Inked Wings

Fifth Event - The First Meeting

“All I ask is to be judged by my actions rather than your preconceptions of my race.”

‘Are you ready?’ From inside an old ship, Malik asks Angel, who is sliding on his board.

They are entering the ‘Risk Zone’, as Malik calls it. He slides his fingers against his tattooed scales, right on his right arm. ‘Stop -’ He makes a sound. ‘You’re making it hard to speak.’

Angel readjusts his position and is forcing the board still. ‘There.’ He flaps his arms, his wings hidden under a Cloak. He shakes his head lightly, moving the dreadlocks Linda and Birdie gave in to arrange for him. Angel is wearing baggier clothing, if compared to his usual style.

The pink streak in his hair bangs is now harder to spot from a close distance.

Malik continues his speech which is near the end. ‘You have the guide on your screen.’

‘I’m all set, Malik. Give me the green light to go.’ Angel rubs his knuckles together.

Malik snorts and takes a moment to breathe. He walks to the gates and proceeds to pull the lever ‘(a real old design of a ship)’. The gates open with a scratch, and they leave way for the view of landscape sliding in and out. They are going at full speed.

Angel crutches, holding onto one side of the board with one hand.

‘Now,’ Malik adjusts his gloves. ‘It’s been a while since you’ve fought back the current with the board alone…so be careful…’ Malik’s eyelids fall low. ‘And you’re not listening.’

‘Nope!’ Angel exclaims then drives the board at full speed. He exits, feeling the push of the gravity. He keeps going forward and manages to break through. He dives in, turning around.

With a wave of sound left behind, he drives past the ship at a considerably faster pace.

Angel spears the air, sliding smoothly. The wind caresses his hair and the creases in his cloth. It is so very cold, layers of ice coming and leaving underneath his hoverboard.

In and out. The few hills and trees enter and exit his view within milliseconds.

The speed he is riding at, the time flies, yet it does not match his feeling of time. The nostalgia slows the process down, when the impatience quickens it. The force of his speed is catching up with his body, this feeling renewed. Despite it, he goes faster and faster.

Malik wonders how Angel has not flown off and his board has not swept off his feet yet. At the same time, upon watching him, Malik is reminded of the teen who used to sneak in the very ship he stands in. After he would be found, he would boss others around, going on about how he will join the mission and how that is final.

The memory makes Malik chuckle. ‘Oh, where has that gone?’

Angel howls, riddled with the excitement. For a moment, he has forgotten all about his internal turmoil. It does not last. A new feeling, a piercing dread washes over him. He is approaching the prison, and he is livid. The “petty” anger is long vanished, replaced with the vengeful nature of those awful stings, of that sudden emotional boil. He wants to forget.

Instead, Hashem’s image pops up in front of his eyes suddenly.

This is not a mere distraction any longer. From the moment onward, Angel is left with the thirst for revenge. Any form of it, he feels like he needs it. Like his doing with many other things.

Soldiers notice him, slightly off time. Angel dodges all of their barriers. A shooting star.

He breaks into the prison, head first through the nearest window. Once again, Angel jumps from one hall to another, his hand slamming the surface of multiple spots.

Some soldiers take notice, some get in his way. Useless. They are either knocked out or left headless before their shots can even reach Angel.

His arms slap each body, pressing his hand against each corpse, then he moves on to another area. Following the map permanently in front of his eyes, he takes hard turns and ducks to fit into shortcuts. He breaks out of a vent, the surprised soldier’s South.

Angel presses the board, its firing engine right underneath, against the soldier’s face.

Screams. The soldier drops dead, skin melting off onto the ground.

Angel is closing in. He is almost done clearing the path, entering a crossroad, the prison’s diner.

He slows down a bit; a sudden chill catches his full attention.

Nets are cannoned his way. Angel swiftly avoids them, finishing his play with a spin.

When his eyes move front, he is right through a breakable, camouflaged wall. He hits the ground on the other side, rolling a few feet away from his board. Angel blacks out.

Blurred images lurk in mind. Black. Then another, this time the image clears.

Angel is awake, deer in the headlights. His brain processes the lines in the foreground.

He is in a cell. With one move, he attempts to get up, his wings hanging around his sides. His Cloak device is, it is as well, broken. He lifts his wings only to meet with a piercing pain.

His left wing is dislocated. Air whistles through Angel’s gritted teeth.

‘Finally awake?’ A soldier is looking down on him. The room is small, old school, countryside prison style. There is a chair paired together with a wooden desk.

The rusting bars are not the only element that prevents Angel from snapping the soldier’s neck. Modern technology, an arch is installed, mostly naked to the eye. Even if Angel tried to stick one of his hands through and do the classic grab, pull and leave a dent in their head, his prosthetics would be fried, maybe melted off.

‘Not much of a talker, are you? Well, that’s expected…you aren’t really like I’ve imagined you…’ The soldier gains a greedy tone, a proud demeanor and a false sense of invincibility.

Angel keeps watching him, his glare cutting deep. He is very still.

‘Yeah,’ The soldier checks him out. ‘I didn’t think you would be so…this.’ Their hands go up and down, measuring Angel. ‘So…pathetic.’ Disgust crosses their face.

Angel winces, his wing giving him trouble. ‘Do you lead this place, or are you just a useless, chit-chat-like pawn?’ He grumbles.

The soldier spits, said spit evaporating in the bars. ‘Luck is not on your side. You’d wish I was leading this manor.’ The soldier walks to the table. ‘Also, you don’t need to search around. Here’s your stuff, minus the disassembled board.’ Their hand levitates and slides over the surface.

Angel cannot see the objects line up on the table. No need to bother and search for his screen then. He blinks. ‘Where is your boss? Lousy of him to let an inferior speak with a high threat.’

The soldier laughs. ‘Take that insult back, he is about to enter the door right now.’ He makes eye contact with Angel. ‘You’d better lock that witty tongue, Riddleman’s hand does not bother with stubborn asses of your kin.’

Angel scoffs, the corner of his lip slipping to his nose. ‘Is that annoying Colonel here?’

The soldier straightens their back and puffs out their chest. They open the door.

‘Riddle Man’s hand, General Kin’.’ He announces.

Kinkade enters shyly. ‘No need for that.’ He is holding Angel’s screen.

Angel notices, his body is tensing up. He covers his shiver with a smirk.

‘You’re dismissed,’ Kinkade tells the soldier, who leaves them right away.

Before closing the door, the soldier gives Angel a look of victory, mixed with irony.

Kinkade turns to Angel, soft smile intact. ‘I do not think we have met in the past, have we?’ He walks closer to the bars, keeping a distance the size of one meter. ‘I am called General Kin’, but you can refer to me as Kinkade.’

Angel raises an eyebrow, preventing himself from opening his mouth.

‘I know you as Rebellion’s Dove, but I would like to familiarize myself with the person behind it and perhaps, come to an understanding.’

Angel huffs a laugh. ‘Understanding.’ His eyes slide to the side.

Kinkade inhales, then exhales. ‘Tell me what you are thinking, do not hold back.’

Angel adopts a tone full of mockery. ‘I see, you are that kind of manipulator. These nice words you throw out, I’d prefer that Colonel’s torture over them every day. It wouldn’t annoy me so much it makes me want to throw up.’ He cringes.

Kinkade’s smile does not falter, the side of his smiles being rather infectious. ‘I will cut to the chase – You do not have any reason to trust me, but might feel the inevitable pressure to do so. I had a whole plan of conversing with you, trying to not overstep, be careful with my words.’

Kinkade sighs. ‘M.E.A wants the Tackler’s coding, which is believed to be in the boy’s possession.’

Angel lets out a groan. ‘Heard about that debacle, how would you know for sure that is the case?’

’Do not take your guesses for granted…’Kinkade’s gaze drops on the screen. ‘The kid very much has all his father’s codes. His father ensured that, wiping his original servers and transferring them into something else. It’s in the boy’s possession.’

‘You assume I have a hold on that kid?’

‘I know you do. My team, which you’ve hospitalized, saw you. You saved him.’ Kinkade begins. ‘I do not want to know where the child is. I want the codes. Once M.E.A has them, they will deem the boy irrelevant and this way no harm will come his way. I wanted to speak to you, for the boy’s sake I wanted to beg you to send me a copy, a decoy of the codes so he would not be caught, so Noel would be safe. That, assuming he trusted you.’

Angel growls, sunken in rage. ‘What makes you think I’d ever believe that?’

Kinkade sighs, his hands fidgeting around the screen in his hold. ‘That does not matter any longer. That plan fell through the moment I found out the child does not trust you, after all.’

Angel’s rage is mixed in conflicted feelings. His strong tone falters:

‘What lie are you spouting out now?’

‘This is your device, is it not?’ Kinkade showcases it. ‘Only your imprint can unlock it and if you pay attention to this side, right here.’ He points. ‘The mark is not falsified. It’s yours, the original.’

‘What’s the purpose of you telling me that?’ Angel says.

Kinkade’s smile falls, his brows lifted. ‘Do you personally care about the child?’ His question is honest in tone, in gestures, in appearance, in feeling alone.

Angel is taken aback by that seeming openness. ‘You are good at this, tainting people’s resolve.’ He deliberately dismisses Kinkade’s “open door,” per say. ‘Must work every time.’

‘See for yourself.’ Kinkade unlocks the gates. Crouching, he rests the screen on the floor.

Kinkade gives Angel space. Hesitant, Angel analyzes the open gates, the distance, the screen. In the end, he snatches it. It is already unlocked, a tab open for him to see.

There is a message from Alexei. His exact paragraphing and tone, an AI cannot copy since he changes it drastically every day he sends news or other, less significant information.

Angel double takes what he sees, reading the same two rows repeatedly.

His grip becomes tighter.

‘It does not scream trust, for the boy to run away.’ Kinkade voices it with his own words. ‘It does not convince me he felt safe enough with the Rebellion, either.’ His hands go through his haircut.

Kinkade continues. ‘It is too late for me to try my plan. If you care for him, I apologize.’ He goes on, voicing his thoughts. ‘I have no real power in this. I cannot take the risk.’

Angel’s head is low, his hands slowly dropping the screen. His tongue visibly pokes his cheeks.

Kinkade is patiently waiting for a response that never comes. ‘You are free to go.’ He steps out of the way. ‘I tell the truth. You must see, since you learned you have no use for my current goal.’

‘Hah,’ Angel’s raspy sound nearly booms within the constricted walls of the respective room.

That sound is the only warning he offers. He dives right in.

Running fast, he closes in the distance between him and Kinkade. He throws the first punch.

Kinkade successfully dodges. His expression remains the same, only having the time to say:

‘Alright then, it’s been a bit.’ He takes his stance when Angel does the same.

Angel’s hair is damp, half of it covering one of his eyes.

Kinkade decides to go first, throwing two simple punches Angel avoids by ducking. He tries to go for Kinkade’s gut but Kinkade grabs his arm. Angel uses his other to quickly push his hold off.

They take two steps away from each. In the momentum, Angel raises his leg and kicks, aiming for Kinkade’s temple. Kinkade blocks it with his arm, not bothering to try and grab it.

Angel lands a punch, right under Kinkade’s chin. A pause. Kinkade rubs the graze.

He bolts for Angel, leaning in the right, it is a false move. Kinkade quickly returns the gesture, landing one in Angel’s cheek, grazing the corner of his lips.

Angel does not stop. He pulls Kinkade closer, by the collar, and head bumps him hard.

Kinkade stumbles back, recollecting himself. Angel grabs his throat with one hand and one of his arms with another. He spins himself and his enemy around and throws Kinkade on the ground.

Kinkade coughs.

Angel goes to kick his face in.

Kinkade rolls out of his range. Angel’s foot stomps the ground. His wings are shaking.

‘This is useless, Dove!’ Kinkade stands up.

Angel is keeping his legs still, his upper body slightly swaying. He pants.

Kinkade says. ‘You’re injured! See, you can’t go on like this.’

A crooked grin forms on Angel’s face. His wings stretch open.

Kinkade’s intercom buzzes. The soldier from earlier announces that the captives have broken out and are escaping. “Should we follow?”

Kinkade does not let Angel out of his sight. Without looking, he clicks the intercom. ‘Hold.’

The line is interrupted.

Laughs echo in the room. Off-putting giggles. Angel’s sudden burst fills the tension with a new layer. His laughs are getting louder, his right fist relaxing. Something slides through his fingers.

Kinkade freezes.

Angel presses his thumb against the trigger.

The whole room shakes, a deep sound lurking in the distance.

The explosions echo in mismatched rows.

Crevices open. Cracks travel the walls.

A strong, earthquake force shakes them. Angel’s laughing stops.

Kinkade does not react to the row of sounds closing in. He is transfixed on Angel’s expression.

Vengeance.

The room explodes.