Inked Wings

Sixth Event - Remodeled Goals

“And if the devil was to ever see you, he’d kiss your eyes and repent.”

’Colonel ‘Mon!’ A limping soldier greets, seemingly agitated.

Cardamon walks right past him, anger injected in his riddled figure.

‘How is my ship?’ He cuts to the chase, stopping in place.

‘It is intact, sir. It landed at a considerable distance from the damaged area – sir.’

Cardamon is wearing a stern face, his hands carried behind his waistline. ‘At the minimum, that is going well for me. Lucky, is it not?’ Sarcasm escapes him.

The soldier shudders. ‘You will retrieve the child terrorists and your main ship will surely be rebuilt, sir.’

Cardamon sidewalks him. ‘Do not tell me what I already know, O- 5.’ He watches over the ruins.

The bases of pillars and scattered materials are all that is left of the prison.

‘Noted. Then, may I consult my colleagues?’

Cardamon nods. ‘Shoo.’

The soldier goes to another close in proximity.

They whisper:

“I’m surprised the Colonel’s so calm.”

“Must be used to the general’s antics by now. That disrespectful idiot had it coming.”

Loudly, Cardamon clears his throat.

’Another rumor spurring from any of you and I will – feed you to CH.”

C.H stands for Corrupted Hybrids.

The voices peep.

Cardamon’s wrinkles lead to his shaking pale eyes, his gray, white hairs swinging in the current. His white brows united, a direct indication of his irritation. ’I will take my leave.”

Cardamon returns to Goliath (the mothership) in under an hour. He avoids announcing his arrival to the Riddleman. Unusual of him. Instead, he heads to the Health-fare department right away.

In a private room, Kinkade is lying on a bed, unconscious.

‘It used to take you less than a day to jump back on your feet.’ Cardamon narrows the distance between him and the bed. ‘But I suppose it is because you do not own them any more.’ His gaze falls under Kinkade’s bust.

Kinkade has suffered severe burns at the level of his feet, nearly losing both completely. The left one is entirely gone, whereas his right ends at where his knee used to be.

Cardamon sits down in a chair, next to the end of the bed. He faces him.

‘I prefer your voice rather than this boring silence.’ His hand dives under his collar. Cardamon pulls out a necklace.

A silver, military name tag.

It rests on his palm.

Onto it Kinkade’s name is professionally embedded. Cardamon flips it.

On the other side, with much less skill, “Eva” had been carved.

Cardamon plays with it, lost in thought. “Where is your troublemaker when you need her? I don’t have the time to baby you for much longer.”

He avoids certain memories. A recent discussion held with Riddleman, in particular. He convinces himself of the Riddleman refusing to assign a proper nurse, or clearing one busy room for one of his hands - Refusing to look for them in the first place - It is understandable.

The truth is, he did not and does not understand it. He hates the reason as to why he probably does not. Cardamon will not ever admit it, but he was the one to scavenge for Kinkade’s then “corpse”, against Riddleman’s order.

Beeps snap Cardamon out of his trance.

Kinkade blinks while he is forcing plugs out of his arms. Cardamon rapidly places the necklace back. It becomes stuck in the collar, visible. Kinkade lifts his head, mouth agape.

Opens and closes.

‘Are you lucid?’ Cardamon asks with a grave tone.

Kinkade nods. ‘I can tell you apart.’

A new wrinkle appears on Cardamon’s forehead. ‘How many?’

Kinkade huffs a laugh, his head falling back. ‘Only kidding, there’s but one of you.’ He repositions his head to see better. ‘How bad do I have it?’

Cardamon swallows. ‘Replacements are in the works for you.’

Kinkade smiles. He goes to speak up but halts, lower lip hanging. A short breath leaves him when he stares at the nametag, his tag.

Cardamon senses his gaze. He stuffs the necklace in, properly this time.

Cardamon clears his throat.

Kinkade mutters. ‘You kept it.’ His expression freezes. Inside, he lights up but cannot take the time to express it. A sudden thought cuts him short. A definitive decision blooms within his mind. Kinkade is revising it in his own flowery language. Comes to succumb to it.

Cardamon stands. ‘I am needed elsewhere. Stay still, for once.’

‘Cardamon,’ Kinkade calls, palms pressed on the sofa.

The door is sliding open.

‘My firefly.’

Cardamon’s head snaps to him, his hand shuts the door.

Kinkade is lifting himself up, trying to sit.

Cardamon hisses. ‘Will you ever listen?’ He pushes Kinkade down, head returned into the pillow’s embrace. Before he retracts his hands, Kinkade grabs his right arm. Two fingers are missing from his bigger hand.

The two make eye contact.

‘Please, promise me something.’ Kinkade’s finger brushes Cardamon’s forearm.

It is warm against Cardamon’s cold skin. He tenses, pulling away. ‘Do not make that expression at me, Kinkade.’ His hand covers his face.

‘Please, this one favor. Promise this... and I swear I will stop. I am done pestering you, I will be off your shoulders. I -’

‘Promise you what?’ Cardamon takes two steps toward the exit.

‘My dearest Eva. Look after her, like you did not long ago.’

‘She is an adult now. She does not need another -’

‘I beg you.’ Kinkade’s tone shivers. ‘Promise me.’

‘What have you.’ Cardamon accepts then leaves.