**REVISED CHAPTER**
Jak and Daxter (c) Naughty Dog
Cry Of The Wolf
Chapter 6 – Torn's verdict
The trip back to the Naughty Ottsel was a tense one. For one, what trust Jak had for Sharok was slowly dwindling, and occasionally he'd look out the corner of his eye to see Sharok watching him. He tried to remain unbiased towards the man, at least until Torn put forth his verdict. At times Daxter kept leaning close to his left ear to drop warnings, which didn't help in the slightest.
"Quiet, Dax. The sooner we see Torn, the better. I don't trust him much either, but at least I'm trying to act civil to him," Jak hissed, nudging Daxter away from his ear for the fifth time.
Daxter sat back and glanced suspiciously at Sharok's gun in its holster, while Jak focused on what was in front of him. He was searching for a two-seated zoomer, hoping to make the trip a little faster. Rounding a corner into the Slums, his eyes fell on one parked 20 yards away. Beckoning Sharok over to the vehicle, he slide onto the seat and started the engine up. Sharok was quick to slide in next to him, and eyed him warily.
"You always steal vehicles like this?"
Jak let a ghost of a grin wash across his face as he steered the zoomer into traffic. "Only when the situation calls for it." Following the stream of zoomers towards South Town, Sharok sat back, enjoying the ride. He was silent, seeming content with just watching the scenery go by. Jak was thankful for that. It wasn't long before the Port opened up before them, and Jak directed their zoomer across the deep expanse of saltwater. Sharok leaned over the edge, examining the dark depths below. Reaching the pavement by the Naughty Ottsel, Jak glided the car to a smooth halt, and silently removed himself from it. Walking over to the bar door, he felt Sharok move up behind him, and together they all entered the cool, dim room.
Browsing his eyes across the room and booths, Jak failed to see Torn anywhere. Sharok stepped past him, awed by the setup of the bar, before turning to Jak expectantly. "Lad, where's the Leader?"
Unsure of Torn's whereabouts himself, he shrugged, and walked further into the room, allowing Daxter to jump off his shoulder. Passing by the centre table towards the stairs, he called Torn's name a couple of times, before returning to the table. Inspecting the surface in case Torn had left a note of some kind, he spied a sheet of paper, and reached to pick it up. A gasp escaped his lips when his eyes settled on a photo of a wolfish beast. It was strange seeing the animal again, and Jak felt himself inwardly shudder. Dropping the photo back to the table, Daxter was quick to retrieve it.
"Not this thing again!" he screeched, and Jak noticed his friend's hands beginning to tremble. Wanting to keep Daxter from panicking himself further, he pulled the photo from the Ottsel's grasp and flung it back down to the table. Daxter breathed a small sigh of relief. Turning to see where Sharok was, Jak spotted him by the door, looking up at the portraits and Metal-head trophies hanging on the wall.
'At least he's keeping himself partially occupied,' Jak thought bitterly, wondering just where Torn was. As if to answer his call, Torn materialized from the stairs, his body language conveying disappointment. "I called for you. What were you doing up there?"
Torn lifted his gaze, about to answer Jak, before he noticed Sharok at the back of the room, admiring the gun collection stacked there. He promptly dismissed Jak's concern, and called over to the other man. "Can I help you?"
Sharok turned to face Torn, and smiled while he advanced on him. "You can, actually," he replied, halting at the centre table. "I'm new to this City, and I'd like to be of service. I hear you command a squadron called the Freedom Fighters, and I wish to join."
"I see." Torn studied the man from head to toe, and Jak assumed he was sizing Sharok up. After a moment's thought, he nodded once. "I think we can use you. Just wait while I get you an application form." Moving to one of the booths, he located a rather aged looking folder amongst other documents, and flipped it open. Finding a blank form, he returned to the waiting man. "Take this and fill it out. Once you're ready, submit it to the Freedom League's HQ, located in the Water Canal region."
Sharok grasped the application form with apparent eagerness, and thanked Torn. Folding the sheet of paper neatly, he slipped it inside his pants pocket. "If you'll excuse me, I must head off now. Time to locate an Inn, I believe. Until next time, Chaps," he nodded distractedly, and departed from the bar.
Once he was certain the man was gone, Torn turned to Jak, an eyebrow raised slightly. "Care to tell me where he came from?"
Sighing, Jak shifted into a booth, and rested his head in his hands for a moment. Lifting his face, he watched Torn slide into the booth across from him. "He's just a guy I found at the Pumping Station. He was hanging off a cliff." He heard Torn take a sharp intake of breath at this, but pressed on. "After I rescued him, he wanted to be brought here. I had my doubts, Torn. He seemed friendly enough, yet there's just something that's telling me to be wary of him. What's your taking on it?"
Torn shifted in his seat, directing his gaze to somewhere outside of the booth. "I'm not entirely sure. He seems reasonable from first impressions. If you're really bothered, Jak, I'll keep an eye on him. I'm certain he'll be approved for Guard duty. He carries himself in that particular way. It would explain those tattoos," he added as an afterthought.
"I already asked him about that. He said they weren't KG tats."
"I see. Well, only time will tell. I'll use him if I can, and keep an eye on him at the same time. If he's really to be cautious of, it's better he's under my command than someone else's."
Agreeing with Torn's logic, Jak removed himself from the booth and headed to the bar. He fished a glass out from the cupboard and poured himself a drink from one of the many bottles behind the counter. Taking a sip, he moved over to the centre table, and held up the wolf photo. "Torn, where'd you get this picture?"
There was a moment's hesitation before Torn answered. "I called in to see Vin at the Power Station. I asked his hologram if he knew anything about that beast, and he managed to locate some data on the matter. I figured that photo might be of some use."
Returning to the booth, Jak sat down and placed the photo on the table between them. "Learn anything interesting about them?"
"Not much, I'm afraid. Vin said that beast was from a species called a Vulwolf. From the earliest records available, they were a species that dwelled mostly in the Wasteland, but were known to thrive in other areas. They hunt and scavenge, and are most active at night. There haven't been many sightings in the past fifty years. The collected belief was the species was dying out."
Jak took a moment to process this new found information, and then redirected his attention back to Torn. "You were upstairs before. Why? Were you looking for something?"
Knowing this was coming, Torn nodded, "Yes. Vin sent me to retrieve your shirt from yesterday. He wanted to analyze the black liquid that was on it. He was confident he could ascertain what it was. So where is it?"
Jak mentally kicked himself, knowing exactly where it was. "Daxter took it and washed it last night. It'll be of no use now," he replied, and Torn visibly sagged.
"I half expected that."
Jak was about to say something else, but was interrupted by a loud beeping coming from the centre table. Within an instant, Torn had leapt up and dashed to his communicator. He switched it on and greeted the caller. Shifting in the booth, Jak watched as Torn's face became shadowed with worry.
"Yep, I'm on my way. Make sure he doesn't move," Torn commanded, flipping his communicator closed and pocketing it. He turned to Jak, looking apologetic. "Jak, I'm urgently needed in the Slums. It seems one of our men has been injured by a dud security canon," he explained distractedly, picking up his weapons and stashing them over his body. He strode to the exit, and gave Jak a quick nod before leaving.
Sighing in defeat, Jak sagged against the seat and rested his head in his hands again, feeling the stress of the situation beginning to overwhelm him. As if feeling his buddy's dejected mood, Daxter scurried over to him from the counter, and sat silently beside him, hoping his mere presence would be enough.
