Author's Note: Thanks for your patience, folks. End-of-year exams have prevented me from working on this for a while. Thanks for the support of the reviewers who sent me nice things while I was away, you helped prompt me to continue this. Without further ado, on with the show.
Jak stole furtive glances at Torn as their two-seater Zoomer pushed its way through the Bazaar byway's heavy traffic. The blaring red lights on the glass-plated highway played patterns of colour over his hardened features. If the man was still in pain, he wasn't showing it. Arms neatly folded over his chest, he stared stoically into the distance and made no further attempts to communicate. Occasionally he stifled a cough, with flecks of dark eco visible on his skin as he took his hand away.
The rest and soup hadn't completely removed the pallor from Torn's skin and as a result he seemed a mere shadow of the old Torn, sitting in the passenger seat like some foreign impostor from a strange land. His old KG uniform had now been replaced by more civilian clothes which added to the effect, making him appear even thinner than he already was. A long-sleeved black collarless shirt with dark-blue pants tucked into black combat boots with a plethora of buckles and straps. Over the top, he had slung a simple leather harness for his guns and combat knife. A red sash had been wrapped loosely around his neck, carefully obscuring the suspicious bronze collar. Some of his trademark dreadlocks had unwoven themselves and Torn had made no attempt to fix them, leaving thin strands of brown hair dancing in the dirty Bazaar air.
Jak could almost imagine a complete stranger sitting next to him, or a side of Torn he had never seen. For a while he sat in appreciative silence.
"Jak, fer chrissake, watch the road!" Daxter cried out, seconds before Jak jammed the zoomer into the rear bumper of the car ahead. Torn shot the blonde a pissed-off 'what the hell are you doing, you moron' look, and for a second, he was the old Torn again.
"Sorry," Jak said, shaken, "I was... distracted."
They drove in silence for a few more minutes until Torn lightly gripped Jak's shoulder and pointed to an upcoming offramp. Quickly, the trio parked the zoomer off on the side of the road and made their way down into the mishmash of tents and neon lights.
Torn led the way through the maze of fruit carts and narrow alleyways, weaving his way among them as a light breeze would. Before long they had made their way through the stalls piled high with fruit, fish, hay, farm tools and assorted pottery and come out into a relatively open courtyard, in the centre of which sat a huge tent, glowing from within with a variety of bright colours. The shanty was being guarded by a brightly feathered moncaw, which squawked loudly as they approached.
"Squawwwwww Back off!" the animal screeched, ruffling its feathers. "We're closed. No customers today. The end is nigh! Tell your friends! Onin said it first!"
Jak stepped forward. "You Pecker?" he stated, matter-of-factly.
The bird frowned. "Who wants to know?" he questioned, in a thick Spanish accent.
"Well, I'm Jak," the blonde answered pointedly, "this is Daxter, and that's Torn." He pointed over to Torn, who glared at him in response.
Pecker cocked a brow. "Onin has mentioned seeing your names, suspended in the mists of time. Well, not the rat. Anyway," he sighed, "come in, then." He flapped his wings a few times and flew into an opening on the tent's right side.
"You better watch who you call a rat, mister," Daxter retorted, but the group followed Pecker inside regardless.
Inside the tent, it stunk of incense and spices. The place was littered with voodoo charms, smoking candles and dishes and baskets filled with strange and exotic substances. In the centre of a decorated rug sat Onin, legs crossed, head bowed in prayer. Pecker flew in and perched himself neatly in a huge dish balanced on the old woman's head.
"I am Onin's interpreter," Pecker said, bowing. As if following a hidden cue, the woman raised her head, and began to wave her hands in cascading sparkles of magic and light. Pecker began to translate. "Recently Onin has been troubled, her visions plagued by fog. She's going on and on about the nature of time... some Precursor incantations... whatever. Her ability to sense future events has been disturbed, but she has seen your names in the darkness, Jak and... Torn, was it? Whoever you are."
Torn scowled and began to sign to the bird. Pecker folded his wings and huffed. "Look, you want to insult my translations? I'm the interpreter here! You want a different story, why don't you get your own interpreter. Like Rat-Boy."
Daxter jumped off Jak's shoulder, pulling up a nonexistent sleeve. "Look, buddy, I warned you-"
Jak grabbed Daxter by the scruff of his neck, cutting him off. "Actually we were looking for your help. We need you to translate for Torn, he can't talk."
"In case you can't tell I am already employed here," Pecker returned, "and speaking of which, Onin says she recognises that collar he's wearing."
Torn's ears perked and he signed some more.
Pecker sighed exasperatedly in return. "Well come closer for Mar's sake so she can read it."
Torn stepped forward, eyeing the floor carefully before delicately kneeling in front of the soothsayer's woven rug. The ancient woman clapped her hands in a shallow bowl of glittering light, and iridescent blue sparkles blew out over Torn's head, floating down onto his shoulders.
Pecker rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Oooh boy that's a doozy. Something like..." He waved his wings, gesturing as he spoke: "Out of darkness come the hands that reach through nature, moulding..." He shrugged. "Something like that. Real ominous and such. Boy, you're in trouble."
Torn did not respond, still staring into the blind woman's empty eyes. They were talking to each other now, silently, with the strange sign language.
Pecker cried out in frustration, flying over to another perch. "Ah, what am I even here for, eh? Those two could be at it all day."
"What are they saying?" Jak asked curiously.
Pecker sighed, defeated. "Onin says that her divining powers have been interfered with by an outside force, something unravelling the fabric of time itself. Etcetera. But your name Jak, holds true, and Torn's thread has become tangled within yours. Like this, see?" He wove the feathers of each wing together like fingers, to demonstrate. "You are now connected."
Jak's eyes focused on the back of Torn's dreadlocked head as the information shifted and turned through his mind. "Connected..."
"...By dark eco! Right?" Daxter exclaimed. "'Cause they're both the crazy-looking eco experiment things now."
Pecker eyed Daxter levelly. "Cloose... but NO!" Ignoring Daxter, he turned back to Jak. "This is a phenomenon even Onin cannot decipher. It will be up to you now to deduce its importance. Onin is saddened that she can not be of more assistance in your journey, Jak, so she offers her interpreter to you, to guide-... Hey!" Pecker squawked angrily and ruffled his feathers. "I didn't agree to this, fossil-lady!"
Onin clapped her hands angrily, sending swathes of glittery dust everywhere. Pecker flew around the room, growling under his breath. "Fine, fine, geez! This is ridiculous..."
Torn shot Pecker a characteristic smirk as he rose to his feet, signing something to him. Pecker narrowed his eyes in response, folding his wings across his chest. "Whatever, tattoo-man, who's the one talking here?"
The four of them made their way out of the surreal tent into the harsh city air. Daxter nimbly hopped back into his regular spot on Jak's shoulder. "So," he began earnestly, "what's the plan for our dark duo?"
Torn rubbed the edge of the bronze collar around his neck self-consciously before covering it back up with his red sash. He began to sign and Pecker translated almost instinctively.
"Torn says our best bet is to find his informant in the Guard," he stated. "He saw her a couple times while he was in there, apparently she's being sent on missions to try and find some ultimate Precursor weapon or something. Important. Whatever they're looking for, Praxis obviously has some dangerous plans for it, so we need to find it before he does."
"So how do we find her?" Jak responded.
Pecker turned to the younger man. "Do you have a communicator on you? I would use mine, but I have no pockets, see."
Jak fished around in his leather satchel for a moment, eventually producing the small device with the appearance of a large speaker with an antenna protruding from the top. Torn took the gadget from Jak's outstretched hand and began to fiddle with the back of it. The machine hummed and crackled with static as the older man turned knobs and dials, finally centering on silence. He handed it back to Jak expectantly.
The communicator was silent, and after Jak stared at it in puzzlement for a few seconds, it caught him by surprise when a sharp female voice burst out of it.
"Hello?! Who is this?" the woman barked angrily.
"Uh..." Jak stuttered for a moment, looking to Torn for information. The older man nodded, and Pecker confirmed, "Yeah, that's her all right."
"...This is Jak," he responded cautiously. "Apparently you know Torn?"
"Torn? He's out of prison?" Her voice softened ever so slightly.
"Yeah, we broke him out. Apparently you know what's going on?"
"Put Torn on the line," the women responded sourly.
"Sorry, not possible," Jak responded with an equal level of bitterness. "Look, you're gonna have to trust me on this."
"The list of people I trust is extremely small and it certainly doesn't include a complete stranger who says they've broken anyone out of prison," she responded tersely. "Meet me behind the Pumping Station in an hour, and bring Torn with you. Then, maybe we'll talk."
The line was cut off before Jak could respond.
"Ooh, adventure!" Daxter chirped mockingly from Jak's shoulderplate. "I dunno about you guys, but I'm excited."
Aaaand cut. See you all next chapter! Thanks for the reviews!