A/N: I swore to myself that I would get this next chapter out before Jak III came out or I would quit writing forever, and so here it is, in all of its creepy glory. I have made an Executive Decision that after this chapter, there are only two more and then an epilogue. It seems like so little and yet a lot at once! I'm dying to see how you guys are going to react to the end, which was the only thing that I came into this story knowing in advance. I have to say, this is a blast to write, for I'm giggling like a schoolgirl as I type out what I know will creep some of you out. They creep me out, and I'm the one writing them! But it's so much fun! :-D

In a side but immensely related note, JAK III COMES OUT ON TUESDAY! (is bouncing all around her dorm room like a freak) Aaaaah, I'm so excited, and I can't wait to see what other fodder they give us for more creepy fanfiction! As much as I hate to say it, Jak II fanfiction ideas have been used and abused, and we need some new material! I'm so excited! I CAN'T WAIT TO PLAY IT!!!

In another side and unrelated note, I finally got through Ratchet and Clank (the first one), and I must say that it is fully the cutest thing! I promptly stole Ratchet and Clank: Going Commando from a friend and am having fun playing it. The characters haven't really reached out to me in the same way, but they didn't per se until Jak II, so we'll have to see. But I think it's fully awesome that Clank's apartment has a big thing of Jak and Daxter hanging on the wall! Good stuff, good stuff.

And now, I am going to shut up and let you get on with the fic.

Disclaimer: I don't own this, etc.


There was a tickling on his face, then a sharp sting. His hand twitched as he tried to swat at the bug making a meal of his face, but the appendage flopped weakly back to the ground after only a few seconds, his eyes refusing to open.

It was quiet, so quiet. Where were the zoomers? Where were the people, the lights, the constant hum of electricity? Where was the pollution smell that had assaulted him when he had first arrived in this hellhole so long ago but now was the apex of normalcy? Where were the voices of the guards, the drone of Paxis' proclamations that were all around the city?

Jak groaned, releasing the questions from his mind. It hurt to think, hurt to draw breath. Slowly, he realized that he was sprawled out on the ground on his side.

By the Precursors, he was so thirsty! The dist was everywhere, in his lungs, his eyes, his ears, his clothes, his hair, his throat, ground into his flesh like a second skin. A dry cough wracked his body, setting his lungs on fire and making his eyes water so that what precious little fluid was left in his body was pushed out, drying in a matter of seconds. His body ached for it, just a single swallow of liquid to ease the fire that consumed him from within even as the sun tried to bake him alive.

He pushed himself up, desperate, though the world swayed and the edges of his vision were pitch black though the day was bright enough to blind. He ran his tongue over parched lips and they split, letting fresh blood flow into his mouth. He reveled in it, sucking on the wetness and chewing on his lip to widen the wound. The lifeblood rolled down his throat like the sweetest wine.

He didn't know that he was moving until the dry ground that he stepped on refused to hold his weight and gave way beneath him, sending him tumbling down into a dry riverbed.

Blessed Precursors! There, right by his face! A spindly and weather-beaten plant had managed to survive. He practically pounced upon it, yanking it up by its roots and shoving it all into his mouth. It gagged him, made his tongue try to force it from his mouth, but he kept his teeth clenched and managed to mash it into a bloody paste and force it down his throat.

He stood abruptly, wanting more, and immediately crashed back to the ground, out cold.

He didn't know how long he lay there, and frankly, he didn't really care. He awoke as a few relatively cool somethings splashed against his closed eyelids and scorching cheeks.

His eyes slowly opened halfway. The sky was all wrong, neither the pallid blue that accompanied the unrelenting sun of the day nor the star-speckled black of night. The chill of the drops that continued to hit his body penetrated the fog that enveloped his mind, and he opened his mouth as wide as he could, savoring the liquid that entered. He didn't know why it was raining but he didn't let it bother him, watching as the drops gradually increased until there was nothing but a curtain of falling water encasing him. The fluid that he so desperately needed revived him, restarted his brain.

Where was he? Which direction has he traveled? He didn't know. He tried to wrack his brain and remember where he had stumbled, but nothing came up. All that he knew was that he had quickly and instinctively learned how to survive- hide from the sun or burn to death, move at night or freeze to death. Don't stay in one spot for more than a day, there won't be anything left to sustain you. Hunger and thirst are life. Memories are there to be forgotten, mirages in the desert heat. There was nothing out here, nothing but the sun and sand and thirst.

He groaned along with his stomach, feeling the hunger all the more for what little he had managed to place into his stomach. He felt more alive, more in pain, and hated himself for the little part of him that refused to die.

Jak drank and drank and drank of the life-giving liquid, reveling in its blessed wetness, trying to tell himself not to drink too much. He let it fill his mouth without swallowing, then pushed it out to let the hole fill up anew. After a while he closed his mouth and just lay there, letting the water pool around his immobile form and soak into his skin.

Suddenly, he frowned and struggled to his feet. What was that sound? It was a roaring noise, like hundreds of zoomers revving their engines at once… He took an uncertain step towards the edge of the riverbed.

Too late.

A great wall of dirt-laden water came rushing towards him, slamming into him with force enough to hurl him from his feet and sweep him away before he could even comprehend what was happening. So dry was the land that none of the rainwater was absorbed and instead merely picked up the loose dirt before gathering together and becoming the flash flood that now endeavored to swallow him whole. Startled, he opened his mouth to take a breath and swallowed a massive amount of brown water before being pulled under and fighting desperately to get more air, only to find his mouth filled with water once more. Down and down into the heart of the Wasteland he was swept until after what felt like forever the swirling tide abated and he was deposited flat on his back in the mud.

He turned over and promptly threw up all the water and food in his stomach. A shaking hand came up to wipe at his mouth and he collapsed next to his bile, exhausted beyond measure from his battle with the flood. The sun was back and the land was quickly drying, much of it looking as if it hadn't seen the slightest drop of rain in seasons, much less only a few moments ago. Groaning, he pressed his face into the gently steaming mud.

Why was he here? How had he come here? Try as he might, Jak couldn't remember. There was a thick wall of shadow around those memories, and Jak felt that not being able to know what he wanted to, no matter how terrible it was, was driving him more mad than knowing would ever have done.

How long had he been out here? Days? No, it was longer than that, it had to have been longer! No matter what the demon that clawed at his mind and soul had done, he wouldn't forget.

Why, why, why was he still alive? Why couldn't he remember whatever it was that he wanted to, needed to? Who was the voice in his mind, the entity in his head that clouded his memory and guided his body in ways that he could not remember?

You know who I am.

Not words, but feeling.

"No! Leave me alone!" His voice was rough, unsteady.

It remained.

"Go!"

He felt the smothering mass of power close around his consciousness, revolting, repulsive, consuming, utterly desirable.

He jumped to his feet and dashed around in the bright sun, hands flailing madly, trying to push away the unseen force behind his eyes that danced and flickered at the edges of his vision. "Go away! I don't want you here!"

Lies.

He couldn't see, couldn't feel anything but what was in his mind.

The sound of laughter, wild, delighted laughter echoed across the empty earth. In his ears, in his mind, it was all the same, a formless darkness that strove to destroy him, a drug, an addiction.

"Speak, damn you!" he screamed, voice cracking. Still no words floated in the air for him to hear. He was being swept away in a rough tide of shadows, it was all around him, it was him, waves cresting over his head, his consciousness, suffocating him, breathing life into him, pulling him under, caressing him, searing his skin until it poured into his veins like waves pulsing in time to his heartbeat.

Hunger… for more than food.

With every scrap of his will, he shoved the darkness down until he was in control of his mind. Gradually, he slowed his body's frantic motions and came stumbling to a halt.

Precursors, he was dizzy! He dug the palms of his filthy hands into his eyes, moaning softly as he swayed on his feet. The sun beat down relentlessly upon him, flaying his flesh, scorching the sand and rock he stood upon. Removing his hands, he wrenched his eyes open and began to stumble to a blessedly nearby and relatively large patch of shade underneath a rocky outcropping that called out so sweetly to him. Curling himself into a tiny ball, he shut his eyes and willed himself to enter the darkness of sleep.

He awoke with a jolt hours later, a scream tearing itself from his throat, loud, guttural, utterly feral. It echoed across the vast stretch of wasteland, rolling over the land like a sandstorm. His eyes flew open and he jumped up, only to collapse with a cry as his head came into contact with the hard rock above him. He shut his eyes and buried his head in the sand, feeling blood ooze from the new wound. Battered, bruised, half mad with pain and loss and fear, he wished fervently for the shadows to swallow him up for good.

What had he been dreaming? He tried to remember, tried to grasp the memories that kept slipping away, to no avail. They were gone, erased, just another blank spot in a sea of nothingness. All he could remember was a drowning feeling of guilt and that terrifyingly familiar voice, his own, not his own, repeating over and over again five simple words.

I an set you free.

Free…

All of a sudden he froze, scarcely daring to breathe. Something was out there, something was moving, picking at the sand, very close to him. He waited, quelling the rumblings of his stomach. It slowly came closer, ever closer. He gathered his muscles carefully, preparing to spring and attack it.

So hungry…

The moment came and he pounced, leaping at the animal and using his weight to push it to the ground while his fingers scrabbled to gain a hold on it. With one swift motion, he dismembered the thing, tearing off first one leg and then another. He stuck it in his mouth, tongue seeking flesh, teeth pulling and ripping and mashing it.

Something was wrong, his skin prickled with the feeling of it.

He ate, eyes shut so as not to see the strange thing that he devoured. The taste was odd, yet extremely familiar, the smell so normal to him. But he hadn't tasted it before, not like this.

He ate more.

There was screeching; something sharp sliced into his legs. He didn't need to se where they were, could hear, could sense, as if something within him was reaching out to them, like calling to like. He pounced, seized, rent, slaughtered.

He ate.

His motions didn't slow as he gorged himself, but his eyes opened, were forced open, opened of their own will to fix upon the prey.

His stomach turned over.

He ate.

The blood slipped down his throat, thick, heavy, not blood at all, filling, revolting.

The last squirmed in his fingers, biting him even as it screeched for help, for release, for salvation.

He shoved it into his mouth and crunched.

He gagged as he chewed, forced it from his mouth, kept on chewing. He did not want it, put his fingers in his mouth and pulled it out, drawing it up from the back of his throat, his body never moving. He tried to force it out, tried to regain control, to no avail. Over and over his teeth sank into the Metalhead, long after it ceased to move and fight. Eco oozed around his form, out over his lips, the tainted Dark Eco that was their blood, not the pure Eco that he could feel in the ground, above ground, somewhere around him.

He thirsted.

His hand moved up, his tongue flicked out and ran along his thin fingers, clearing them of the remains.

There were no more Metalheads. His stomach was content; he was full.

And yet he wasn't. He hungered for something else.

No, no, it wasn't him it was him, it was the Other!

No!

It was him.

As the moon traced its path across the sky and the sharp silence of the deep chill encased the Wasteland, he sat there, eyes dead and staring at nothing, diluted Eco slipping and sliding around him.

His glee was smothering.


Daxter wandered the city in a daze, not truly seeing anything. His mind kept repeating the implications over and over again. It was night, he had been out here all day, tracing and retracing the same paths through the city. Life in Haven City had resumed, albeit meekly, but Daxter felt as though he were worlds away. He had clothes, had taken them from some drunk passed out in the street.

It didn't matter.

Jak… was alive. He wouldn't die, couldn't die, not after all they had been through. He couldn't.

He was alive, and he was out there alone.

Daxter suddenly shivered in the cool night and raised his eyes to the unfeeling moon.

He could have sworn he heard Jak's demon laughing.