazy smile of relief and mischief.

"You okay big guy?" Daxter rasped, voice dry from lack of water. But his personality was in the tone, almost enough to remind Jak of far simpler days.

Small upturn of lips and Jak nodded. Gentle fingers dug into orange fur--a squeeze on the edge of a hug. Even now, almost a year and a half after reuniting with his best friend Jak barely spoke when it was just them. A quick change in facial expression and Daxter shrugged as much as he could in response.

"Can't complain, I mean...we're not dead right? And we're not in that freaking sauna anymore. Wait...how exactly are we still alive?" His voice improved with every word and he suddenly seemed to notice the needle in his arm, promptly attempting to itch it out.

Jak shrugged. Still drained he immediately began to drift off, content and calm in knowing Daxter was okay. Maybe there had been some truth in the doctor's words.

"Stupid piece of plastic. Fine." Having been unable to get the IV out on his own, Daxter abandoned it. He didn't really enjoy pain and who knew what might happen if he just yanked the thing out. Jak's hand had resettled on his back anyways, heavily indicating it was too early to be awake.

Huffing a sigh out that didn't seem truly disgruntled, he took a long inspection of his best friend just to make sure. Jak had a tendency to downplay personal injury at inopportune times. Satisfied that he'd been mostly telling the truth, the ottsel curled himself as much into a ball as the IV and Jak's hand would allow, drifting back off to sleep.

They were alive and together and that was all that was important.


The next two days passed in fits and spurts. Daxter turned out to be the most loquacious of the three, loudest as well. And it was through the ottsel that Doc Rian learned that the young man's name was Jak.

"I'm Daxter and this is my buddy Jak. I've been saving his ass for years now, so he's kinda on the quiet side, aren't ya Jak?"

Blue eyes looked indulgent and embarrassed at the same moment. Jak had obviously heard such a speech before.

The blond had become surprisingly docile considering his performance two nights before. He listened to the instructions she gave, following them obediently and without complaint. Daxter on the other hand howled as Nixon expertly removed the IV line, protesting everything from the food to the regiment of water and electrolytes.

By the end of the second day Rian decided that if they got into something else they weren't supposed to, she would tie them to the beds to keep them out of trouble. She'd given them plenty to eat and ordered them to sit until Damas called for them. This appeared to be a difficult task, but she was pleased and partially amused by their earnest attempt.


A tall woman passed the main entrance, raising a hand to Jayen in a casual, much used greeting.

"Welcome back. You been out a while."

"Umm," she agreed. "We got back an hour ago. Lord Damas asked me get the newcomers for him since I was heading this direction."

They were interrupted before any further conversation could continue.

"Don't reopen it, even if it itches Mey. That will allow infection in alright? Come back in two days if it's still bleeding." Doc Rian escorted another patient from the back. She returned a moment later visibly frazzled.

"You look stressed," the woman commented casually as they embraced.

"It has something to do with the two patients I'm hoping to Mar you're taking with you dear. Safe travels?"

"Decent. They're trouble?" Zaya asked. It was too late to deal with stupidity.

"More like they attract trouble without even trying. I'm not even sure how they managed to break the autoclave, seeing as I wasn't using it, and they didn't even know what it was."

A bark of a laugh escaped her as they wove towards the back. Where two sets of eyes watched them, part curious, part guarded. Zaya recognized them instantly. Burnt skin on the early edges of healing, and otherwise far too fair to have lived in the Wastelands for long. Wary Haven glances, and clothes that were more suited for city life, despite modifications for the heat.

They were younger than she'd expected. At least ten years her junior. Certainly the kid had the body of an adult, no doubt. And the ottsel, while wiry, still spoke of an adult's strength.

Doc Rian spoke, relief evident in the tone.

"You are both free to go, thank Mar. My eldest here will escort you to the palace. Our leader wishes to speak with you."

Neither protested, the ottsel leaping to a subtly outstretched shoulder guard.

His eyes were angry, self-righteous, and very bitter. They softened however, just for a moment as he thanked the doctor with a minuscule nod of his head.

Zaya nodded as well before turning and striding out. Footsteps followed three steps behind her own, and she didn't turn to see they were following.

"Night Jayen," she raised a hand in farewell as they passed the multi function front desk.

A worn hand wordlessly rose, thick leather gauntlet creaking in farewell.

Zaya was halfway down the stairs of the small medical establishment before she realized there was no answering footfalls three steps behind. Both of them were gaping she noted with a smirk. Obviously they'd never been outside of Haven before. Probably didn't even know about Spargus.

Eyes wide and trying to take in everything at once, it was a comic scene. Made them look even younger than she'd estimated. She'd spent most of her life here, so it was odd to recognize that many people were awed by this city.

Nothing for it though. Lord Damas was waiting and she was tired, more sandy than usual, and in need of food.


It was...a city?

Jak wasn't sure, but what else could it be? That didn't make sense though because no one lived outside of Haven.

But Ashelin had given him that beacon, folding it into his fingers with impassioned orders to stay alive, promising that someone would find him. She must have known that this place existed then. They'd followed the tall, dark skinned woman out the door and started down a flight of wooden steps set in sandstone before they'd noticed the extent of what they had assumed was some sort of refugee camp.

"Wow," Daxter breathed from his shoulder, paws loosening their grip on panzer metal as they slowed to a stop. Buildings seemed to melt out of the rock face, lamplight making odd natural shadows on everything.

"It's like Sandover," Daxter commented softly, and Jak nodded in agreement. Except for the sheer scale and the lack of greenery, it was very similar. They could see the stars, clear and unmarred by anything but woodsmoke. It was far quieter than Haven could ever hope to be, enough so they could easily hear the cough from the bottom of the stairs.

Tearing his eyes away, Jak focused on the no-nonsense woman waiting impatiently for them. Followed after another moment, only half paying attention to his surroundings. He remembered a Precursor artifacts glinting oddly as they strode past a building.

An hour or a minute passed, neither could recall before they were at a thick metal door that looked to be intricately locked together. Overlapping pieces of metal formed a strange almost Precursor script like pattern.

The woman leaned her left side imperceptibly forward, and Jak noticed for the first time a satchel of sorts strapped over her shoulder tight against her back. It looked identical to messenger bags he'd seen zoomer couriers carry in Haven City. On the strap that wove across her front he could glimpse small compartments, one of which obviously held some sort of access pass.

Slow clanking grew faster as the door opened. Both entered, and Jak followed the woman onto a platform that strongly effected the lifts they'd used to reach the snowy mountains. Curious but mostly idle, out of the corner of his eye he took in his guide.

She was taller than him, considerably older as well. Unlike Keira and most of Haven's female populace she wasn't dangerously curved, but more square, stockier. Reminded him of Sig in a vague hard to pinpoint way. Krew had called him a Wastelander...had his friend come from here?

Dreadlocks fell to a little below mid back, unadorned and rough; like she chose to keep them but didn't spend a great deal of time on upkeep. Most of them were swept away from her face, tied back underneath a bandanna. It pushed her angular profile into sharp relief.

Within the week, he'd come to recognize her for a typical Wastelander.

Voice sharp and clear when she spoke, it almost startled them.

"Speak the truth. Damas will know if you're lying." Her eyes did not shift to him though the tone was honest, not subversive.

Zaya didn't expect a response nor receive one as the lift rose into the open air oasis of Lord Damas' chambers. She strode off without any preamble, but knew that if the city had floored these two city slickers, then the throne room would blow them away. Ignoring the splash of a cannonball, and the more ginger sounds of feet dipping into the cool clearness she approached the dais on which sat the Lord of the Desert.

A low bow and a gesture to the two young men engrossed in the connected pools of water. The ottsel was making some sort of joke. The young man was sitting, eyes quiet and trained intensely on his reflection.

Zaya dare not make a comment on the matter. She might be one of his more prized warriors, but she did not have a personal relationship to Spargus' leader.

"You are free to go. Stay in touch, there will be a need to return west soon."

West meant Haven City, and the search for a still missing boy. She nodded gravely before turning on her heel and striding back towards the elevator. Passed the two newcomers with barely a glance and was gone moments later.

Damas didn't seem particularly upset about the two young men who blatantly disregarded even common courtesy. One had to wonder, if even then, he'd known.

Owari

Yay, I wrote Jak and he wasn't being annoying or acting like an idiot. He was unconscious for most of it instead. Win!

Sooo comments, criticism, praise, flames...anything you'd like to throw at me. Please do so now.

Thanks for reading.