Inked Wings
CHAPTER NINE - Edge

/ Angel’s POV /

I leave the kid some tickets, hoping what this Arcade has to offer will occupy him enough.

Entering the West wing of this place, I check for any disturbance. Everything it is how I left it; I notice. I turned this room in a storage room with unique tiles forming the ceiling. The curves lead to the center of the said ceiling, shaping a fetus. There’s intricate clutter in this room, but positioned in such a way is easy for me to reach the “fetus” without opening my wings. My foot pressing against a lower box, I launch myself and clutch at the edge of an out-of-order game set. I climb it. Now, the ceiling is within reach.

My fingers graze the edges of the shape.

The mechanism installed reacts to my print and asks for the pattern. Using my pinkies, I draw zig-zag patterns which mirror each other in opposing manner. It unlocks. The material disappears, opening the way to the small compartment I installed a way back.

All this trouble for coordinates.

I pull out the chip I need. It must contain the coordinates of this cycle. Gots to be wary of the placement of our main ship. Still, sometimes it’s far too much trouble to change and shift it so often. I close the compartment and I jump down.

Have to get the kid then I’m out of this dump.

Loud noises coming from the main hall. Hard thuds echo.

The kid’s really going at it. I turn the corner to an uncomfortable sight. The kid’s bashing at that...My eyes squint, and I manage to read... at that “Hopscotch” machine.

‘Kid.’ I call but he’s clearly focused.

I step closer to call again, his expression now coming into my view.

It is like last cycle all over again. The puffy eyes, the odd breathing, they are back but now, alongside naked anger. The thuds are becoming bangs. For a second, I think about stopping him. Not doing that though. Instead, I step back to face the wall, my gaze away from him.

I wait. The sounds become muffled, while I lose myself to subconsciousness and dissociate again. I’m not thinking about anything in particular. Nothing good enough comes to mind right now. The sounds dissipated; it seems he stopped. He is letting the hammer down. Now, he’s got his hands through his hair. Well, the stripe of hair he owns, whereas the rest of the head is shaved. I still don’t know exactly how old this boy is.

‘Oh, for how long have you been there?’ He’s finally noticed me but -

The air around him is weird. That new, forced smile on him doesn’t feel right in the slightest.

Poor kid.

‘You didn’t answer me.’ His breath is shaking just like the rest of him.

That smile is false enough it is making me nauseous. And look at that self-inflicted wound. I managed worse when I was his age. My hand goes for my pocket. Good, I carry these around. Birdie would never let it down otherwise. Linda always backs her up.

‘Here.’ I offer him a medical patch after I lie to him. I pretty much saw his whole breakdown through, but he doesn’t need that confirmed. We have a normal conversation as we leave the arcade and continue toward the street. He is more lively than last night.

That’s a good sign. I think. I notice he doesn’t have the wig anymore, probably trashed it. I hold myself back from massaging my forehead. Forced, I need to give him the last resort, which is a Cloak device. Will keep him out of sight. The road back goes smoothly. He is walking within reach; I can feel the warmth he emanates. The sense is so strong that I can easily visualize his silhouette. Easier than other times I have had to rely on this sense.

We are back to the hideaway. Good. Very well, in fact.

When things go too well, my paranoia tends to kick in. No need, no need. I calm myself down. The paranoia’s right. There are multiple individuals creeping all around. Cannot pinpoint the exact locations but still – I instruct the kid to keep it low. As usual, he remarks on whatever I’ve said but listens in the end. Once inside, I can sense the bastards clearly.

One’s standing right above us. ‘Well, would you look at that? It’s none other than Dove.’ He begins some sort of speech. The whirring sound of his board gives his position away, challenging my sixth sense even further.

‘It is you, isn’t it?’ He inquiries. ‘The collector of dead names, who hangs the tags right underneath the throat.’

This. Fucker.

My hand jerks to the nametags I never leave behind, the necklace is slipping past my collar. Pulses bother my head while I fix it, getting it out of this Fuck-head’s frame.

‘Ah, no need to hide it now. Too late for that.’ His hungry laugh is cut short.

Footsteps. His “minions” are here.

‘Oh, Dove…What were you thinking, coming back alone?’ This guy’s a stranger to me. He is likely an unfortunate bystander, now seeking income or coverage.

The kid’s presence is fading. Good, no reason to hold back.

‘Who may you be ~’ I snarl.

‘Cheap bounty hunters?’ I entertain myself, answering my own sarcastic question.

The kid’s still too close. I need him out of this, so I tell him to go. At least – I tell the emptiness I think it is him sitting between our aggressors and I.

The strangers are getting rowdy.

Come on…

Good…He’s gone.

This time, for real:

There’s no need to hold back. Let’s count it.

One…Two…

Fuck-head is reaching for his weapon. I want this over with fast. Don’t have time to waste.

Three…Four…

This building has been empty decades long.

Five…Six…

Fuck-head smirks, once he’s ready to signal ma’ head getting blown off.

Eight…Nine…

‘Seems like I’ll have to take this little hobby of yours off your hands.’ He mocks me, grabbing his own neck. Fucking. Snake.

…Ten. All it takes is ten seconds.

I unhinge my wings, breaking my mask. I swing them downwards, the force caused slamming the floor. All the dust and rust jumps into the air. For more than enough, I blindsight ‘em. I dash toward Fuckhead. I lock one ‘(punch)’ right under his chin. He hits the ground with a thud, head now broken. I fly past his body, turning to his company.

I retract my wings. I spin. They fall like dominoes.

I briefly stop, pushing my feet against the entrance wall and printing my gun real time.

The dust is gone. I jump off, slide under and knock down the first “minion” back on his feet. Once down, I shoot him in the temple. A shot scrapes my ear. I shoot back.

One, two...five down.

That is all –

Another shot barely misses the side of my torso. Burns.

The Fuckhead’s still kicking. I aim my gun, putting a hole between his brows, before he manages another one. “It’s…” I huff. “It’s over.”

As soon as the adrenaline wears off, I’m left with seven corpses. Wish I had Martha. Could’ve gotten rid of them easier. First, let’s find the kid. I’ll deal with them once I bring him… here. My hands shake, going back to annoying flashbacks. Don’t think he’ll be too keen on seeing those. I sure wasn’t my first time…. I didn’t have a choice my first time.

I won’t be that asshole. Noel won’t see more dead if he doesn’t need to.

“He’s just a kid.” I don’t get that saying fully, but I’ll use it.

I have to use the prototype gun, which Alexei filled with old-school bullets. There is no point in not testing it further. Guess it’s time to try that “teleport-transporter” feature. I enable the feature, the bullets inside the corpses now showing a blinking glow. I press the button. The corpses glitch and flash into matter itself. The guys at home will have to deal with them.

19:00

I can’t clearly depict what I’ve done until this moment. Didn’t have the time to think properly. I’m standing at the end of an alley, catching my breath. Shit’s gone to shit. The kid saw the corpses and ran off…with somebody. Another teen. Kids got into trouble, had to intervene. I’ve knocked out the two who tried to shoot them, getting a hole in my left in the process.

The kids are behind me. The one I haven’t met beforehand is a G-Z Aves mutant. Noel is scared. Kid’s pale and obviously tense. I make sure they’re okay and tell “G-Z”, who I now find is “Camillo”, I’ll restore his board. It doesn’t take much for them to listen and head back with me. Camillo puts questions. I answer briefly:

‘Who are you?’

‘Not here to harm you.’

‘What’s your deal?’

‘I’m part of the rebellion.’

‘What do you want?’

‘Just here to stop you from getting killed.’ I clearly direct this one towards Noel.

‘What are you doing? In this District.’

‘Had to get something.’

‘What exactly?’

I do not respond.

′ …Your wing placement…is rare.′

‘Pretty much.’

‘How old are you? Are you an Edge-bone?’

‘Older than you.’

He does not stop, even when we are reaching the entrance to the old factory.

Noel stops, avoiding entering. Shock is clear on his face when he finds the place empty.

‘Come on,’ I say. ‘There’s nothing to be afraid of.’ I’m the first to walk inside the ship.

I patch myself up, treating my stomach burns and covering the hole in my prosthetic for now, since I have no other leftie stashed…, just another right. Added a corset to help my back.

The board’s connection link has been interrupted. I give it a close view, finding the points damaged. I replace the fault, then recode the link. It’s done. ‘Here.’ I hand it to the kid.

‘You have a nice storage in this room.’ Camillo remarks.

‘It is the storage room after all,’ I tell him, noticing his old clothing and irritated feathers.

I bring up a division owned by Rebellion members, located in this district.

I recommend it to him. This one soon takes his leave, waving goodbye to the other.

I’m left with the original kid. Fatigue hits me so I sit down. The burns are being bitchier than I expected they would be after a bit of negligence...I sense the kid’s intense stare.

‘Are you alright?’ I blurt out, after little to no consideration. Surprisingly, he speaks back.

A moment later, he goes down the hall and disappears into the bedroom.

I groan, inserting the Chip in the control panel. The data is loading. The course is set. The destination is a few hours away. Convenient. I snatch the chip and trash it, proceeding to incinerate it to dust. I go back to the Storage Room, scratching my upper arm, right up the shoulder blade. I have changed my right into a lighter prosthetic for now. With it, I take off my left, which is bothering me like the inferno. I sigh. A few hours, then I can get back on track.

My wings hug me. Won’t sleep.

I’m impatient to get there, this past cycle having been a slow nightmare.

I will recover once we get there.

Home.

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