The battle was supposed to be over. Ratchet and Clank just spent three days hard at work, doing what, apparently, they do best.
Escorting evacuee transports off the planet, sabotaging enemy operations, and fighting from every conceivable angle until,
with the strength of the Defense Force reinforcements that arrived on day three behind them, they sent the Zarethian invaders packing. Meridian City is supposed to be safe again.
So why was Clank, here in the briefing room at the Planetary Defense Center, covered in blood? Whose blood was that?
"What’s going on? What happened to you?” All concern, Ratchet rushed straight over, rounding the conference table and kneeling next to his friend.
“I… I… I… do not kn-jn-know Ratchet.” Clank shuddered internally. He was barely able to keep tabs on his processes. “I th.. I th… I think I have a virus…”
Clank tried to recall the last three days, but realized he couldn’t. Fearing the worst, Clank balled himself up into condensed Zoni energy, shut down his robotic body, and shot himself-his
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