the burden of wings

10

     “Your brother is taking an awful long time to get here little one, maybe he's forgotten about you,” Monsieur Damson said from outside the room. He was still terrified of Tryla, they haven't figured out how to suppress her powers since yesterday. She showed them off now, flapping her ignited wings. Even after putting them out, her wings remained their regular white and red speckled pattern, unaffected by the flames.
       “I think it's you who has forgotten, how good he was at kicking your ass last time he was here!”
       “Now, now. No need for that kind of language Tryla dear.” She put the flames out on her wings smiling at the scolding expression on his face. She liked having that kind of effect on him, no longer being his perfect little test subject. He used to scare her, now she scared him. Karma truly is a bitch, as Damson would learn.
       “Figured out a way to get rid of my new ability?”
       “Why do you care? Don’t you want to keep it?”
       “I do thats why im wondering.”
       “We just need to teach you when you're allowed to do it.” She saw him pull out some kind of remote from his lab coat. He pushed a button on and black dots covered Tryla’s vision, as volts of electricity filled her body. The flames left her wings, the pain extinguished it. As it ended, Tryla fell from her sitting position into a pile on the floor. Damson came into the room from the entrance, and lifted her face in his hands as he sat down.
       “Asshole!” she whispered angrily, still feeling the waves of pain.
       “Slipped the device into the skin on the back of your neck while you were sleeping earlier. Enjoy!” He gently moved her from her side position onto her stomach. He ran his cold hands over her feathers. 
       “What are you doing?”
       “It really is quite remarkable,” he said ignoring her question, “That such innocent feathers could catch flame like they do.”
       “Guess they learned from the best, you used to be nice doctors. Not doctors who electrocuted teenage girls.”
       “I guess your daddy slipped a little something extra into your genetics,” he said again ignoring her, still running his fingers on her wings reaching her back and going onto the next wing. “That's what we get for working with family i suppose. Good thing he can't meddle anymore.”
       “What happened to my dad?”
      “The usual… bullet to the head. He had made his last mistake, he tried to disable the tracking device in your bloodstream.”
       “What?”
       “Yeah, apparently he regretted turning you into this. Wanted to let you escape, but we couldn't let that happen.” He pulled her into a sitting position, cupping her cheek in his hand. “Don't try to scare me again little one, I will always come out on top.” Then he left her on the floor of the clear room, and she started crying, bitterly hoping that Emerson would find her soon. 

       Nathan watched as his childhood friend held a gun to a man in a black jacket with an octopus on it. He’d never known his friend to to irrational like this, his sister really meant a lot to him. He wanted to say something when Emerson pulled out the gun, but it happened so quickly. Now Nathan was afraid of his friend, seeing him standing over someone with a gun like he did. It was scary. 
       “Tell me where the facility is that you have my sister!” he shouted at the man.
       “Not happening, you think you're scary? Try explaining to Monsieur Damson that i gave intel because someone was holding a spray painted water gun at me.” That's when Nathan shot a round in the air, not a water gun.
       “Who the hell is Monsieur Lamson?”
       “Your little sister’s doctor, a really scary french man. Who most certainly isn't happy at your sister for escaping!” Emerson pointed his gun at the agent's head again, a scowl forming on his face.
       “Where. Is. The. Facility? Where. Is. Tryla?”
       “Not telling,” the agent said with a smug smile, and then Emerson shot him. I tried to stop him, the bullet killed the agent instantly. The smile was still on the agent's face. On Emerson’s face was pure hatred.