On Our Own (gxg)

Chapter 3 - Consequences

A/N: Welcome back! The photo shows the tattoo or at least gives you a rough idea. I am neither a tattoo artist nor do I like my hand, but I am pretty sure I sucked at the description in the story... sorry for that. And be careful, there is a vivid scene of violence and strong language in the end, maybe not appropriate for all the audience. Enjoy the slightly longer chapter, guys!

Oh my God! What the freaking hell have you done? Your dad is going to kill you! Please, oh my God, Rayen, change that announcement! TAKE IT BACK!

I panic. Pure chaos is flooding my mind. But the answer is final. I can't change anything back. My life has a purpose now, but I am overwhelmed of the dircetion I am heading in. I must be insane! I am not even the type for joining the Army! Well, yes, you are. You are sporty, tough. You can act without emotions slowing you down, that's what you did your whole life. You follow orders, even though they have been mouthed by your father til now. I want my thoughts to just end.

I close my eyes to gulp. As I open them again, my surface isn't about to crack anymore. I look happy and confident. The people in front of the podium cheer towards me. I smile with sweaty palms and shaking knees. It's like I watch myself in shock from a third-person-perspective, not able to paticipate any longer. I solemnly shake the presidents hand, then I follow him.

I am attempting to take part at the ultimate ceremony, after that I am officially considered adult. It is a tradition. There are machines that could easily do it more accurately, but still we remain with humans doing it. I sit down at a white chair. I am still in shock of what I did. I can see the questioning eyes of a medic in white clothes, I numbly nod. The guests built a crowd around me and the chair in a respectful distance.

And then it begins. Left hand first. I am tattooed. Every adult on Alatis has got a tattoo on their hand(s) regarding to the profession they have. You can choose the colour - either black or the the colour that symbolizes your work field. Medics for example can have either black tattoos or light blue ones. Or they mix up the colours. Technicians and engineers are yellow. Logisticians are red. Social jobs of any kind are purple. Development, science and IT is white. Politicians are green.

Since the colour of the army is black anyways, I don't get to choose. As I mentioned, we stick to the tradition of letting humans colour the skins. I've heard that back on earth they literally inked the skin, like shooting little pigments under the surface. Even I can tell that that must be really unhealthy. Nowadays we colour the skin by shooting lasers into it. I don't exactly know how it works.

I just notice the burning pain in my hand. I frown. I have seen other 21 years olds hysterically crying in pain, so I expect it to increase. Nothing happens. I don't really believe it, but the pain is not much more than a tickle to me thinking of the ways my father hurts me on a regular, even a daily basis.

My father. In my head these two words are spit out in disgust. I look up. Still everyone is smiling. Except for him. His gaze creates a threatening atmosphere that apparently only I sense. His face is cold, his eyes are stabbing me. I am terrified. I have ruined my life. It has been fucked up before. I am so terrified. He will kill me. This time he'll beat the hell out of me and he won't ever stop. I am still smiling superficially. But a single tear runs down my face and drops onto my suit.

Everyone must think it's the pain - now on the right hand. But it isn't. I couldn't care less about that burn. My brain just simply cannot forget the pain that will come.

I clench my jaw and force my head down to look at my left hand. The outcome is pretty damn cool - the tattoo of soldiers is always a wing on each hand. It starts at the basis of the thumb and spreads majestically over the back of the hand and onto the index finger. If a soldier puts both their hands next to each other with thumbs touching parallel, the impressive pair of wings creates a gracefull creature. Of course the theme is inspired by the name Alatis. And if a soldier grabs a weapon the wing on their hand cups it protectively like an eagle would protect it's baby. I already love my wings. And they even managed to make me forget about what will happen in the evening when Dad comes home. You're lucky he doesn't punish you right now - only his self-esteem about the high social status prevents him from doing so right now.