Inked Wings

/ Kinkade’s POV /

This lonesome bedroom has been my prison for long hours. Blooming trees laugh in my face, they are staring up the window, forever part of the rare plant collection in the room below. They are free, their rosy petals dance in the air, their puffing centers kiss the ground. Timidly softened pecks. A beautiful rug is being created. I envy it. My new joints itch, my renewed limbs strain and tire me all the same...Difficult to decipher, they are.

16:44

A puppet on strings is guided and therefore obliged to formulate a definitive alternative. The consequences for these choices will always reflect in the puppeteer. I have no strings attached to me in reality. All I own are priorities.

The Riddleman has summoned me. We have not spoken, not since he flashed me the smile: “Oh, you are alive. Bravo.” Truly, I am his favorite. They are known to die the earliest. I exhale. I am inside the room; to see him all I must do is walk past this corner. But I halt. Voices. Blinded children I hear.

One-nine booms her fragile chords. “The mission has been successfully accomplished, sir! All his belongings are under review!” These sentences normally require a victorious tone – she lacks.

He speaks. “I understand. General Kinkade will take over from here. Now, shoo, shoo, little ones.” From the tone alone, I can visualize the wave of his hand.

Eight-six stammers. “We-”

“We –“ The Riddleman speaks in their place. “- would rather be discarded in the vortex?” The joy in his words never once falters. “Hm? ...I do not care much about this boring case. You are dismissed, little ones.” A common pause. “Go. On.”

The bright passage opens. An astral gate build on pale light, needed a spearing to open up.

“And leave your trophy here.”

The passage shuts behind their defeated waltz.

The tension turns the air heavy. Riddleman calls my name and sings for me to come, urging me to step past the corner. Riddleman is wearing his day-to-day pose, eyes covered under his hair, his chin rested on that riddled palm. At the end of his throne, laid down is the child. The Tackler’s boy is tied, unconscious.

I swallow, spit near sealing the cage which is my throat. “Luck is on our side, sir.”

His torso budges, his palm is falling. “Dear, take this petty sight out of here and place it into one of the caskets inside the Correction Center. The protocol is the one and same.”

This child is doomed to die in pain, under the label of a murderous accomplice…a traitor. I hide my wince by nibbling at my upper lip. My pellet head quivers with a smile. “Yes, sir.”

Placing my arms under his feet and arms, I pick the child up and turn around. Whilst I carry the fiber being to his cell, my gaze can’t help but fall on his face, all to birth a sting inside my heart. A beast blooms inside my ribcage and pulsates stronger than my heart. Evokes a clear portrait, when Eva was this young. So fierce…so pretty…so, so sweet. Oh, my child, my all. My blinks come with windows of dissociation. We’re here. I carefully lay him on the ground and disable the shackles around his wrists. They have already left light burns over his…oh what thin veins he owns. Once the electric wall activates and separates us, I choose to sit down, legs crossed. He is rather skinny and short for his age, I note. There is a piercing covering his ear, a feline shielding the entrance to his mind. It does complement his overall ‘punk’ appearance, including the shaved sides of his wild mullet.

A storm of thoughts forms in my inner escape, it is hard to articulate them through my disembodied voice. One glows brighter than others - I ought to do it - and soon. I do not know how long it takes for me to form this new routine, this new play of wits, this plan…let’s call it what it is. My patience has run out, my hope has rusted to dust, except for the last bit of silver remaining within it. I will use this and make my choice.

A grunt sings in my eardrums. The child is waking up. Noel ‘makes eyes’. His teeth grit as he is probably feeling the aftermath pain. Our eyes meet, his, are turning cold over their dried corners. He rubs the stone tears off and retains an eerie, ice quietness.

“You’re awake.” I begin with. “I am General Kin...You are Noel Ade Jalal.”

Noel hides his face between his knees. His body is bent in multiple places, a nod pushing the bones under the skin, owner of thin layers.

“I am here not to deceive you. An ugly fate will be inflicted on you but it will not take place. I assure you.” I am not hearing of another child’s demise. Whether innocent or not so much innocent. “You will be left to starve today. You will have to power through, I beg.”

I leave the child be. Attempting to connect would prove to be both unnecessary and useless. On my way, I contacted Bakhsh. The first instance in which I ask for a favor in return.

23:14

I can forever depend on Carina to leave me to make my mistakes in the eyes of the ‘congress’. I pulled a pod and went. I claim it for later use. The Riddleman will not bother with my ill intentions. Considering he reads me well, therefore he is likely aware.

Bakhsh finds me Eva’s coordinates and they sent her my message. I am meeting her now. I have only landed, then I build my path through the Coral Reef of planet NIL-7. It is the graveyard of what used to be an old ocean. Ancient no longer, our meeting spot is an echo of what used to be. I enter the colossal skeleton of a creature long lost. It is slightly smaller in comparison with the mother ship but still owns a true utopia of ancient vegetation. Uttermost beautiful. And humid. My breath stills in the air.

“Watermelon Man re--quested assistance?!” She chirps, her voice rings, as if a violin is being played. Beyond the meaning of nostalgia.

I respond: “Watermelon Man pleads for Sweet Ice‘s merry!”

We used to play this silly role play. A game from the past, when she was ten modules. Realization dawns on me. Half a decade has passed since she joined the mutants’ case. Teenage ears are truly the time of just-full anger. I turn around to see her sight. My dearest Eva, now all grown. It is always a surprise.

Hesitant, she smiles when she takes off the mask which is hiding her figure. “It...It hasn’t been fiiifteeen cycles yet. Miss me too much?”

I smile. “It is becoming harder and harder to wait.” I open my arms in which she flies. Euphoria chains me. I do not want to let go. “Dearest Eva, I love you.” I whisper an oath against her scalp.

She laughs: “Cannot help but feel the same.” Her voice cracks, her mind reminded she is embracing the enemy. I let go. She needs the space to disconnect. “Th-anks for the signs. We have rescued the little fellas.” Eva pauses. “Also, C-Cardamon made...shoot…any progress?”

I shrug with a grin. “I have stopped chasing after he that I once knew.”

Eva tenses while her hands play with her Bantu Knots. “What…what does that mean?”

My hands grab her shoulders; on her forehead, I leave a peck. The kiss causes her to giggle. “You will find out.” I say as my hand leaves the Chip inside her palm. Eva is beginning to question when I interrupt her. “A gift from WPA.” All records possibly registered within this prison of mine’s existence. “Use it wisely.”

Her teeth are revealed with her blinding smile. My child. Deep it cuts - my guilt for what I will do to you, Eva. “I love you.” I apologize. “I have to take my leave.”