A/N: Remember, people, Torn and Ashelin are not in their normal character because this is six years before Jak 2 and in those six years lots will happen to alter their personalities and the way they relate to people. Really has nothing to do with Jak 2, just TornAshelin because I luv that pairing and hardly anyone writes it.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Obviously. If I did I would be out making money off of it.
The dingy brown water of the small oases in the Wasteland gave off a rank stench of death and rotting plants that filled the entire region and made the air seem heavy. No one normally went there except the Bahzre, the native desert people, and the Wastelanders, who were tough as nails and had no qualms about facing the terrain. Torn was beginning to wonder why he had taken this mission. His goal was to find a legendary weapon that was rumored to be out here. Supposedly it could only be wielded by one who possessed the Precursor Stone. He had been out here looking for it for three days, and much more of his time had been spent fighting off Metal Heads and looking for clean water than actually trying to find the weapon. For all he knew, it could be buried in the middle of one of the many boulders that were scattered across the land, and then he would never find it.
Suddenly Torn tripped over a rock that protruded from the hot sand. He stumbled, but managed to catch his balance before he fell. He looked at his foot and saw that crimson blood was dripping off it out of the jagged rip in his shoe and staining the sand red where it fell. The wound was not particularly painful, but it would greatly slow him down, especially it he had to run from one of the larger Metal Heads. Swearing, Torn began to bandage the foot. He started to hobble back to the city. There was no point in sticking around out here when he was wounded – it would likely be the death of him. He was injured too much to run well, so his best chance would be to get back to the city while he still could.
Torn noticed the rock he had tripped over, and saw that it was not a rock at all, but a shiny metal disk sticking out of the sand. No wonder it was so sharp; the edges were filed to points. He reached down to pick it up, and it pulled easily out of the sand. The place where it had been filled in immediately with sand. On the disk there was a symbol Torn did not recognize. He was sure he had seen it before, somewhere, but he couldn't think of where.
With a shrug, he stuck it in his bag and continued toward the city in the distance.
As the tall, forboding gates drew nearer, he became increasingly aware of someone watching him. He could almost hear footsteps on the ground. Every time he turned to look, though, there was no one there, and the sun reflected on the sand burned his eyes so much that even if there had been anyone there, he couldn't possibly have seen them.
Without the slightest warning a laser bullet shot past him an inch from his head. "Holy shit!" he yelled, whipping out his own gun and swiveling around.
He couldn't see the shooter; the person was behind a rock. Torn was fairly sure, however, that it was not a Metal Head, because they weren't smart enough to be able to aim that well. They had to resort to machine guns that they could whip around until they met their target.
Torn ducked behind a rock, barely managing to dodge a second shot. He tried to fire back, but this shot seemed to come from a different direction and he couldn't tell where it was coming from.
Just as he fired a shot that was supposed to go where the first bullet had come from, someone grabbed him from behind. The carefully aimed shot went askew and hit a rock before reflecting back at him. The person who had a hold on him had a strong grip as the person pinned his arms behind his back with one hand and deftly stole his gun with the other. Whoever it was had been well trained. "Don't move," a cool female voice hissed in his ear. He felt his own gun being pressed against his head. "Are you one of the Bahzre?" the woman asked.
"No," Torn said carefully. "I work for Baron Praxis, in Haven City."
"Oh." Torn felt the woman relaxed, and although she didn't lessen her painful grip on his arms, she lowered the gun. "Are you going to the city now?"
"That depends," Torn said, "on if I can stop whoever's firing at me, and also if you let go of me. But we don't really have time for idle chat, I'm being shot at!"
Another shot whizzed above their heads as the woman said, "They're shooting at me, they don't care about you." The woman let go of Torn, and he turned around to face her.
Torn did not believe in love at first sight. Most would say that Torn, with the way his life had gone, did not believe in love at all. Either was, he felt something twinge within his heart as he took in the woman's clear smooth features and haunting eyes, and her hair that curled and sprang like a red cloud around her head.
"Are you one of the Krimzon Guard?" she asked urgently. Torn nodded.
"Then I need you to escort me to the city. I was a prisoner of the Bahzre, but I'll explain that later. I escaped, and they're after me now, but it is imperative that I get to the city safely," she said.
"Alright," Torn said dubiously. He didn't completely trust her, but it appeared she would be coming along with him whether he liked it or not. He wasn't pleased with the prospect of this because the girl was strong but even so she would probably slow him down, and since he was already injured that was the last thing that he needed.
Another shot rang out, this one blowing to bits the rock that sheltered them and leaving them exposed and pelted with bits of rock. Torn took three quick shots at the rock the other bullets were coming from behind, and then dove behind another rock, with the girl right behind him.
He heard the shattering of a rock, and a sharp yelp of pain as one of his shots hit its mark. Cautiously he peaked out from behind the boulder. One man lay on the ground, and another was bent half over him, seemingly oblivious to Torn's presence as he inched toward them. A gun lay on the sand near them, and it appeared to be the only one the two desert men possessed.
The man that was not wounded looked up and saw Torn, who had his gun aimed at the man's head. The Bahzre's eyes were full of fear as he begged, "Please, spare me. We meant you no harm. We were sent to catch the Child of Fire. The Leader sent us."
Torn did not lower his gun. "Who is the Child of Fire?" he asked.
"The girl! The one who escaped! She was born of fire and she is to die by fire, tomorrow at first light!" he cried, pointing to the woman who had come creeping up behind Torn. The desert man continued, "If I return without her, the Leader will kill me!"
"Don't listen to him! I know these people," the young woman said coldly to Torn. She walked over to the gun the injured man had dropped, never taking her eyes off the one who was still pleading for his life. She pointed it at the man, who was beginning to stand up. "Move and I'll blow your head to pieces," she snarled.
With lightening speed, the desert man whipped out a knife and lunged at the woman. She fired at single quick, well-aimed shot, then jumped back just in time. The knife didn't touch her, but the man lay on the ground, his head a bloody mess, dead.
She knelt down beside the dead man and checked him for more weapons, her face expressionless. She found a silver gun and slipped it quietly into the pocket of her pants. Then she stood and went over to Torn. "I'm Ashelin. I suppose this wasn't a very good introduction," she said, motioning toward the two dead men. Torn agreed completely, but didn't say so, only muttered, "I'm Torn."
Ashelin nodded, then said, "We'd better be going; there will be more Bahzre coming after me, I'm sure." Without a word to Torn, she turned and headed toward the city in the distance.
Torn followed her silently. He was puzzled. In all his years he had never met a woman like Ashelin. The ladies of Haven's court, wives of rich nobles, were women who never left their house except to accompany their husbands to court events. Women of the poorer classes were in two groups: those who found a good man to marry and tried to raise a successful family despite the bad environment, and the majority, sluts who never married and stood on street corners, who seldom had a real home but often bore a noble man several illegitimate children. Ashelin fitted neither of these two groups; she was in a class all her own.
"Are you from Haven City?" he asked, trying to break the awkward silence.
"I was," she said evasively. He decided not to try and talk to her again.
Night fell, it seemed, slower than usual. They walked while it was still dark for awhile, and didn't stop until about nine o clock. There was a full moon, so plenty of light was shed upon them as they set up camp. It was too much of a risk to start a fire, so they shared some of Torn's cold food. Although there were lots of rock farther out in the Wasteland, now the landscape was barren in all but one direction, where a lone pile of boulders stood, so a fire would be so conspicuous it would give them away.
The night was very cold, and with one blanket for each person it was all in all very uncomfortable. Though Ashelin was several feet away from him, Torn felt her eyes upon him, and couldn't help thinking that perhaps she had a bit of a "thing" for him.
The morning dawned dusty and hot. Dust floated in the air and made breathing difficult. "Come on," Torn said to Ashelin. "A dust storm is on the way and I sure as hell don't want to be around when it hits."
"How much longer until we reach the city?" she asked, shielding her eyes from the glaring sun and looking at the city.
"I'd guess about a six-hour walk. I hope we'll make it by noon." He glanced nervously at the cloud of dust that was rapidly forming on the horizon. "If we don't wind up in the middle of that storm, though. We should've gone on longer last night."
The two of them walked as fast as they could. The dust became thicker, and the stifling cloud came upon them faster than Torn had predicted.
"There's a big pile of rocks over there," he directed to Ashelin. "We'll have to get behind them and wait out the storm."
"I can't see it!" Ashelin had to shout over the roaring wind; she breathed in dust and coughed. She felt Torn grab her hand, and blindly she followed him, trying not to breathe in dust or let it get in her eyes.
There was a hollow in the pile of rocks, barely big enough for two people. Torn wet a piece of cloth and handed it to Ashelin, who put it over her mouth to try and filter the dust through. Then he made one for himself and made sure the canteen was tightly shut so dust would not get into their water and turn it into mud.
Neither of them knew how long they waited there while the dust whipped around them and caked them with Wasteland grit. It could have been an hour or it could have been three, but at last the dust began to settle and the wind ceased its raging. Ashelin was the first to step out of the hollow in the rocks, and she brushed herself off. Looking toward the city, she gasped in horror.
