Alright, so I've been wanting to write Jak 3 as a sort of novel for a while (actually all the games) so I tried to use first person and... It just isn't working. I'm looking for more of a dramatic, movie like novel (A movie like novel? I know, I don't understand it either) and I can't help but make Jak's mind a very smart assy funny place. But here it is, just cause I thought it was funny and I haven't posted lately. The beginning of Jak 3 from Jak's POV. And NO, I am not continuing this.

"For heedless acts and crime against the city, you are hereby banished to the Wasteland, for life."

Thank you, oh Grand Council Members for your wise words of wisdom and bull-shittery.

You know, it's funny that no matter how many times I repeat those words in my head they still manage to piss the hell out of me.

Heedless acts? Oh wait, do you mean saving your pathetic asses from the psychotic Metalheads?

Crimes against the city? How about getting rid of that bastard, Praxis and killing the Mar damned Metalhead leader myself, with my own two freaking hands?

No? Guess not.

Okay then.

I let out a deep breath, attempting to calm my nerves before I go Dark and kill everyone on this freaking transport- besides Ashelin -it's not like it's her fault I'm banished. Although if I was Governess of Haven City I'd have gotten rid of the Council a while ago. Just saying.

But if I do decide to go on a killing spree, I'll save Count Veger for last and make sure his death is slow. And painful. And full of blood.

Yes. Lots and lots of blood.

Although that really wouldn't help my case, would it? Eh, I'm screwed anyway. Doesn't matter. Traveling across a barren desert during the hottest time of the year in a teeny tiny transport handcuffed and about to be dropped off with out food, water, weapons, or my best friend, well... As I said. Screwed.

Oh dear Mar I think my hand just went numb. Great. Like things could get any worse.

Suddenly we hit a large bump and I'm flung off my seat- I am a criminal after all, no seatbelt for me -and onto the cold, hard floor. Did I mention hard? One on the Freedom League soldiers next to me laughs at my sudden predicament. Curling my upper lip and snarling I make sure my fangs are showing and feel my pupils dialate - just for good measure. The guard gasps and quickly looks away.

Ashelin is chuckling.

Glad she thinks it's so funny. Mar knows I'm laughing my ass off over here.

Deciding it will be too much effort to attempt to get up I let my head slump back and hit the side of the transport. Suddenly I see a flash of something- orange maybe? -and turn my head. Agony pulls at my chest.

Nah, it couldn't be. Daxter stayed behind in Haven... Well maybe not willingly. I mean I did leave early. And quietly, making sure he didn't wake...

Okay, so I left him. But it was for his own good, although I could use his sense of humor right now.

Actually I could use him right now. To have him plan ways to kill Veger with me, to make rude, vulgar remarks, to remind me of our home Sandover.

It's kinda funny how I can't seem to remember it without him by my side.

I sigh. This was going to be a long rest of my life. I can feel a headache coming - and not a normal one. I hate Dark Eco, with a passion. Almost as much as I hate Count Veger, the man who is now staring at me as if I am some sort of animal.

Oye, it's not like I asked to be able to grow horns and claws perfect for ripping people apart shred by shred. Totally unplanned. Blame Praxis. May he rest in pieces the, sick bastard.

I turn over to my right shoulder to mutter to Dax how much I want to rip that man's balding head off, but my stomach sinks as I realize there's nothing there but my shoulder plate.

And suddenly I'm fifteen years old again, scared out of my mind and shoved into a dark cell praying desperately to the Precursors to find my friends and go home.

Only this time there are two differences: I'll never see my home or friends again and I no longer believe the will of the Precursors can save me. I stopped believing in a lot of things after prison.

The sounds of rocks hitting the underside of the transport begin to slow and with my advanced senses I know we're landing.

Ah frick. So this is it. End of story. No more pages in the big book of The Most Miserable Things That Can Happen To You As Shown By Example By Jak The Most Miserable Man On The Planet.

Sometimes, I really hate my life.

Alright, so I'm gonna try again tomorrow after my Spanish Exam (ugh...) for a more dramatic Jak 3. Please review anyway...

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