Wings of Valor

Bread sprinted. As fast as his mechanical legs could take him. He wasn’t going to wait around some building and watch what was about to unfold. What was he? A coward? No, he wasn’t going to let her die!

“No!” He jumped, reached out with outstretched arms. Then a shot echoed through the air, louder than the roaring flames before him.

“Bread?!”

That was Val’s voice. He tumbled with the man, but he didn’t dare let go of the hand with the gun. Bread quickly looked her way. Blood. Just around her cheeks. Was it hers?

She wiped the blood away. It smeared across her face, but otherwise, she seemed fine.

“Fuck!” The man grabbed Bread’s shoulder and pulled. “Get off me!”

“No!” He held on.

“Oh, I’ll fucking show you.” He reached into his jacket. There was a glint of metal. A hilt, guard. Then a swish of a blade, dripping green ooze off its edge.

A knife?!

It was almost free. Almost out of his jacket…

Danger. That was the only word zooming through Bread’s mind when he felt it—the ice cubes. A familiar burning sensation formed inside his chest, slid down his arms… An electric arc suddenly snaked out from the tips of his fingers, dancing like jagged, ocean waves. He could feel his hair rise at the ends…

“You’ll f—”

Then without warning, it snapped, bit into the man’s arms. His knees gave out, and he started to fall. And as he convulsed, Bread started to see memories…

…

“How’ve you been, Blackjack?” He lit his cigars one by one and placed them inside the hole in his cheek. Then he sat across from the little man. The table was flipped to the side.

“Rictor… Not my name, lad.”

“Sure, Coach.” He inhaled deeply. The smoke tasted all too sweet. Authentic. Not like any of that vapor shit. “That your new name now, innit? A boxing coach.” He smirked. “Aren’t you too old to be playing with these runts?” Still believing in those childish dreams of his… It looked so pitiful. “What happened to your heyday? You were the best arms dealer we got.”

“Too damn old for that now.”

“Nobody leaves this kinda business scot-free. Not unless someone like Greg’s got your back.”

“What’re you trying to say?”

“Greg’s angry. You don’t want to see him when he’s angry, do you?” He shook his head disapprovingly. “This can end in two ways. Where’s Valerie Briarwood?”

“Who?” The man looked away towards the walls.

“You’re a shit liar, Blackjack.” He pulled out his gun. His most prized possession—Smoke ‘n Ladders. Such a hot design. “Tell me or I shoot your leg.” He took another deep breath of the wispy smoke. “You got a favorite? I’ll save that one for later.”

“She’s an adult. I don’t need to know where she—”

He shot his left leg.

“Agh!” Blackjack fell off his chair.

“Lemme say it again. Greg’s pissed. So where’s the girl?”

“I don’t know!”

“Oh… Wrong answer.” He shot the other leg. Blackjack yelled out in pain. “There goes your favorite. That was your favorite, right?” He grinned. “Okay, how ‘bout a different question. Heard you took in a stray again. A mod doll at that. Is that where the mask went?”

“Leave him—” Blackjack groaned as he propped himself upright. He leaned back against the wall. “Leave him out of this.”

“Why? He’s not special. Just a poor doll—”

“He’s family!”

“Family? A doll? That really more important than your life?” He aimed the gun at Blackjack’s forehead. Right in between his eyes. “Tell me one thing I don’t know, and I’ll let you off the hook. I’ll tell Greg you ran. For old time’s sake.”

Blackjack grunted. “What a shit deal.”

He shrugged. “Best I got.”

“Haven’t I taught you better, Rictor?”

He scoffed. “You taught me nothing.” Just fleeting memories of a time when he was immature and volatile…

“I taught you not to follow scum like Greg.”

“Hah! He’ll have your head if he heard that.”

“I thought of you as family back in the day—”

“Don’t try and pull at my heartstrings.” It was too late for that. “Taking me in and teaching me how to live underground isn’t livin’ like family.” He shook his head. “You’re the one who made me like this.”

“That was the only way I knew how to live, lad.”

“Every choice has a price.” Rictor stood up and moved closer. His gun still pointed at Blackjack’s forehead. “That’s what Greg taught me, and he’s been doing far better than you.”

“Every choice has a price…” Blackjack smiled. His breathing was heavier. “You’re right. But I won’t make that same mistake twice. I ain’t running this time.”

His arm twitched. Was he nervous? That didn’t make sense. He’d killed more before. This wasn’t anything new. Just old personal ties. Those never lasted. Not in this business.

“You have a choice too, Rictor.”

No, he didn’t. He never had enough money for that. “Seriously, what’s so better about them, anyways? You won’t die for me, but you’ll die for them?”

“Jealous?” He chuckled. “But there’s a reason they ain’t scum like you.”

“Don’t push your luck, Jack. I’m the one with the gun.” He steadied his aim, finger still on the trigger. “Say that again. What reason?”

Blackjack’s sharp gaze cut through Rictor’s nerves. He stared up at the ceiling and took a deep breath. Then he locked eyes before he finally said—

”Heart.”

He pulled.