Black Equation - The Gifted Ones

Number Twenty-Two

"Sometimes, not feeling is the only way you can survive."

 

Number Twenty-Two

It was odd. Seeing the Master, there was no resentment in his system, just sadness – pure, unadulterated sadness – and before anyone could notice his expression, Krad stepped out of the room. He felt like an intruder.

Privacy was the least he could give Faye. She deserved it. Besides, he was needed somewhere else.

He had to go. First, he put his left foot forward, and followed it with his right. Each step was an effort. His gait was slow and wobbly; he was in a daze, and he wasn't even aware of it.

Where am I going, again?

As soon as he snapped out of it, he squared his shoulders and walked faster, the opposite direction. Briskly, he left the Command, figuring out that his absence wouldn’t be noticed until much later.

“Finally. I thought you’ll never come,” Ivan said the moment he climbed inside the military jeep. He flashed him a bored look, in which the Russian thought appropriate to be reciprocated with a Cheshire grin. Lazily, Krad picked up the black jacket from the backseat and tied it around his waist. It was too hot to wear it with the Pacific sun on its high throne. As it was, his skin was getting red.

“Where’s chinky-eyes?” he asked while Ivan drove them to the outskirts of the training grounds.

“At the firing range, letting out steam.” Ivan let out a chuckle, enjoying a private joke if the glint in his eyes was anything to go by. “Wanna check up on him, sugar pops?"

He stiffened. Sugar pops? This dolt called him sugar pops?

"Wait, I think I used that already." Ivan looked apologetic, but for an entirely different and unwelcomed reason. "If I remember correctly, the next on the list is…”

Krad gave him a withering glare that Ivan chose to ignore. In fact, the older man laughed at his face. “Aren’t you a Barbie doll?”

There went the endless name-calling again. If it was anyone but Ivan Ilyinsky with him, he wouldn’t have to hesitate in throwing him out of the vehicle. Unfortunately, Ivan could afford to get under his skin – the man was practically untouchable.

He sighed, licking his parched lips with a sandpaper tongue. He had enough small talk. “What’s the emergency?”

Ivan’s cleanly-shaved face lit up. Mischievous. Clearly not good news. There were a few things in life that Ivan Ilyinsky found delightful – most of them enough to make normal people go clinically insane.

“Spit it out, Ilyinsky,” he snapped.

“Richard Underwood did something very daring and original.” Ivan took a wide U-turn and parked the jeep easily between two trucks. “I thought it will be best to tell you first before Master Vladimir gets rid of him.”

It might be callous of him to say it, but Krad didn’t really care. There were no feelings lost between the half-brothers. They were born from the same father, but truth be told, there was no bond formed between them. Not even familial obligation. Krad knew that Richard regarded him as a threat. The kid obviously desired their father’s recognition; he craved for his attention.

But as Krad felt utterly nothing but hatred for Falcon, the feeling extended to Richard.

“What did he do?” he asked, his voice a cold, dead sound coming from the pits of his decayed soul. It was at times like these that he wished Faye was with him. She never failed to bring out the humanity in him, or whatever was left of it. Without her, he’s nothing but a psychopath pretending to have even the slightest bit of empathy.