Reptilian-Angel's
The Bullet Hawk Chronicles
Part 2:
Firing Pin
By Reptilian-Angel
Jesse's P.O.V.
Let me guess, you thought that the story was over?
If you thought that then you would be wrong.
With the ending of the first half of my story, I'm guessing that you were expecting some sort of tragic sob story of an innocent Niño turned insane criminal after murdering the bastard who gave birth to him.
Hate to disappoint you folks, but my life didn't go on that way forever.
Meeting him ended up changing the course of my story.
Of course, I can't exactly recall where I was when it happened. That part of my childhood was nothing but a huge blank.
All I can really remember were only three thoughts.
A shout. A face. A shot.
A shout. A face. A shot.
A shout. A face. A shot.
It went on inside my head like for what seemed like forever. I could barely think of anything else aside of those three things.
I couldn't think of a thing to say without screaming like a maniac.
I couldn't move my body at all in without instantly killing the next closest living thing near me.
I couldn't even blink without rivers of tears coming out of my eyes.
To be blunt, I had lost my mind.
Not to mention I wasn't doing too well on the outside either.
My Moreno and lightly tannish fur had gone dusty and had clumps of mud, dirt and blood stuck here and there. My claws grew ridiculously long and lost their shine so then they looked like nothing more than long black letter-openers. My shirt still had that large rip in the front and, along with the rest of my clothes; was now grimy and full of holes. If you looked through the tear, you would easily see the outline of my ribcage, which was still cracked and ached like hell, clearly showing that I haven't eaten in weeks.
Eating was difficult for me seeing as each time I tried swallowing something, It ended with me throwing it right back up.
Killing your own father does that to you, you know?
Saying that, it was surprising that I still held The Bastard's pistol in between my paws.
Even more surprising, my claw was always on the trigger.
But I didn't care about that.
I didn't care about anything.
I didn't care that I was only a few moments away from dying of starvation.
I didn't care that my arms were dirty with dried blood and dirt and that there was a good chance that they were infected.
I didn't care that whenever someone came over to push me down and scream came over to push me down and scream at me, I instantly slashed them with my claw; making my injuries even worse and spilling even more blood on me.
I didn't car about anything.
All I wanted was to be numb.
All I wanted was for those three thoughts to disappear.
A shout. A face. A shot.
Please.
Please, let it all be over . . .
"Hey there, kid!"
The sound of that easy-going voice took me a moment or two to bring me out of my thoughts.
"Hello? Did you hear me?"
Who was that talking?
Weakened for said reasons, I slowly raised my head and looked up.
The sight that greeted me was a tall man in a hood and a scarf across his mouth with bright smiling eyes looking down towards me.
Who was he?
Was he talking to me?
Seeing that he had my attention, he then said happily, "Oh, good! You did hear me! For a split second I thought I was talking to myself." He seemed to be smiling but it was hard to tell with the bandana.
Why was he wearing one?
Didn't seemed cold enough for one.
But why should I care again?
I limply lowered my head again back in between my arms.
He should just go away.
A shout. A face. A shot.
A shout. A face. A shot.
A shout. A face. A shot –
"Hey, kid? Don't you hear me?" That voice sounded again.
Once again, I looked up.
This time, the tall man had squatted down to my eye level and had arched an eyebrow at me in confusion.
I briefly noticed red bangs sticking out of his hood and two identical eyebrows that hung over a pair of Green eyes.
They were green like the sea.
Not that I would know seeing as that I've never been there.
Why was he still here?
Why can't he just go away?
"Geez, it's like I am talking to myself! What's that matter, kid? You falling asleep?" The tall man quipped as he impishly scratched his head. His hood fell down in response to his actions.
His hair was a wild reddish orange and spikey.
It looked totally real too. No dark roots anywhere.
Regardless, I made no response while he said, "Nah, you can't be tired if your eyes are open lie that. Don't get why you're not talking though . . . I mean, I know that you're listening to me. After all, one of the things that you Pandorians are famous for is those big floppy ears of yours!" Ending with a laugh and him drawing an imaginary set of ears on his head with his fingers.
I stared numbly at him and remained silent.
If he was trying to make me laugh, it wasn't working.
Realizing I wasn't laughing, he brought his hands down and sighed lightly. "Boy, you're killing me here, kid. Throw me a line here, I'm drowning!" He said with a light-hearted smile in his eyes.
Are all people this annoyingly persistent?
Or is it just him?
My body didn't even inch back in surprise when the tall man suddenly inched his head closer to take a look at me. "But I have to admit, you look like you've been through worse." He paused for a moment as he looked me over, "I mean, look at you, your claws are like stakes; your clothes are caked with dirt and your fur's covered in blood, sweat and Maker knows what else!"
He had the same worried eyed that Natalya had.
But I've been fooled by eyes like that before.
My own father's for example.
I didn't even realize I was shaking when the tall man blinked in surprise and said, "Hey, it's okay, kid. I'm not gonna hurt you. You can trust me." With a reassuring wink of Sea Green. "Come on, how about you come with me ad we take a look at those arms of yours? They look like they had gotten mangled."
He then shifted his cloak off his shoulder to pull his arm out and reached a hand out towards me.
That was when I noticed his claws.
His Sharkman claws.
Okay, look, I can't really blame the hombre' for what happened next. After all, how could he have known what I've been through?
How could he have known that it was a were-shark that had chopped off my wings?
And that seeing another one was only going to make it worse?
To be blunt, amigo, what happened next was not the end to one of my best days.
My eyes snapped wide open in a panic.
The bitter memories that followed were like a crack of thunder.
Blood spewing –
Bones cracking –
Me screaming in agony -
"Maybe this'll teach you to know your place, rat boy."
That monster.
That monster was back again.
That monster was back to kill me.
No.
No!
NO!
"MONSTRUO!" I heard myself scream in horror for the first time since like, well . . . Forever.
The next thing I know I was on my feet and the barrel of the pistol was aimed directly between the Sharkman's eyes.
The Sharkman calmly exclaimed in surprise.
If I hadn't lost my mind, I would've expected a better reaction.
I wouldn't let this monster kill me without a fight.
A fight that would've happened if the dizziness and nausea hadn't kicked in.
"Do . . . Not . . . Shoot . . ."
I tried to ignore it despite the fact that my legs were shaking like Maracas and the pistol was probably empty and/or jammed from being out of use for so long.
"Do . . . Not . . . Kill . . . Him . . . ."
I mentally snapped at that voice to shut up. I could feel weariness and sleep, nipping at my consciousness and I could barely hold it off for much longer.
"PUT . . . ME . . . DOWN!"
That exclamation did it for me.
My eyes rolled into my head. The pistol fell out of my paws and onto the ground with a clatter. My legs gave out from underneath me as my arms went limp.
I remember falling forward into the Sharkman's lap before everything went black.
I don't quite remember clearly what happened after that. My mind can only function a few blips at a time.
I do remember being carried carefully by thick and warm arms.
I also remember smelling sea salt and motor oil.
Not to mention the sound of something sharply snipping. Scissors probably.
I'd tell you what more I could remember but unless you're big fans of blood-spilling and having knives stuck into you like a pin-cushion, you'd best not be asking.
What I want to forget is the major amount of pain and nausea I felt when I came to.
I woke up facing the ceiling. If you could call it that; it was more like the roof of a cave that was covered by a tarp.
I was about to try sitting up but a sharp pain in my ribs and sides protested against me. Too tired to care, I allowed myself to flop back down on the small bed and make shift pillow. Which was like a rock that was covered by a blanket. All in all, not that adgradable.
Rubbing my head in an attempt to quell my newfound headache, I only had one question that seemed the most common and most sane one inside my mind.
Where the hell was I?
That was when I noticed the bandages.
I brought my arm up and saw thick yellowish white gauzes wrapped tightly from the tip of my smallest claw to the joint of my shoulder blade. I raised my other arm and saw the same thing.
What the hell was up with all these bandages? And why were they in the same place my wings –?
My wings were gone.
Shock numbing the pain from before, I shot straight up in the small bed.
I felt my heart pound as I instantly recalled everything.
A were-shark took my wings.
My father tried to kill me.
I killed my father.
I ran away.
I fell on that Sharkman's lap . . .
"Well, good morning, sunshine!"
My ears swerved around at the sound of that voice.
I knew that voice.
I slowly turned my head.
And there he was.
Sitting by a small fire-pit and tending to a large cooking bird and some speared fish with a relieved smile on his face; his bare face.
The Sharkman who had stopped to talk to me.
The Sharkman who I nearly shot.
The Sharkman I fainted on.
Unbelievable.
I let my guard down in front of another one of them.
Damn it.
Despite the pain I was feeling, I allowed myself to give a bitter stare towards him.
The Sharkman didn't seem to notice it however as he said, "Or rather, good afternoon. You've been out of it for quite a while. You must've been out for three days, at least." He prodded the fire with a stick to stir up the embers. "I have to admit, I've never seen someone sleep as long as you have. Must be some kind of world record –"
"Donde estoy?" I growled out towards him, abruptly cutting him off.
The Sharkman blinked in confusion. "Beg pardon?"
" . . . I said, "Where am I?"." I repeated in English. My voice sounded so hoarse. Probably from not speaking for so long or screeching like an animal three days ago.
Whatever the reason, I didn't give a damn.
"Oh, you're in my den," The Sharkman replied. He then causally added, "Well, technically, it's not my den, I don't really own it; but no one ever shows up to claim it and I have to rest somewhere, so –"
"Maybe no one comes to claim it because of the giant oafish Sharkman who's sleeps in it." I snapped suddenly. Realizing what I said, I allowed my ears to drop in bewilderment.
What was wrong with me?
Why did I just say that?
I couldn't help but jump when the Sharkman suddenly sounded a laugh that was so loud and vibrating; I swear I felt the cave shake.
After a moment, he finally stopped laughing long enough to say, "Yeah, I guess you're right! Doubt anybody really likes the smell of raw fish and motor oil!"
I felt my eye twitch at his humored smile.
What was with this shark?
Was he loco?
Of course, I wasn't one to talk, all things considered.
The Sharkman took a moment or two to compose himself. Once he was done, he ran a hand through his hair and smiled at me again, "You know something? I kind of like you, kid. Not very often I meet kids who try and pump lead in between my eyes. You're one of a kind."
I couldn't help but snort in disbelief at that.
One of a kind?
Yeah, right.
If I was one of a kind, why did Santa Maria make my life a living hell?
"Why am I here?" I asked him with suspicion.
"After you fainted, I brought you back here." The Sharkman said simply as he turned the uncooked side of the fish towards the fire. "There wasn't any sense in just leaving you on the street like that."
I gave a low "Humph!" at that. "I thought you Sharkman liked your meals cold and bloody."
At this, the Sharkman arched an eyebrow at me. "Why would I want to eat you?" He pointed to the bird and fish. "I already caught my lunch. I eat anymore than this and I'm sure to explode!" Picking at his teeth with his claws, he then added nonchalantly. "Besides I heard that eating Pandorians is bad for you. Too much fiber. Not to mention their joints always get stuck in your teeth."
I gave him a horrified glance in response.
He saw this and instantly said, "It's just a joke! Just a little shark joke, don't panic!" I also saw that he was smiling nervously.
That didn't solve my apprehension. ". . . Why did you save me?"
The Sharkman lost his smile and looked at me like I had asked him why he was roasting a dead bird over the fire or why he had sharp teeth.
We held that gaze for several moments before he said "It wouldn't be right, leaving a child to die alone and helpless when you yourself have the power to save them."
I once again snorted, "What the hell is that? Sage wisdom?"
"No need to be so angry." The Sharkman responded calmly. "Course, I don't really blame you. I mean, your wings had apparently been chopped off and left unattended to. The results were infection, massive blood loss and I think something close to "lockjaw"." Standing up, he continued as he patted dust off of his pants. "I scissored off the infected leather bits and disinfected and sewn up the bloody ashes around your hands, arms and torso. You have at least forty-eight stitches on you, so you'll be a little sore for a while and have to take it easy. On the bright side, your ribs are intact and still connected to your spinal column. None of your primary organs have been pierced but you're still suffering from light internal bleeding and torn muscle tendons so you need to stay in bed for at least two weeks . . ."
I stared speechless at the Sharkman once he was finished.
Was he serious?
I really had been that close to losing both of my arms?
I looked down at both of my arms again. Turning them over and over and over again, it seemed so surreal. Bending my neck forward a little bit furthur, I saw even more bandages that reached from my torso to my waist.
I involuntarily clenched both of my hands while the reality really begun to creep into me.
This was real.
These bandages were real.
These injuries were real.
What happened was real.
All of this was real.
". . . By the way, sorry about the clothes. Your old ones were beyond repair and I never trust myself alone with a sharp sewing needle; so I had to give you some of my clothes. I know they're a little big for you, but they'll keep you covered from the cold."
I snapped out of my trance and saw for the first time the huge short that hung from my throat and the even bigger shorts that seemed to act more like pants seeing as they reached my ankles.
Now that I really think about it, I was really tiny compared to the guy back then, wasn't I?
I practically felt like a dwarf that was stuck in an ogre's old abandoned shoe.
Suddenly thinking of how the servants back home who used to dress me in clothes that that Bastard had chosen for me didn't help the sour mood slowly growing inside of me.
Who the hell did this Sharkman think he was?
Dressing me like a doll and sinking a needle in and out of me without my say-so?
Did he think that just because that he and the rest of his brutish race were bigger and stronger than me, they could do whatever they wanted to –
I jumped for approximately the third time that day when I caught myself staring right into the peculiar-looking face of the Sharkman who had apparently moved and squatted down in front of me so our faces were level with each other again.
Seeing him with his hands curled underneath his chin and blinking at me, I thought for a moment if I was staring at a were-possum.
I then realized that if he was, I would've slit his throat by now.
"Caca!" I exclaimed at him, voice cracking. "What is with you?! Why are you so damn close?!"
"You were looking at me funny, so I figured you wanted to ask me something." He stated simply, huffing a little at my response.
I was about to tell him to . . . Well, you know . . . "F" off with the help of my middle claw when I just took note of my bare paws.
My bare, empty hands.
"Where is Soul?"
"Hmm?" The Sharkman hummed in confusion, green eyes blinking.
I fought the urge to gouge both of the said eyes as I snarled, "Soul! The Soul! The gun! Where is it?!" I don't know why I was so angry.
Considering the fact what I had first shot with that gun, I thought that I would've wanted it gone.
My voice sounded different.
Not like puberty-wise different, mind you. I was still only ten for Maria's sake!
I really don't know how to describe it exactly. But whatever it was, I really didn't like it.
A tannish hand holding out Soul towards me made me catch my voice in my throat.
Seeing this, the Sharkman quipped, "Guessing by your reaction, this is what you're talking about. Before you fainted, you dropped it on the ground. Good thing I remembered t pick it up." Before promptly spinning it around in his hand so the barrel was in his palm and the magazine was pointed towards me.
Even though inwardly I felt reluctant, I quickly snatched the gun out of his hand and held it close to me. It was as though I was afraid that he would take it.
What hold did this gun have over me?
And why was I liking it so much?
"Kiego Bick." The Sharkman blurted out suddenly.
"Eh?" My ears lowered in confusion.
Gesturing to himself, he said again slowly, "My name is Kiego Bick. What's yours?"
I bit my lip to keep myself from answering.
Why would he want to know?
Why did he want me to tell him?
"Kiego Bick" was definitely no man I've ever known.
The man, when standing up, easily towered over me by at least three or five feet. He was thickly built like a wrestler but still had a sort of a slimmed look about him. His hair like before was still as orange and wild as any kind of wildflower as I've ever seen in books and simply framed his face with bangs cut to his bearded chin. His nose, admittingly, was big, but not big enough to be considered ridiculous. His eyes were still green like the ocean and had a faint luminescent glow about them.
Almost like the Were-Shark.
But then again they weren't completely like the Were-Shark's.
They looked kind of . . . . Different.
His eyes were filled of quiet life and a fiery knowledge of the world around us. Where the Were-Shark's eyes had been bitter and cruel, Kiego's eyes seemed more enlightened and kind . . .
Sort of like Natalya's were.
Before I even realized it, I had raised my ears slightly and said lowly, "Jesse' Boaz . . ."
Kiego blinked at me for a moment. ""Jesse' Boaz" . . . ?" He repeated.
I simply nodded in response.
"Ah!" Kiego exclaimed in finality. "Good! Now that we finally got formalities out of the way . . ." He suddenly gave me a scrutinizing look. "I would like to know something . . ." He continued, placing a closed hand to his cheek in silent thought. "Why did you try to shoot me back at that alley?"
My throat clenched along with the paw holding the gun.
I had an incredibly urge to just say that he was a monster and should be treated as such; but something wouldn't let me spit it out.
I felt a headache coming on. "That's none of your business, monstruo." I growled.
"It's actually plenty of my business; since you were the one who tried to shoot me." Kiego pointed out.
I hated the look that he was giving me.
A face full of quiet judgement.
Just like the one those damn Namans had.
"Why the hell does a monstruo like you want to know?"
"Plenty of people normally have questions whenever they're nearly killed for no reason what-so-ever. By the way, what the heck do you keep calling me all of a sudden?"
"Monstruo."
"And what exactly does that mean?"
I could feel the headache growing stronger.
""Monster"."
"Ah . . . Well, I would hardly call myself a "monster"."
"Really? 'Cause that's what you are to me."
"I don't think so. Monsters are people who hurt other people and animals and whatever simply for selfish reasons; Out of greed for power and money. To show their might and wraith. Out of pure envy towards others. Even for some sense of pride for their status and age. They always seem to get some sick thrill out of it for one reason or another."
"You would know that very well, wouldn't you?"
". . . Probably. But what I would like to know is why would a little kid like you consider me a monster."
At that, I totally lost it.
"BECAUSE THAT'S WHAT YOU AND YOUR WHOLE DAMN RACE ARE, YOU BASTARD!" I screeched. My eyes felt like they were burning but I ignored it. My hands shook uncontrollably and my claw irrational itched in anticipation to pull the gun trigger.
Kiego was eerily calm as a reaction to my sudden outburst.
I wanted to stop myself from continuing but my mouth rebelled against me.
"YOU SHARKS TOOK EVERYTHING FROM ME! MY STATUS, MY GLORY, MY HONOR! EVERYTHING! MY OWN FATHER IS COLD AND DEAD BECAUSE OF YOU MONSTERS! YOU CLAIM YOURSELVES AS HIGH AND MIGHTY AND THAT WE ARE THE ONES THAT SHOULDN'T BE ALIVE YET YOU WASTED NO TIME IN SUDDENLY TAKING ONE LIFE AND SHATTERING IT TO A MILLION PIECES! BECAUSE OF YOU DAMN MONSTRUOS, MY OWN FAMILIA'S REPUTATION IS TAINTED WITH DISGRACE! I'LL NEVER BE ABLE TO RETURN HOME NOW, THANKS TO YOU BASTARDS! I USED TO HAVE EVERYTHING IN THE WORLD RIGHT ON MY CLAW-TIPS. MONEY, POWER, FAME; I HAD IT ALL! SO WHAT IF I HARDLY SAW MY OWN PARENTS?! SO WHAT IF I NEVER HAD A NORMAL LIFE?! WHO FRIKIN' CARES?! I HAD EVERYTHING IN THE WHOLE GODDAMNED WORLD AND YOU TOOK IT ALL FROM ME!"
My chest was heaving with breath and my throat was sore. My eyes were burning form the inside and my paws were dripping blood onto the blanket.
I was staring Kiego down from my stance in the center of the bed and my gun was practically glued to my hand.
Yet Kiego Bick was calm.
Totally and utterly calm.
Nothing I said seemed to shake him at all.
And that was close to angering me to no end.
I grinded my teeth as I waited for an answer.
For several moments, nothing came.
I knew if he didn't say anything soon, I was going to kill him.
Kiego then finally spoke.
What he said next shook me to my core.
"You claim that you had everything you ever wanted . . . But, it sounds to me that what you wanted was what you needed."
Everything inside of me snapped.
But, outside, I was still.
Totally still.
I didn't strike out at him in defiance.
Nor did I bring up my gun to shoot him straight through the head.
My hands unclenched. My throat went numb. My chest ceased it's movements. My ears went straight up.
But my voice and my thoughts went completely still.
What I wanted was . . . . . What I needed?
Kiego, from in front of me, suddenly snorted as he turned his head around. In a yelp, he jumped to his feet, banging his head on the roof of the cave before rushing over to the fire; cursing himself as he tried to save his now burning food.
What I wanted was . . . .
My mother crying.
My father glowering and slapping me -
The Bastard taking out Soul to shoot me -
Natalya leading me to the drawing room -
Natalya calling me "Babushka" fondly as she gave me a cookie -
The Naman boy striking at me with a knife -
My uncle calling me "Money-Maker" happily -
The Were-Shark holding my wings, calling me "Rat" -
My Mama looking at me in concern than horror -
. . . What I needed?
Warmth from Natalya -
Coldness from Father and Mama -
Coldness from the Were-Shark -
Warmth from . . . Kiego?
I did have all I wanted.
But had nothing that I needed.
My eyes widened.
I never had warmth.
Never had a familia.
Never had love.
Never had anything I needed.
Not. From. The. Very. Start.
"Hey, Jesse'? Sorry, but I hope you don't mind charred tuna and burnt lopchicken for lunch. I never had a talent for cooking but I actually thought I could get lucky today . . ."
I didn't hear the rest of what he was saying.
Simply because I was crying.
I was just crying.
I didn't sob. I didn't wail. I didn't talk at all.
I just sank to the floor and cried.
I never made a move to wipe the hot, salty tears that ran down my face and dripped on the front of my shirt. My hands went numb as my blood was absorbed into my bandages so I couldn't move them even if I wanted to.
But I didn't care.
I didn't care if the Giant Sharkman in front of me thought I was a big baby for crying right in front of him.
I didn't care that I was most likely babbling incoherently as my head hung over my chest.
I didn't care about any of that.
All I did was simply cry.
I kept crying even as a singed and smokey-smelling drumstick was held out towards me.
I looked up with still spilling eyes and saw, smiling down comfortingly at me, Kiego Bick.
Once again he had moved in front of me so quietly that even I couldn't hear him coming.
I looked up at him for a moment more then looked at the drumstick. My stomach growled loudly despite it's blacked appearance and it's smokingly spicy smell.
I suddenly realized that I completely didn't care about that anymore.
I also realized that the drumstick was probably going to be the closest thing I had to food in months.
Quickly, taking the Drumstick before Kiego could pull it back; I immediately began tearing off the skin and meat in bite after bite after bite; barely stopping to breath every few seconds.
Kiego, instead of trying to urge me to slow down, just sat down in front of me and chewed on his own drumstick with a smile.
I can't really remember if we talked during that meal but . . . I do remember how that bird tasted.
It was greasy and the meat was well done and crumbly. The skin was burnt all over and was tough to chew. Not to mention it was followed with a smoked and spicy aftertaste that made my eyes water even more.
It was the total opposite of the gourmet meals that I grew up on. Each of them made by the finest chefs in the Archipelago.
One thing was clear to me; Kiego had absolutely no talent I cooking.
All in all . . . . . It was probably the best food I ever had in my life.
Nothing else came close.
Not even Natalya's Galletas De Azucar.
And it was bueno.
Muy bueno.
After that day. Kiego Bick, A member of the race who took my wings; a member of the race who helped lead my life into a living hell; a member of the race who were rumored for years to be "Man-eaters" and "Slaughterers"; Became my own surrogate Baby-sitter.
And, now that I think about it, I wouldn't have wanted anybody else.
To Be
Continued . . .