Jak doubted that whoever drew the bounty poster had ever seen a sailor, let alone anyone this specific. The main feature was a ridiculous, starchy beard. It covered the gang leader like the grass on a dewy battlefield, bald patches like landmines. Perhaps the captain liked finding reasons to be antagonized, or maybe whoever wanted this bounty really disapproved of the style? Regardless, by the time he was done admiring the picture, Jak understood two things; Bilgewater lacked good artists. And that this would be the perfect first mission.

“Let’s go over the plan again,” Jak said, lowering the bounty page, “Shall we?”

The party, his party, had been walking the mile-high land bridge towards Bilgewater. They crowded together in a tight pack, staying in the middle, safe from the fog-turned mist that had been creeping in since early morning. Nodding to each other, they began the rote:

“I lead you guys deep into the Slaughterdocks under the guise of a job -they’re always looking for fresh fish,” Swash said. “A group like us will inevitably catch the attention of the Blackfires. Especially once they see me, since I have previous dealings with them -they’ll attempt to bring us in covertly into a trap.”

“But we’ll know. And be ready,” Scholar piped in.

Swash nodded. “Lightfoot will then part and incapacitate the outpost, with the help of Bandana boy.”

Bandana looked to Jak, continuing the explanation. “That’ll leave our target without immediate reinforcements, so Big Ginge, Swash, Scholar and King will lurk in and inspect the area for sings of the…void shrimp? Is that what it’s called?”

“No,” said Scholar. “Shall I explain it again?”

She likely would have. A ‘unique pet’ was required to claim the bounty, and Scholar was the only who seemed to know anything about what that meant.

“To be fair, ‘void shrimp’ is far catchier,” Ginge noted. “Most likely, we’ll need our leader, King, to blow them sky-high, or at least threaten it.”

“So you need to preserve that shotgun shell before getting there,” added Bandana.

“In summary” Swash leapt in, “All calm as we approach, and we spring our attack only if I’m certain that a) Swash is recognized, b) Capn. Blackfire is coming and c) that he has his void shrimp with him. Right?”

Taking in everyone’s confidence, Jak smiled and saw that ahead, finally, was a group waiting around beneath cranes and wooden pulley. The lift. They had reached the end of the bridge. “Perfect.”

Worming their way through, the enthusiastic group had their energy sapped once they noticed a distinct lack of movement. Not from the pulleys nor form the crowd -the actual size of which was maliciously hidden by the fog. And no platform in sight.

Jak swept the crowd for a talker, adjusting the grip of his monstrous shotgun. The others took his lead, making most visibly uncomfortable.

“Save your anger,” said a father, sitting with two children sleeping in shawls, “You’ll need that energy for patience. And to keep your sanity.”

“How long have you been waiting?” Jak asked him.

“Us? Not long.” He drew up a blanket over the face of one of his kids, eyes darting about, “I’ve heard some claim the lift broke as soon as the damned fog broke over the horizon. Since dawn.”

“It’s broken?” said Swash. The whole party expressed their disappointment. A bunch of dramatics, like Jak had created a troupe.

The father spat. “Doubtful. Travelling these waters makes you wary. Too much so, the sailors take any change in weather as an omen. The Harrowing! No, I bet those below simply didn’t show up. Mark my words, though, a dockmaster’s punishment will soon have this lift moving at twice the speed. Such is life.” He laughed, bringing in others around him into it. But he did not let go of his children’s covers, did not relax his shoulders or stop flickering to the corners of his vision.

Saluting their thanks, the party manoeuvred through the settled menagerie of traders and families. It was a loose queue. And they didn’t have to grumpily sit at the very end of it for long. More travellers emerged from the curtain of mist behind, going through the same stages of relief, disappointment, and frustration. It was funny at first, a small way to entertain themselves, but as the line behind them grew so long that they only heard about newcomers from gossip floating down, it became less so.

That was until someone started screaming, “They are among us!”

Jak flung up, wondering why he was alone in doing so.

Bandana yawned. “We’re bounty hunters, not police, King.”

“Aren’t you curious?”

He shrugged, which was more response than Jak got from the rest of them, so he headed towards the commotion alone.

Jak parsed past curtains of fog, listening out for shrieks, when a different sound called to him. A jingling so thin and short that it must’ve have come from something right next to him. Around him. A bell? Someone’s hollow jewellery?

Travellers gave him silent looks, but the littles sound kept chiming. Jak felt like he was mad, kept circling around at all the tired and longueured faces for confirmation that he was not.

There’s something wrong here, Jak thought tossing his head, trying to knock the sound out, My VR set is fucked up for sure. An audio bug. Must be. What could you expect form a beta test, though? He decided he would have to deal with it, as with the bridge and this whole Battle Royale ordeal, and hopefully the issue would go away in its own.

Chimes still tickling his senses, Jak made it to huddle at the end of the queue, rowdy with gossip.

“But what can we do?”

“How can we trust anyone? We have to leave.”

“We’re doomed. Is there really no other way down?”

Jak butted in, ready to ask, but the frenzied man in the middle pointed straight at him,

“You! Last night, you and your friends were there. At the inn!”

The huddle drew back, gasping.

“Alright, exactly what is going on?” Jak asked, taking it in stride. As always.

“Murders in the night. Fog in the morning,” the man said, “The ghost of the Harrowing came to town! But I see now that it has trapped us here, and it is among us! None are safe!”

Jak grabbed the man by the neck of his unwashed robe. “Calm down, you fool. You trying to incite a panic?”

He wondered if the huddle would turn on him, but Jak’s command had somehow cut through and stopped the murmurs -even though the chiming lingered, like golden wings flapping in his blind spot.

“No, no, you are correct,” the panic-bearer said, and Jak released him. “But bodies were found in that inn. Horrible state. The keeper mentioned you and your companions specifically. It may well be inhabiting one of them right at this very moment, who better than an experienced bounty hunter?” That said, he stepped back to be surrounded again by his posse, spreading paranoia, but in a controlled manner.

“I don’t know about experienced,” Jak mumbled. Bending down, he noticed something had dropped from the harbinger’s robes. A hollow piece of wood, barely a thumb in size, carved with a mouth-shaped hole.

“Did you drop –”

“Don’t think you’re above suspicion, just because of your ‘acting’,” the harbinger interrupted.

Frowning, Jak decided to keep the trinket. Maybe it was worth something. Asshole.

On his way back to tell his party what happened, he realized that the infraction of audio had stopped. With a tremendous, thankful sigh of relief, Jak tucked away the wooden chime only for the tinkling to come back with his next step.

*

Hours later and the group still sat in the same spot on the bridge, isolated, like everyone else, by the mist which was thicker than ever.

To offer up a distraction, Jak said, “One more time. Let’s iron out any kinks in the plan. Swash?”

“You know,” she said, eyeing Lightfoot, “I barely remember you at all last night.”

He pulled up his cloth mask, clearly embarrassed, and Bandana rebutted with, “Well where were you, huh?”

Swash nearly fell out of her knee-high pose. “What do you mean? I’m the life of the party. And you? Why are you always so close to me -it’s creepy! And Ginge, why so quiet?”

Ginge grunted, and Scholar inched away from him, pretending to be too deep in her reading to pay attention.

“Hmm, it makes sense,” said Bandana, scratching his chin, “What other reason would he have to join us other than to hide his crime? Last to join, first to be kicked!”

Jak loudly breeched and un-breeched his gun. This was such a waste of time. If there was another player among them, he would’ve noticed it by now. Or rather, they would have recognized his mannerisms and taken him out already. “Why don’t you try that shit on me?”

Scholar looked up from her book. “I don’t see a reason why a ghost of the Harrowing would be so focused on the rewards of a bounty. N-not that I believe in such a thing.”

Ridiculous! Jak thought, and stood up to leave. “I’m going to see if there are any updates on the lift. Anybody wanna come?”

Swash stared, and for a moment he thought she would accept, but she quickly snapped to Scholar, “Oh Great Mother, it’s you, isn’t it? How sneaky, taking the body of a non-believer…”

Leaving the headaches behind, Jak was almost grateful to be again met with distant chiming.

The path forward stuck squarely to the centre, past the hundreds camped out before the broken lift stuck. Yet the distant sounds in his head called Jak off to the side, away into the unknown. Determined to know for sure, he stopped, checking nobody had followed him, then turned, brushing through the mist.

Alone in the thick white, with only a patch of ground under his feet, Jak listened carefully. The rumours he had sparked with this decision seeped through. He had the people scared, sad, many who were certain he wouldn’t come back. Not that any tried to stop him. Jak ignored that, closing his eyes to focus on the jingling, the soft golden chimes.

The sound seemed to dance around his ears, like twirling tambourines, but there was a direction to it. Heading towards it, only for the bridge to end. One foot hovering a thousand or more feet above the sea, without seeing it or feeling a speck of wind, Jak continued to listen. And think.

This was the end of the bridge. The other arch must’ve been near; if Jak were closer, he could see the pillar connecting them to land below. There had to be a way down, regardless of how feasible it was. He walked along the edge for a minute until, slowly, rock started to bulge out from beneath. It was sheer, certain death if he went too far, but there -stuck against a root just out of reach- was a twinkle of gold. Like a seed, fallen from the sky.

Climbing down to it seemed easy, but getting back without help didn’t look it. Cradling his shotgun, Jak thought for a moment about leaving it behind. Once the moment passed, he sprinted, getting as much as air as he could, and jumped directly towards the source of the nagging knell in his head.

Knees buckling as he landed, Jak crawled and plucked it out, finding it was another of those wooden carvings. At first touch, its golden shimmer disappeared and the tinkling sound subsided. Jak put it together with the one the harbinger had dropped, and looked up at the journey to get back on the bridge.

Why am I doing this? There’d better be a really, really good benefit from this shit. What was even better; his ears were ringing again.

After trying and falling several times, Jak procrastinated at the base of the bridge’s underside, until he heard screaming from above. “Ah, fuck, someone’s died again.” Bracing himself, yet unwilling to let his gun go, he forced himself to try again.

“Need a hand?” It was Bandana, almost knocking down Jak by surprise.

He gratefully stretched out towards him. “How the fuck did you manage to find me?” Jak asked, laughing.

“I felt bad for leaving you on your own,” Bandana said, straining, laying down with arms out as far as they could go, “And then all of a sudden I heard screams, so I came running.”

Jak gave a final push, but fell just short. As he caught his breath, Jak felt a pang of suspicion. Well, I wasn’t the one screaming, he wondered, why isn’t Bandana curious as to why I was out here?

Above Bandana drew back to rest too, leaving only his head sticking out. “It’s no use,” he said, “You’ll have to throw up your shotgun. It’s the only way to get you up.”

Jak bit down hard to hide his reaction. Not a chance. Lifting his prized weapon slowly as if to throw it, Jak stared up and noticed that Bandana’s namesake had slipped. No longer on his forehead but over is eyes like a blindfold. Yet his hands followed the shotgun movement’s precisely, ready to catch it.

Well that sucks, Jak thought, and fired.

Expecting a mess, he flinched. But Bandana -unfortunately- lived. He was a player, after all. Two shots for sure would have taken him out, but this left Jak in a bit of a pickle.

“Ooh, I’m getting that gun, Jak!”

As Bandana said that, gold streaked from Jak’s pocket, and rammed into him. The player crumbled, and hurtled off the cliff, the edges battering his body on the way down. Gobsmacked, Jak then saw that, where Bandana had been was a tiny, buttercup-yellow golem, proudly tilting its disproportionately large round head down at him.

“Don’t tell me.” Jak withdrew his carvings, and held them up towards the bright entity. With a nod, the thing zipped into a golden stream, swirling around before being absorbed by the wooden trinkets.

Jak docked his empty shotgun into a crack in the rock. “That’s pretty cool and all, but how do I get back up?”

*

“King!” Swash called as she saw him coming, “We were so worried, where the hell—”

“It was Bandana.”

Jak approached the rest of his party, holding the red piece of fabric out in a fist. Bandana’s blindfold was instrumental in helping him out of his rocky situation, but he had decided not to keep it. In the other arm, he dragged his shotgun, chucked open, chambers empty for everyone to see.

Nobody responded. No one commented or denied it as a possibility. Jak swung the bandana around, showing his group the truth.

“It was Bandana!” he repeated. Insisted. “He was the ghost! He killed all those people at the inn.”

But all of them shied away, like he was the murderer. Jak glared at each of them in turn. Why wouldn’t they speak? Why couldn’t they get angry and shout at him for killing one of their own? That’s what he was feeling, he had a right to be upset, to be divided in his feelings over killing someone that deserving -why wouldn’t the rest of them interact? Why didn’t they let him in?

Jak breathed heavy, grip tight on the bloodied rag.

Then, Ginge said, “We believe you.” But the words meant nothing. Were as quenching as a single droplet.

Stillness enveloped the group. The tiny curling motions of the mists more evident.

“It’s moving!” came from behind. “They’re pulling up the lift!”

Chest still heaving, Jak hauled out the bounty sheaf and turned to go, while his party kept their eyes on him.

They’ll get over it, he thought, they have more important things to think about.

Hours later, Jak stepped off the platform, rolling his carving pieces in his palm -he had four now. After studying the bounty for the entire journey, he still couldn’t see how he could manage the heist on his own. But he didn’t have a choice.