H'ookkay.

First things first: An apology..

Do you know how long it has been since I updated this story?

TWO YEARS.

That is just shocking. There really is no excuse for that. The main problem I am having now though is that I can't really remember how I was going to end this.... does anyone have any ideas? That is unutterably terrible I know, I can't believe I have forgotten, but it's been a long time and I've written a lot of other things since, but ermmm, I'll have a go and do my best. If I make any mistakes that don't make sense with the rest of it please let me know!

Anyway, here comes (finally) the next chapter!

That is if anyone is still interested.

Which I hope you are.

Anyway, I really am sorry :(. Here's the next bit anyway. Forgive me...?

Oh and also, I said this goes between Jak 2 and Jak 3 I think - it's just before the events of Jak 3. It's an interpretation of why the metal heads begin the attack on Haven in Jak 3. I think this is explained in the games actually, but hey, artistic license; this is an interpretation. It doesn't really matter, it's just fiction... Please tell me if that doesn't make sense. I'm clutching at straws trying to construct an ending for this now....

The Palace

'I made you a deal!'

The half empty glass Baron Praxis was holding flew across the room, straight through the holographic metalhead hovering in the middle and smashed on the tiles. Erol pinched the bridge of his nose and stayed silent.

The metalhead growled. 'Your deal has expired.'

'This was nothing to do with me, nothing to do with anyone here. There isn't even anyone alive who still remembers those wars!'

'Perhaps. But it's your city now. Your responsibility.'

'I am not responsible for crimes committed before I was even born.'

There was prickly silence for a few seconds, Praxis and the metalhead staring each other down.

'How many will you kill?' Praxis said finally, an edge of steel in his voice.

'That depends,' the creature answered. 'How many will you save?'

Praxis stood up. 'I will not play your games anymore!' he roared. 'Tell me what you want!'

'What,' the beast said, tilting its head slightly and... was it smiling? 'Tell you all my plans so you and all your little people can sit down and work out how to stop me? Is that what you want?'

'Just tell me what I have to do.'

'Just wait, Mr. Praxis, just wait.' The hologram started to fade. 'Just wait for the bells.'

The Underground Hideout

'Jak...'

'I'm here.'

'Jak...'

'I'm here, Keira.'

Jak now knew the meaning of last man standing.

Literally.

The room was burning up with fever. That's what Jak had come to think of it as now: The Fever.

The Slums

'You're very hot, love.'

'I'm fine.'

'Do you think you should maybe go home? Take the afternoon off?'

'Can't, can I? Got to get another eighteen hours in this week.'

'You don't look well...'

'I told you, I'm fine!'

The Industrial Section

'I've counted, eight missing, sir.'

'Where are they?'

'Ill. Some sort of bug going round.'

'Well I want them all back here tomorrow. This airship won't build itself.'

'Yes sir.'

The Bazaar

'What do you think it is?'

'Not sure. Some sort of flu maybe?'

'Flu doesn't make you spit blood.'

'Hush now. Run and find your grandmother, see what she says. I need to change these sheets.'

'Blood doesn't wash out.'

'Hush.'

The Underground Hideout

The itch of dark eco was stirring at the edge of Jak's mind. He clenched his fists. That itch would get worse and worse and there was only one way to cure it.

He looked at the door. It was open to try and tempt in a non-existent breeze from the oppressive humidity outside, but all that was coming in was moonlight. He was glad of that, it stopped the darkness. He'd turned out all the lamps to try and keep the temperature down. It wasn't working.

The water he was drinking was warm and didn't taste how it should. Sig moaned and rolled over, his arm thumping against the table. The rest of them he'd managed to move onto the beds, but he couldn't lift Sig by himself, so he'd had to leave him on the floor. He was sat on the floor leaning against Keira's bed, forcing himself to keep drinking and trying to keep his mind empty.

That wasn't working either.

He'd started this.

He'd brought this disease.

This was his fault.

Dark eco crackled with anger and guilt.

Three hours later nothing had changed. Keira lay behind him, dead to the world, Sig was on the floor now with his arms over his head, Torn was sprawled on his front over one of the beds with the blankets twisted round his knees, no shirt on and blood on his lips and pillow, Jinx was in a similar position on the bed next to his and Ashelin was curled up on the bed in the corner silent and shivering.

Jak didn't know where Daxter was.

Somewhere out in the city.

Strange, garbled and incoherent reports had been drifting in all day about cases all over the city. Some mysterious illness no one was acknowledging. People were trying to keep their heads down and carry on.

There had been nothing on the official news broadcasts.

Complete media silence.

Jak wondered how many were dead.

The itch was worse now.

His breathing had shortened and he couldn't ignore it anymore. He looked at the doorway again. How long had it been since he'd...?

He couldn't remember. Weeks.

That made it worse.

That made it hurt.

And it did hurt. Burning and aching and pulling. His hands were shaking and his breath rasped. How easy would it be just to... let go?

It was tempting.

It was the only thing that would stop this torture.

It was so... so easy.

Don't.

It hurts.

Don't do it.

He was on his feet now, somehow, bent double with his hands on his knees and his shoulders heaving.

Outside. Get outside.

No. NO. Stop.

A voice came from behind him. 'Jak...?'

He swallowed and fought for control.

Oh God he needed this. Holding on was like swimming against the impossible current. It would be alright, wouldn't it? He could control it, couldn't he?

A hand tugged on the bottom of his shirt and he whirled round snarling. It was Keira.

'Jak?' she said dreamily. 'Jak I need a drink...'

He couldn't make his voice work. Nothing seemed to respond to instruction properly. This was all his fault. A hotter, fiercer surge of eco shot through his head, forcing an animal snarl from his throat. He was that close, that close. And it felt terrible.

There were footsteps on the stairs.

Jak choked out half a sob. He was leaning on the table now with one hand pressed over his mouth and the other tight on the table, all the ligaments in his arm standing out.

'Jak?' it was Daxter's voice. 'Jak listen, it's all over the city. People everywhere have got it.'

Except to Jak it just sounded like he was talking from a long way away. There was nothing in his head now, nothing but darkness and pain and rage and flickering images of cold metal cells, green aether lamps, locked doors and days and endless weeks of terror and agony.

This had happened before. This inescapable burning. But every time before he'd been able to get away, been able to make it stop where no one could see him, no one could back away terrified, scream freak or see the animal he'd become.

'Jak? Jak did you hear me?' Daxter jumped onto the table in front of him. 'It's everywhere, all over the city. Jak? Jak?'

Jak let out a cry somewhere between a sob and a howl of frustration and threw himself up the stairs out onto the street, banging off the wall and clutching his head with one hand.

This was all his fault.