SCAVENGERS: Blood Squad

CHAPTER FOUR

On his way home, Ardy thought of going out for food instead of placing an order for food delivery. Yes, this is Parajunk and food delivery is still a thing. After he went on his own way after parting with Henri, he dashed to his dirty apartment for a change of shirt since he still smells like the sewers. There are times when you just need a good, warm shower after a day's work and this day is it. Sweat soaked his inner bleak white shirt which made him smell worse.

His apartment was at an old abandoned hotel building called the Grand Lily, usually, the place was full of other lowlifes and scavengers alike. Anything that you can rent, buy, trade or commission illegally are all available in here 24/7. It's a one-stop shop black market for the neighbourhood of Parajunk.

Ardro lived here for as long as he can remember. After escaping the orphanage that was maintained and financed by the Sustaining Division years ago, he has always felt at home in this heap of trash. A lot of things changed since then, he was ten years old when he broke loose from that prison. Just a mere child without nothing and nobody to rely on. On that day he packed nothing and only wore the memento that his father left as the nurses in the orphanage once told him. Unlike any other children in the facility, he grew as clever as a fox and as swift as a gale.

There was an unusual way Ardro remembers things. His memories were always defined, and the things that he learns from anything around his environment becomes a visual picture that always reoccurs in his mind. One time when he was six years old, the nurses in the orphanage were amazed when after showing him a book about the alphabets, he easily memorized and learned them all. The officials of the orphanage took it as his own natural talent and gradually he was taught of other subjects.

He cherished this ability as a kid long ago, but now, it was a curse he always dreaded to recall. Somehow on his 11th birthday alone in his apartment, a shattering headache shook him. It was a pain that he never has felt before, and it was as tumultuous as a volcanic eruption. Ardro's sight blurred, and while gasping for breath, a hazy vision protruded in his thoughts. Like a curtain that folds and hangs accordingly in front of a window, it parted as a scene of chaos took form and presented a blur.

A loud whirring noise echoed from an engine, judging from the image, the memory happened inside a plane. More specifically, the faded color of intricate buttons and levers appeared in front the cockpit. In his painful vision Ardro was maneuvering a fighter jet.

The altitude of the aircraft was soaring and rhythmically dropping, as guided missiles were launched and flung to an enemy plane. Outside the pressurized glass of his jet, Ardro's sight could barely make out a destroyed shape of a plane hull and a burst of flames while debris floated down burning to the soil.

Unexpectedly another enemy jet zoomed by and released a torrent of bullets, by an inch a few missed, yet some of it has damaged the left wing. Ardro painstakingly absorbed everything that the vision presented and easily recorded it into his own storage of memories.

With obvious skill in piloting a jet, trained hands pushed buttons and adjusted levers on the cockpit, and a husky voice was produced by the man controlling the plane. A reflection from the glass showed a brute middle-aged air force officer, who had a gold blonde of brushed hair with a comm headset equipped. The left wing engine was consumed by the damage and easily produced explosions of sparks and fire. Hesitantly without showing panic, the pilot addressed:

"Mayday, mayday, mayday; Base station AF-4C! This is General Summerwind inside Lockhorn Meryn F-23 Bravo Raptor. Left wing heavily damaged and aircraft currently losing altitude. Calling for assistance station AF-4C, I repeat, mayday, mayday, mayday."

But before an operator from the other side of the station responded, a missile has blindedly headed for the plane's cockpit. The missile approached contact with the jet and exploded in a horrific manner, blowing apart the pilot and the aircraft.

Like withdrawing your hand from a cold pail of water, Ardro's thoughts became his own once again and the throbbing headache pulsed steadily as he opened his eyes to the view of the dusty ceiling of his apartment. Sweat ran through his temple and down his forehead. As if the memory has removed itself from Ardro, it was difficult to detail everything that the vision presented. Since that event, he cursed his sharp memory and swore to never recall that scene of his father again.

All things has their place and time and Ardro resolved on forgetting that subject of the past. Now, as a scavenger he lives his life day to day without regrets.

After taking a lukewarm shower, he stepped outside wrapped in a grey cotton towel. He brushed his damp, wavy blonde hair through his fingers as he sported a black faded shirt and his favorite dark jeans.

Dressing rapidly, Ardro stood in front of the cracked mirror he kept behind his door and whispered, "Hey, good looking." to himself in an overly-confident tone. Grabbing his aviator jacket with an embroidered white patch of lettering saying 'CAPTAIN', he wore a pair of sneakers and continued his way out of the apartment. Securely locking the door, Ardro suited up the leather jacket and flashed a mischievous toothy grin.