Inked Wings

/ Kinkade’s POV /

Songs are schematic spurts of powerful emotion; it runs deep in your skin. Equal to any art, contradiction is presented. Art is expression, expression is flawed and yet every medium, type, what have you, of art contains systems and schemes purposed for quality. Or, what we find easier to tidy, quality in art is correction proposed for the audience to have the puzzle sorted. Its purpose - it is not inherently dire; it brings out masterpieces. Still, the same can also be said for the previous - personally, I find flawed expression to leave stronger impressions.

War is art, it be isolated, it be universe-wide. Conflict presents even greater.

“How did this happen, tell me?!” Carina stomps her heels, her feet probably hurt.

The screens in this small space distort with evidence. This table is large in reality, its meaningfulness, on the other hand, is near insignificant.

Flawed expressions leave stronger impressions. Emotion is art. This space is crammed with it. As of recent, The Rebellion has taken the previous in their hands. It is near amusing, to see Carina burning up, to glance Cardamon’s way, opposite of mine. His silence reveals a lot of bias, accompanied by - once again - an obvious impression. Dear he, he has been forced to return rather early. I cannot memorize his painting, my eyelids falling heavily.

I am losing patience. I cannot process Carina’s protests, not in a proper method. “How -?! Did a bunch of infantiles - manage something like this?!” Her voice is directed at one of the supervisors assigned to the particular base, now wrecked in ruin.

“What happened to our surveillance?! To our sensors, to our alarms, to our shields?!” She slams her mound of files against the table. “What is this?!” She points. Behind her, the image glides to another; an eastern wall, eaten from the inside out. The edges of this forced hollow form the entrance to the other side.

Carina continues. “The Rebellion has managed to poke at us with their little stunts in the past but this -! We harvest the strongest material in the world, mutated so not even the material in its pure form is capable of piercing through - whoever…managed this, we can’t have them out there. Whoever mutant is suspected of this capability, is to be put down on sight!” This is serious, if you judge her intensity. “Now our systems, our encoding is one of the strongest out there, how did it break?” She draws attention to the next image, which is showing the damaged encoding of the system owned by the respective base.

“Can’t be other than a Tackler, by the patterns of the damage induced inside the system…” The supervisor slowly speaks up.

Cardamon crosses his arms, his inner flame spurring. “There’s but one known Tackler capable of something like this.” His beautiful and altogether, infuriating glare falls on me.

“The man’s deceased.” I respond, the tap of my fingers is ringing underneath the table.

“He had a boy under his name, did he not?” Cardamon pries further, modifying his tone to imitate persons I prefer to forget. He attempts to unravel my skin.

I nod. “Yes… My team is currently searching.” My glass voice speaks monotone.

“General Kin’, the fugitive was trusted to be dealt with in your hands…From today on, you will deal with this, this is your responsibility.” Carina clears it in my place.

A new chore added to the pile. This is marvelous.

“If you don’t correct your mishap –“

My palm flaps up and down, my smile nowhere to be found. “I understand.”

“If that is the case, you are dismissed.”

I push back my seat, standing now, entangled in these odd wires pressuring my limbs. I wish my farewells to the subordinate and glance Cardamon’s way. My lips stumble into a grin. The doors of the meeting room close behind me. As soon as they slide closed, my grin demolishes, my mouth sealed.

Subsequently, I am obliged to inform my team about the new orders. A part of me confidently delays me from following these rules, the other, reminds me of Riddleman’s claims, and Eva’s image. My orders written, my message expressed, I forward it to the team. It’s a matter of haste up until they find the child. My lips part. “I apologize.”