Fledgling Wings: Chapters 4 & 5

Chapter 4

Brotherly Love

John had left the windows a few minutes ago. He still had not found Stradius, whose destructive aura filled the dark, barely lit ship. John decided to run around the ship; even though he worried that Stradius might appear and attack. He wandered in every available direction that appeared in front of him. After a couple of minutes, John heard the sound of machinery whirring and buzzing.

   He ran in the direction he heard it from. He was getting closer, the sounds becoming more and more louder.

   Finally, he entered the room where the sounds originated. He found Stradius in a crystal-clear booth which was filled with a strange, disgusting liquid unlike water. Stradius appeared to be asleep, no doing so much as opening an eye. Machines were inside the booth pouring hot plastic-like wax over cuts on Stradius’ body. With every pour on the body, the body flinched, as if in pain. Stradius appeared to not have a breathing mask over his face.

   That stuff must be breathable or something, thought John.

   John pondered over this booth. He looked to the left of the booth and saw a small piece of machinery that checked heart rates, mental statistics, the nervous systems and physical wounds. The screen also flashed ‘Cybernetic cells healing’ whenever the hot plastic touched Stradius’ skin. John knew that this was his chance.

   He could kill him while he was inside the booth, absolutely vulnerable.

John readied his fist. He aimed his fist at the booth, but just as he was about to strike, he stopped.

   No. I wouldn’t kill a defenceless person. He couldn’t do it. He never would. Killing someone in a wounded position would be wrong. All his life, John had never attacked a defenseless person. But he knew that in a matter of minutes, Stradius would be healed completely. John turned to the room’s entrance and left his healing brother.

   Passing through each room, John took a clear look as to what was in each room; guns, knives, computers, maps, everything. However, going into one specific room, John found a video camera hooked up to a large television set. The TV screen stared blankly at the camera, as did the camera itself.

   ‘Wonder what’s on there?’ muttered John. Moving towards the camera, he looked around every corner of the room cautiously. He lifted up the camera, turned it on and decided to look at the first thing recorded on the camera. Scanning through what was on the camera since it was last used, John found that most entries were simply pledges to this mysterious benefactor of Stradius’, this ‘Sir Groutic’, and what Stradius wanted to do once he found his brother, Cufix, later christened John. They were more or less things like, ‘recruit him to Sir Groutic,’ or, ‘get him to be one of our police.’

   After finally going to the first recorded entry, John found a sweet family moment. What could be seen was a man holding an infant, telling the camera’s holder to stop getting so close. The man spoke. He was referring to the infant he held dearly in his arms.

   ‘You alright there, little guy? You’re my little survivor, you know that? Rad, I want you to love your brother always. Could you do that for me?’

    Stradius, who held the camera at the time, answered excitingly.

   ‘OK, Daddy. I’ll do that. You can count on me.’ The man stared at the camera.

   ‘There’s a good little soldier.’ He stared back to the infant.

    ‘Two months in a hospital, all lonely and sick. It’s good to have you here at home for the first time. We’ll make sure that nothing happens to you. You can count on it.’

   John knew who this man was. He was the man in his dreams, his father. He appeared heart-warming and kind. He held his hand out to the figure.

   ‘Dad.’

   A female voice could be heard.

   ‘Bar, Rad, it’s time for dinner. Bring little Coo with you.’

   ‘Okay. C’mon, Rad, time to eat. And you,’ he referred to the baby, ‘are gonna join us.’

   The camera stopped. John had turned it off. He now knew what his father was really like. He didn’t appear to be an anarchist of any kind. He was a loving man. A real father. But in that moment, Stradius’ dark voice could be heard.

   ‘That was the last time we ever saw him.’

   John turned around and saw ‘Rad’; wound-free, in the clothing he had worn previously.

   ‘You knew what our father really was like, didn’t you?’ asked John.

   ‘Rad’ made a disgusted face, as if he was watching a film that didn’t suit him.

   ‘I thought I did. Sir Groutic told me the truth.’

   “Sir Groutic.” mimicked John in a high child-like voice.

   ‘This Groutic has been feeding you lies. I’ve looked through this camera and found you making pledges like he’s some kind of god. For God’s sake, he’s an abomination.’

   Stradius had his eyes half closed, then blinked, giving out a terrifying grin. He then spoke, giving him a cold and terrifying position of power in his voice.

   ‘Listen, Cufix, you’re in my territory now. I’ve recovered now, and I’m more than quite capable to finish you. So don’t even try to go all-out.’

   Still with his grin on his face, he raised his right arm and flipped his middle finger. 

   John prepared to charge, but like lightning, Stradius moved in front of him and kneed John in the gullet, then giving him a few rough jabs, like a large punching bag that wasn’t stuffed properly. Stradius pinned his brother to the wall and continuously pounded him with those large gauntlets that could give multiple bruises with a single hit. Stradius couldn’t believe it. When they were fighting on Earth, John had the upper hand. But now, in the confines of this foreign ship, his alien sibling had the advantage.

   After dozens of hits, he left John breathing for a few seconds. John breathed heavily during this rare interval. Even with this short moment John knew that he was going to die. 

   ‘Rad’ grabbed John by the throat and lifted him off the ground with incredible energy. 

He walked without difficulty, as if he wasn’t holding John at all.

   ‘Tell ya what,’ he said. ‘Since you’re my brother, I’ll give you a death worth satisfying.’

   He saw a small space pod - a little bit bigger than both men - a few feet away from where they were standing, open. Strangely, the pod was full of ice. Stradius dumped John into the pod, and inputted a code on the key buttons on the left of the pod. The words ‘Destination locked on. Preparing to stand by.’ appeared above the keys in red digital letters.

   Stradius, with strength far superior to that of a normal human, lifted the pod with ease, carrying it over his shoulder. He carried it to a door leading to the lonely emptiness of space. He opened the door. Black, distorted space appeared wide open in front of his eyes. There was no vacuum sucking everything up. Stradius’ boots were actually designed to prevent him from sent into space, so he was immune to certain death. The pod, on the other hand, could not be said the same.

Stradius took the pod off his shoulders and chucked it away. The pod, with intense speed, fell to its destination. He closed the door. He chuckled.

   ‘That pod is heading towards a nearby sun. Soon, you’ll be turned into ashes. Make sure you keep warm.’ He let out a gruesome laugh and walked down the lifeless corridor, his eyes now slightly an unnatural scarlet.

John took in a few deep breathes and realized that he was in a curled up position. The ice surrounded most of his body. The ice was so cold, that when he breathed through his nose, he found himself sneezing.

   ‘D-d-d-dammit!’ he stuttered.

   His nose soon became blocked up from the cold and he started banging at the pod. The banging was useless. Not even a dent appeared. John tried to relax a few seconds but the ice cold temperature made it hard to breathe even through his mouth. He could feel the liquid in his eyes starting to freeze up. John couldn’t hold it any longer and collapsed in the ice. The pod was heading towards the vast orange hot monstrosity known as a sun. In a matter of minutes, the pod would be burnt to pieces.  

 

Chapter 5

Wasters

The dead and barren wastelands of Kytopia’s outskirts were filled with the foul stench of death and insecurity. Dusty footprints left an irreplaceable mark on the brown dirty ground. The wind blew heavily, like taking part in a mountain expedition. A lone stranger walked amongst the sands of the wastelands, covering his face with a red cloth and protective goggles. He carried with him a dual-sided sword, about four foot in height, a couple of centimeters thick. Each blade at both ends appeared to resemble that of a harpoon gun: they were long and about as sharp as one can possibly imagine, and beyond. The blades had multiple sharp points at the sides, making miniature blades as a result. The sword was a masterpiece, crafted beautifully with an eager face embedded in it.                     

   The blade was like a samurai’s sword; it was made with utter beauty and took years of experience to master it. The figure’s hair moved contained yet ever-so freely as the wind blew it from one direction to the other.   

   The figure stopped, looking at something moving at the corner of his eye. He heard sniggering as well, and turned his head, glancing at five rogue, sinister men, with years of hard and rough times in their eyes and mouth.

   ‘Oi!’ bellowed one of the figures. ‘Get outta here! We don’t want you in our territory. We agreed on that.’

   The figure still glanced, and pulled away the cloth hiding the bottom of his face. He did nothing but stare, then tapped his large blade on his shoulder mockingly.

   ‘I can assume,’ the figure finally spoke, ‘that from time to time, you violate my territory in search for food and shelter; that is, if there is shelter for you lads. I’ve taught you one too many lessons, don’t make me teach you another one. We respected one-another when we first met, why can’t we just have peace around here? Besides, I’m nowhere near your territory. Just leave me, and maybe we just might get along.’

   One of the five rogues spat on the ground with vile manners and readied a large handgun he had concealed in his pocket.

   ‘Look, old man, there’s one thing you don’t understand: everywhere we go is our territory, so piss off!’

   He fired a shot, but the rogue failed to realize that the shot bounced off the figure’s blade. The figure, with enhanced senses, had swiped the blade in the bullet’s direction, diverting the bullet towards the very firearm-owner himself. The gun-carrier, a large fellow with a bald head and dim eyes, had been shot in the head, dirtying the sand of the wasteland with his blood. A black, skin-piercing dent layered his forehead, making itself known to anyone paying attention to the scene.  

   ‘Never underestimate your elders.’ said the sword-wielder.

   The rogues ran away as fast as their feet could carry them, leaving behind their dead companion. The figure smiled, carrying on his unfinished walk.

 

The man returned to a large cave with ten dimly light candles on the deep solid walls. He rested his blade on a large rectangular table, then entered a small bunk he had designed from bone and wood. He also removed his goggles and tossed it to the ground. He took out a picture that gave him hope always and reminded him of his humanity. It was a picture of his family. He stared at the picture for what felt like forever, wondering if he would ever see his family again. He closed his eyes, resting ever-so peacefully.

                                                          *

Alice Kanji was running late again. It was three minutes past the time she usually got to work. She took a left turn, then a right, but this would be the last time she might drive a car. Her boss was a friend of the guy that gave Kanji her driver’s license, and threatened her, saying that if she was late one more time, she would have her driver’s license taken away. However, she drove too fast, going at sixty miles per hour, and hit a wall with sheer force. The car was burning with red-hot fire, trashed at the front with no air bag inflated. No body came out of the car. Kanji was officially dead. Unofficially, that was another story.