It wasn’t his choice. His breathing was too heavy to even catch his breath. He was told he was getting too dangerous. Too violent. He’d been hurting everyone in sight. Torn had ordered him to do it. He should know better. He DID know better. That’s why he’d been shaking so hard, his breath unable to catch up with him, and tears threatening to spill from his eyes.
He’d been hurt too. He never knew it would come to this. To be given these orders. It was either Jak, or him. Torn made sure to make that clear with that gaping slash in his chest from his skinning knife. He’d always needed Jak. His best friend. His other half. They were the Demolition Duo, after all. He looks to the ground slowly, staring at the gun. Him or Jak.
He himself was useless. Jak would function just fine without him. He flips the gun around and puts the cold metal into his mouth, his buck teeth tightening around the muzzle. He shuts his eyes, ready to pull it. It seemed so much easier to point it at himself.
Jak’s mind doesn’t even have time to process the situation before his body is moving, knocking the gun from Daxter’s hands with bruising force - too violent - and shoving the redhead back, pinning him to the wall of the alley with his arms out to his sides - hurting everyone in sight -
“Dax, what the hell are you doing?” He’s less than an inch from the edge, and moving fast towards it. No. No, no no no. Not Daxter, not him not ever Dax-
