Wow, been a while since I made a FanFiction, much less redid one!(Second time I've said that. This time on 8/17/12) Well, I hope you guys like this story. Because, this'll be… interesting.

Obligatory non-ownership shit, as well.

Enjoy.

Eco is another form of health, fire power, speed, and so much more. In this time though, all there is is Light and Dark Eco. Light Eco can alter 'heavenly' abilities and Dark Eco can alter 'hellish' abilities. Such as healing or viciously destroying something from within.

That or outright kill you of course.

So would it be unfathomable that a natural, unstable and condense component could be 'improved' by skilled hands?

Like a haze clearing from the mind, it seemed to start with Torn calling Jak in for a mission. As always 'The Underground' was on the ball, battling both Praxis and the Metal Heads.

A three way war that never seemed to slow down, or ever take a rest.

Thus the nature of war, c'est la vie.

"Their behavior has changed these past few weeks Jak." Torn explained after a brief summary of the interworking's of a Metal Head's mind.

"How so?" The million dollar question here.

"They've become organized." This seemed to bring a lining of anxiety into the commander's voice.

"Didn't we already cover that their not as 'hive-minded' as we thought?" Had Torn forgotten?

"No…" Something had serious wracked the older man for him to be at a loss for words. "Whether they act on their own or as a unit, doesn't explain what's been noted."

"For how long?"

"Our more, 'field' teams said this in going on a couple months now." By now Torn had backed off from the table and over his maps to stand by the open face furnace.

"If this has been going on for months and it's so strange why haven't you sent Dax and I out to do anything about it yet?" Jak barked out of frustration. What was so fucking weird about all this? The Metal Head's were fairly bright and changed tactics on a regular basis.

Shaking off what ever had come over him; Torn composed himself and turned back to the duo and his table. "The Metal Heads have been laying back on the attacks and have been doing more patrolling than anything." Looking up at the pair was his usual intensity. "Something changed, they're not being aggressive, not even close, and are quiet."

"So what do you want us to do about it?" Daxter spoke with as much 'spark' as he always had.

"You two are going to head out of Haven Forest and see what their up to. It seems that that's where their easing back into. If you find anything suspicious be sure to make it back, got it?" By this point Torn had no need to remind the boy's to be careful, but it became one of the few habits the commander clearly had.

"You got it tattoo wonder!" Daxter did the departing as Jak nodded and turned on heel. Just like every other time the duo received a mission from Torn they were off with great enthusiasm. Whether it was simply the shits of missions or got the adrenaline pumping hard, they had the same fire. That certain spark.

Something to be admired. Truly.

As the heavy stone doors came to an air tight seal, Torn sat back on the flimsy chair beside the table. In a slow heavy sort of way did the metal heels of his boots come to rest upon the tables marred up surface. Leaning back with a sort of exasperation did a braced up arm come to rest across his predominate brow.

'Something just doesn't sit well with me here…' The commander began to dwell. A sign of insecurity he could never show another in this profession. As the leader of The Underground he had to be the stone of strength that everyone came to. '…those two always create so much havoc. I wonder if it was a good idea to send them? They are my best single team, but they create so much crap.' With hesitation and doubt starting to set in Torn knew he was going into that exhausted stage.

He needed some sleep.

One could not win every battle; after all it was the war you were focused on. Giving into the need did the man run a callused hand down his worn face. 'I just hope he'll be okay…' With that did his eyes open wide.

Yup. Time for bed.

Getting up to lay down on an empty bunk he couldn't help but be concerned for his young recruits. A gut feeling told him to be worried now that they were gone. But only after they were gone. Shit.