A while after Axton had handed over the piece of ‘scrap’ to the kids, said children were face to face with their ‘boss’. This person was once an orphan like they were, raised in the same orphanage and essentially given no supervision for most of his life, just like the kids who now were a part of his gang. Of course, this gang was less like the mafia or even like something such as the Crips or Bloods. Instead, this was more along the lines of a group whose main aim was to protect and help each other, which occasionally required a bit of mischief and mayhem in order to make sure that all who were a part of it could keep alive and afloat.

Said organization was less criminal and more… well, just a band of kids, teens, and a few grown-ups who all shared similar experiences and just wanted to take care of each other. So, when a few of their members returned to base carrying a piece of tech that would not only allow them to pay off a few debts but also give them a few months’ worth of finances, of course, it was cause for everyone involved to stop what they were doing and find out the source of this most welcome increase in income.

“So, what you’re saying is that this Outworlder wants to make a deal, and you just accepted this thing without making sure he wouldn’t hold it over our heads?”

The leader of the group of kids that had been assigned to the scrap yard fidgeted in his rather raggedy shoes. He had indeed not asked whether this was going to be held against him and the rest, so this may well have given the Outworlder some leverage to use against them. But, to be fair, you could not expect a kid to have come to such a conclusion on their own. They may have been forced to grow up rather quickly, but kids can and will be naïve when they think they have a big score at possibly no cost.

The Boss stood up from his seat, which was not a chair but instead was a pile of rubble inside an old, bombed-out factory that he and his gang had established as their base of operations.

“I’m not exactly going to fault you for biting that hook, Lukas. If I were you and I saw something that valuable just dropped like last week’s garbage, I would find it hard as Hell not to take that bait as well. Still, if what you said is true then this Outworlder really has no other option but to deal with us, and he likely knows it. This gives us a bit more leverage than we might think.”

“Y-yeah. That’s what I was thinking back there, Boss.”

The Boss ruffled Lukas’s hair as he moved towards the doorless opening that separated what once was the factory foreman’s office from the rest of the ruin.

“I keep telling you guys not to feel the need to call me that. I don’t mind if you call me Daxter, you know?”

“But-!”

“No ‘buts’! Now, how the hell am I going to get into that scrapyard without Stebbs’ goons finding out...?”

“There is a tunnel that was made recently!”

“Then let’s use that, shall we? I kinda want to see a real Outworlder firsthand myself, after all.”

…

Axton continued to loot the same pile over and over, the thrill of this pseudo slot machine driving him to try again and again. By this time, he had already filled what would have been a normal Player’s inventory space up about ten times over, but thanks to the creepily free-wheeling AI ‘helper’ he had no worries about managing inventory space.

“Let’s see… If I put all of this shit together, I should have enough in trash-tier items to hopefully pay off a portion of whatever imaginary bounty Stebbs has me incarcerated for. Of course, that is if there is an actual number and if I can actually be allowed to pay it off. Something tells me they’ll just take it and leave me with nothing, however, so I may have to go with Plan B or C…”

Axton paused mid search and looked off to one side. E-Va had also given him the location of a place that he could theoretically use to assemble the pieces of tech he had on his possession into something usable, but so long as these shackles were on him, he figured that Stebbs would just ‘reappropriate’ any ‘contraband’ that Axton managed to make.

Besides, Axton had no way of identifying anything he had on him. He knew the rarity of it and a rough approximation of how much it may be worth if sold without identification, but without actually knowing what he had he had no way of possibly making anything with it. Axton was in a bind, and either his gamble with the kids would pay off or he would likely be stuck here in this annoyingly grindy junkyard for a while longer than he wished.

Still, he had to keep gathering drops. If, by some random chance, he managed to pull something that could be used to free him of his shackles, he would be golden; but he was seriously starting to doubt that he would ever get the chance to walk freely. That moment, infused with a mixture of blind hope and sincere doubt, was where things changed for Axton, as the pitter-patter of little booties across the ground alerted him to the return of the kids.

Axton stopped his search and turned around to see the kids as they came to a stop in front of him. He was about to address them, but they beckoned him to follow them. Axton, of course, withdrew the nail-covered pimp cane and followed the tykes with slight concern as to what the future might hold. They led him on a winding, seemingly endless path over trash and scrap and over and under things and objects of all sizes until Axton realized that they were doing this to lose any potential unwanted people who might be tailing them.

Finally, the merry band of brats stopped before a large piece of scrap metal. Axton was about to ask what the next step was, but the metal plating opened up and a rough-and-tumble man who looked to be about twenty-something walked out from a concealed tunnel.

“So, you must be the illegally-apprehended Outworlder. My name is Daxter, and these kids run with me. Can I have your name, or would you prefer that I just keep calling you ‘Outworlder’?”