A Story of Cinders: From the Ashes

Chapter 26: Scar Tissue

 The door on the craft was open. Charlie was sitting on the edge, feet hanging into space. He had another cigarette in his mouth. His hands were shaking nervously. He inhaled deeply, drawing in a lungful of smoke. It was too close with Gael. This was not a fight he wanted yet. Not one they could handle. But at least the mission was a success. He made it out without so much as a scratch. He smiled. The necklace really did work. Tossing the cigarette into the sky, he swung his feet back into the craft and slid the door shut.

"Damage report, everyone?" John called aloud.

Charlie lifted his arms, examining himself. "Nothing at all."

"Same here," said Red, coldly.

"Nothing physical," grunted Louis.

"Nice to have a successful mission for a change..." Charlie said, taking a seat. He pulled out a bottle of whiskey, taking a swig. "Anybody else?" Louis grabbed the bottle, taking a massive swig.

"Good God, man. Got something you need to drown?"

Louis didn't respond, just handed back the bottle. It was already down the neck. "So what happened back there?" John asked Louis.

"I couldn't tell you... Damion knows something about me that I don't. And I'm not happy about that." He squeezed his knuckles in his hand, gritting his teeth. "And he knows how to set off the Baron."

"He's someone from your past?" Charlie asked, taking another pull from his bottle.

"Perhaps. I don't know... I didn't bury my past, I just have no recollection of it." Charlie felt like that was a jab at him personally. He shook his head.

"Well how far back do you remember?" John asked, making sure to keep an arm's distance away from Louis, just in case he had another episode. Louis reached a finger onto his back, pointing to the brand. It was a vulture skull. "That. Initiation for the Vulture Gang. My earliest, coherent memory. The scars tell more about me than my memory ever could. If you want to know anything, ask about those."

John ran a finger down his face, imitating Louis' facial scars. "How bout those?"

"That was the mark of the Desolate. The clan I formed after I... dealt with the Vultures. Better, more humane band of people."

"Relatively speaking," Charlie added in, taking another pull, then holding it out as an offer. Nobody took it. "Oh come on, it's a celebration! Somebody else take this from me before I drink it all!" Charlie cracked a toothy smile, clearly ecstatic about the mission. John took the bottle from him. "Why'd you leave them?" John asked, taking a small sip.

"I didn't. They're dead. We never had much in terms of numbers. Initiation for that was a little too tough, I suppose. The few that made it through ended up dying in the desert. Some by other bandits, some by soldiers, some by the Charred," Charlie's eyes rolled at that. "The last few of them were with me. We went after a convoy for some supplies. It was a trap. Three people survived the explosion. But only I survived the aftermath..."

"Continue."

"Nox set it up. Apparently he wanted me to be a free agent, so I would sign on to this."

"You would willingly work for the man who killed your brothers-in-arms?" Charlie asked, motioning for the bottle to come back his way. John didn't pass it back. "Very begrudgingly," Louis continued. "And as far as I'm concerned, we work for Will. Not him. Will hasn't killed any of our friends. Yet. And it was about time I did something worthwhile with my life."