Inked Wings
CHAPTER THREE - Disobedience

/ Kinkade’s POV /

26:37

“Commander? We’ve arrived.” A young’un playing soldier awaits my answer, a gun fixed in their stiff palms.

I’m known as Commander Kin’, one of Riddleman’s right men. All the young and older in this ship, where I am situated, will not dare cross me.

“Have we got the exact coordinates?” I stand, watching over this small team of ‘amateurs’.

Hah! Cardamon had taught me many ‘(insulting)’, sayings and expressions.

“I’m one hundred percent sure!” The pilot turns to me, with his carved chin high.

I smile. Within the second, his confidence falters. “The - the coordinates are exact…sir.”

I’m the last one to step out of the ship. The search party scatters into two lanes: One covers the hidden caves on this - already humid space - the other is monitoring the open field. I belong to neither. This ground is a fair gloss under the white light. ‘(It’s daytime but not quite)’. Therefore, traces of mud stick out under my clever eyes. I follow, leading me to a crevice.

Two children - mutant children - sleep at the end. They share similar marks among their damp, dirtied feathers. Dirtied, as to swamp their vibrant colour. Chests rise and fall, hesitant to collapse in the bounds of frail collarbones and ribcages, simple to tear open. My hand jerks slightly. I leave a hologramlike mark for her to see. Molecular lights only Eva knows how to spot…. I walk away.

One of the soldiers perks up, waiting to hear my rough, ‘old’ man’s voice. A harsh nickname often provided by my younger counterparts. I’m, if, fifty-five modules old.

‘That area is clear.’ I reassure them.

They hardly nod. There is no place of distrust for a man who has one’s head in his clutch. The atmosphere is shattered. Spearing then, through the melancholic silence, a battle cry followed by screams.

Turning around my body - a woman has just assaulted one of the soldiers. She’s pacing fast, now tripping on her cut, twisted feet. She leaves a delicate yelp while the soldier’s blood leaves the veins marking his wrist.

Growling. Another soldier aims for her.

‘Hold.’ I reach them.

The woman skips further ahead, yet never picks up speed, her side eye twitching - for us to chase her and for her to lead us further astray. I grab my 9mm gun and motionlessly raise it. My man is fading as he is being carried back to the ship. Her crime will cost her far worse than death.

I press the trigger.

15:46

I walk the halls of Goliath. This whole city of a mechanism is where I’m a walking intruder. I do not live like a higher-up. I only operate here. Dim lights, the color of earths’ skies, light my way to the information chamber.

My mind leaks crumbs of exhaustion, otherwise called intrusive thoughts. Phrases such as images of blood damping Eva’s beautiful curly hair, quickly transitioning back to the view of the woman I killed today. I cannot help it. The worry makes me associate my dear Eva with the grossest things, despite my weighted trust for her.

“She is sturdy, she is safe. I am sure… I am sure. She can take care of herself. She always proved so.” I murmur incoherently.

Footsteps fly in my ears. “Hm”, such a response echoes and ‘wakes’ me up.

“You’re needed to review the data of your districts, Commander. Stop daydreaming like a child.” Cardamon faces me and bites with his words, his tone a grave husk.

Colonel Cardamon is sustaining his glare. It’s hard to take it seriously when it’s similar to the one he used to make whenever he undressed me with his eyes. I smirk.

“What perverted thing did you cook up this time, prude?” And he reads right through me.

I shift my smile into an innocent look, gambling my best attempt at the well-known ‘puppy eyes’.

I’m at loss of words. In actuality, I am far too quiet than I normally act around familiar faces. I’m not to blame, whenever my heart stills in awe at his sight and how it drops whenever he knows me as well as when we were younger….Gives me hope. Hope he can move on from where we stand. Break free from the strings Riddleman’s chaining him with excellence and ease.

Hope, that infectious plague, that pretty fantasy feeding from the soul.

Cardamon sighs. I perk up.

“I’m sorry, Cardamon. I’m a little lost.” I finally speak. “I’m heading to my duty right now.”

“Don’t force me to remind you again. It’s a hassle enough as it is to speak to you.” He steps forward. “And don’t speak my name so nonchalantly, will you?” He becomes quiet.

“How was the retrieval mission? I heard it went sideways…” I grip for a little longer.

“Pretty much - but I captured one of the little scums. A weird one to begin with.”

“I see.”

Cardamon turns to me, face full of wrinkles. “You should worry about your own. I heard your wing is the one taking care of the recent breaches but yet has to bring in results.”

“I will see if there’s any track on the Tackler.” I say and choose to be the first to depart.

The Information Chamber is the darkest blue a chamber of secrets requires. It is a neon lightened, two-faced room, the calmest in this place. A surreal mirror space where lies lie.

I enter my code then press on the notifiers destined my way:

Day 20 Log #1

The party went undercover to look for suspicious activity.

Day 22 Log #7

The party has received intel on the “Tackler” from a MR. KRAMM.

Day 23 Log #2

Searching for the suspect near the metro routes the party’s respective intel has provided.

Day 25 Log #0

“Tackler” Identified.