Author's notes: Once again, my sincere apologies for the delay – this time it was far more personal, and not something I really want to talk about. So bear with me…

Jak: I feel so violated…

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The floor of the prison was thick with dust and grime; the layers of filth muffled every footstep the commander took. What little light penetrated the dank corners of the place flickered, merely giving the shadows a little more life. The inhabitants of the cells watched him as he passed, the occasional groping hand reaching out only to be stopped, inches from him, by the thick bars.

He moved on like he didn't have a care in the world, hands resting ever so lightly on the holsters of his pistols. The racing mask was pulled down, making the world a glistening, shattered crimson – so much more suited to his tastes.

The Dark Warrior Program was one of his personal favourites – in particular one little blond elf that has failed to perform to his full extent in this story. So it was that on this particular day he made his way to the thick bulletproof doors and let his fingers dance across the access panel. The door slid open with a gentle hiss…

Jak sat bolt upright when he heard it.

Erol stepped into the cell with a sly smile, the door sliding shut behind him and sealing the two in a space that was all to small for Jak's tastes – but not for those of the commander. He moved towards the blonde elf, throwing him back on the bed from which he was attempting to rise.

'So here we go again', hissed Erol, pausing for a moment to look down on the elf now sprawled across the dirty cot. 'You know', he purred. 'I like you that way'.

Jak got halfway up from that position before Erol made contact again, placing his gloved hands on the younger elf's shoulders and pushing him back down. The commander leant forwards, running his fingers down Jak's face and letting his eyes flick downwards – downwards, before coming to rest once more on those wide eyes.

The blonde was surprisingly calm, far to used to this situation than any man should ever be. Those eyes slide shut, muscles tight with anger that he could do nothing but yield to Erol's questing tongue and give in to the touch of their bodies even thought it almost made him want to cry out in repulsion.

It was disgusting – but in some strange way it was nice to be so close to someone.

And if he kept his eyes closed he could pretend the person above him wasn't the one that was pumping him full of eco, using him for his own sick pleasure and nothing else. That it wasn't something who had killed and maimed and laughed at the bloodshed and the taste of it on his lips – that it wasn't some mad creature come to claim him with force and fury. Maybe then, when he got rid of the feeling of the commander's fingers on his skin or the sound of his harsh breathing, maybe then he could imagine that this wasn't as sick as it was.

His eyes open ever so slightly as their lips parted once more, taking a deep breath and attempting to squeeze some air into his lungs. Erol was straddling him now, smiling, his helmet pushed back to reveal the charcoal stains upon his face and his glittering eyes.

For a moment Jak thought about reaching for the pistol that was bumping against his thigh, but even as he formulated the plan Erol moved again.

His right hand gripped Jak's upper arm firmly as he pulled him up once more, hungry for the taste of his lips and the perverted pleasure he found there. His other hand moved down to rest upon Jak's hip.

The kiss was long, and when the commander did pull back he did not go far. Their faces were so close, and Jak was held there by the vice-like grip, although he attempted too remove himself from it. The retaliation was swift and painful, and the elf grunted at the pressure on his ribs, arching his body in an attempt to find some space. Some distance between him and the slim figure above.

To attempt to escape would mean pain – not death. He would not be given the sweet release, but the chair and the needle. So Jak surrendered to the wills of the redhead, lay still and silent under his body, gasping, trying to find some air to fill his empty lungs. He could taste blood – in his revolt he had bitten his lip and the sight of it made his captor smirk.

But it was not enough for Erol, it would never be enough.

'Scream', hissed Erol, tightening his grip on Jak's arm as his left hand began to move once more. 'Scream.'

And then the lights went out…

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(Same day – approximately 12:23 pm)

In a dark, secluded corner of the slums there is a building – nondescript grey and completely filthy. It is used to house the old, those no longer useful to society, as they wait to die.

The place was rank with mold, the walls crumbling, the stuffing pulled from the furniture to litter a floor that was thick with dust and other, distasteful, substances. The place stank of death and disease, and bodies – both living and dead – lay sprawled throughout.

The only good thing about it was that the old man couldn't see what a hellhole he was in.

The aging man sat huddled by a grimy window, wrapped against the chill in a heavy and discolored cloak of Lurker fur. The occasional wheezing cough wracked his feeble body, but other than that he was utterly still.

Even the heavy thumping of black boots making a track through the filth did not raise him. In fact, the sound only made him huddle deeper in his cloak and let loose another harsh breath.

It was not until an all too familiar drawl split the intense silence that he turned.

'Evening father'. The gaze that met the commander's own was milky and distant – the cataracts had by now completely stolen his sight.

'Evening is it? Hard to tell in this place.' The old man's voice was a growl, coarse as sandpaper – a stark contrast to the silky, authoritative tones Erol had long since mastered.

'How do you feel?' asked the navy and yellow clad guard, perching himself upon the windowsill and surveying the room with something akin to revulsion.

'I feel like death, boy.' The words are said with a sigh and a sad smile, and Erol shifts slightly in his seat – but his father cannot see the sly grin that is starting to creep along his soft lips.

For this moment was much darker than it could ever appear, sick in its twisted emotion, repulsive in the lack of love found in those disapproving eyes no longer hidden behind the red lenses of his mask.

Erol licked his lips, blinking lazily – but the old man could not see how much his son hated him, and his own faced cracked into an affectionate smile.

'Have you come to get your old man out of here?' he asked, trying to show how much he needed to hear an answer.

Perhaps Erol would have denied the claim – if he hadn't seen the need in that haggard face.

'Yes father, I'm going to get you out of here,' he mumbled, keeping his voice soft even as his lip curled upwards in disgust. 'You just stay here, I'll be back soon.'

'All right boy', said the old man with a toothless, trusting smile directed at the retreating back of his son.

And why shouldn't he trust him? After all, Erol was such a good boy.

Such a good boy.

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Once he was free of the building Erol quickened his pace, the cold ripping into his face like knives. It was utterly dark, and he made his way by memory alone, turning down an alley that was found beside the building.

He stumbled, his foot cracking against a heavy KG helmet, making him swear harshly as he kicked it away. 'Get your helmets back on you idiots', he snarled into the shadows of the alley.

For a moment there was silence, then the helmet was swept up by a gloved hand and disappeared from his view.

The squadron stepped towards him – looming out of the darkness like creatures born from nightmares. There came the hiss of a COM being flicked on, and a harsh metallic voice filtered from the helmet of the elite who had stepped up beside Erol.

'Commander?' he asked, gesturing towards the building Erol had just left.

The man in question fixed his gaze on the yellow helmet, his lips twisting into a distorted smile.

'Torch it.'

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In a dark, secluded corner of the slums there is a building – nothing but flame and the wrenching cries of the burning.

There is a man there, silhouetted by the corpse fires.

And he's laughing…

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Erol: I feel so mental now…

Scorpion: You and me both baby! Yeah!

Erol: You enjoyed that didn't you?

Scorpion: Every single twisted moment! Ohh, and by the way, I decided the let you imagine what Erol did to Jak – found my version to be a little too, ermm…

Erol: Mature?

Scorpion: Exactly!