Does a tattoo hurt? Of course it hurts. How could it not, when a needle is piercing through flesh? But that pain is one of the prices of freedom, a small sacrifice for the chance to reclaim one's identity.
"All done," Lucas said with a light chuckle, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow. It had taken a full hour of meticulous work, but he'd finally completed Ayesha's tattoo. A pair of delicate wings now adorned the slave mark, their intricate lines a symbol of liberation. The room was filled with the faint metallic scent of ink and the soft hum of the tattoo needle cooling down.
He gazed at the fresh design on Ayesha's arm. Tiny beads of blood welled up from the irritated skin, which was slightly swollen and flushed with a rosy hue. Lucas quickly grabbed a cotton pad soaked in sterilizing alcohol and gently wiped the area, his movements careful yet practiced. His tattooing skills, if he was honest with himself, were far from professional. If it weren't for the specialized tattoo needle he was using, the result would've been a mess. Just for a few nights, back on Earth, he'd practiced on a slab of pork to get a feel for the process. The texture of pork, though, was nothing like human skin—too tough, too lifeless. Still, he'd managed to pull this off, and the wings looked decent enough.
"It's beautiful," Ayesha murmured, her violet eyes fixed on the tattoo. The wings seemed to shimmer under the light, and her gaze sparkled with something deeper—relief, perhaps, or hope. The ugly brand of slavery that had once marred her skin was gone, replaced by this symbol of freedom.
"Lord Lucas, I want one too!" Amelia's voice cut through the quiet moment as she pushed closer to him, her small hand eagerly extended. Her emerald-green eyes locked onto the wings on Ayesha's arm, admiration clear in her expression. To Amelia, those wings weren't just a design; they were a beacon, a representation of the bird-beastkin she identified with. She didn't need a reason to love them—they simply *were* her.
Lucas's lips curved into a warm smile. "Alright, you're next." He gently pulled her soft, delicate hand toward him, rolling up her sleeve to reveal the harsh, ugly slave mark etched into her arm. His fingers brushed lightly over the scar, and Amelia's hand trembled ever so slightly. Her green eyes flickered with a mix of emotions, betraying the calm facade she tried to maintain. That mark wasn't just a physical blemish; it was a weight, a reminder of a past she'd rather forget. Lucas could sense her unease, the way her breath hitched just for a moment.
"Freedom wings, same as hers?" He asked, picking up the tattoo needle. He dipped it into boiling water to sterilize it, then wiped it down with alcohol for good measure. "Or do you want something different?"
Lucas had prepared a dozen or so designs, all simple enough for his amateur skills. The freedom wings were his favorite, though, and the most popular choice so far. For the military, he'd created a special tattoo—a dragon totem inspired by the army's flag, reserved for free citizens who served. Unlike some armies that banned tattoos altogether, Lucas had no such restrictions, at least not yet. He didn't want the free citizens to think he was discriminating against them. However, for special forces or covert operations, tattoos were a liability—too recognizable, too easy for enemies to spot and use to identify operatives.
"I want the wings," Amelia said firmly, her green eyes wide and earnest, as if the decision carried the weight of her entire future.
"Wings it is," Lucas replied with a soft laugh. He steadied her arm, the needle humming to life in his hand. "Brace yourself—it'll sting a bit, but it'll be over soon."
Amelia nodded, tilting her head to watch the needle as it dipped in and out of her skin. Her face remained impassive, not a single flinch betraying the pain she must have felt. It was as if she'd steeled herself against it, her determination outweighing any discomfort.
"It'll be quick," Lucas reassured her, his voice gentle as he worked. He wiped away the small beads of blood with an alcohol-soaked cloth, the sharp scent filling the air. Having already tattooed Ayesha, he was faster this time, his movements more confident. The needle danced across Amelia's arm, carving the wings with steady precision.
Forty minutes later, Lucas leaned back, wiping his brow. The second tattoo of his life was complete. He studied the freedom wings on Amelia's arm, noting a slight imperfection—the wings were a touch rounder than he'd intended, giving them a plump, almost chubby look. Still, they were charming in their own way. He cleaned the area, the blood and ink mixing into a faint red smear on the cloth.
"What do you think? Pretty good, right?" He asked, a hint of pride in his voice. The wings might have been a bit chubby, but they were undeniably cute.
Amelia glanced at Ayesha's tattoo, then back at her own. Hers were noticeably fuller, almost comically so. "It's beautiful," She said, her voice soft but sincere. In her mind, those plump wings meant she could soar higher, farther than anyone else.
Lucas let out a quiet breath of relief. He wasn't a professional tattoo artist by any stretch, and he'd nearly botched the design when he accidentally pinched her skin too tightly. When he released it, the wings had puffed up, but Amelia's enthusiasm reassured him. She loved it, and that was what mattered.
"Did you catch all that?" Lucas asked, turning to Bruce, who had been observing closely.
"Yes, my lord. I understand the process," Bruce replied with a serious nod, his eyes sharp with focus.
"Good. Now you try one," Lucas said, a grin tugging at his lips.
"Understood," Bruce said respectfully, straightening up.
Lucas turned to the small group of free citizens waiting nearby. "Who's next? First one's free!" He called out, his tone light but inviting.
"Me, City Lord! Let me try!" A pig-beastkin leapt up, his heavy footsteps echoing as he started to rush forward.
"Hold it!" Mina's voice cut through the air like a blade. In an instant, her knife was pressed against the pig-beastkin's neck, her cold eyes narrowing. "No rushing. We need to search you first."
"Y-Yes, ma'am!" The pig-beastkin froze, sweat beading on his forehead as he stood stock-still.
Chris, standing nearby, stepped forward to conduct a thorough search. He checked the beastkin's clothes, patted down his body, and even rifled through his hair. The beastkin was made to remove his shoes, which were inspected carefully before he was allowed to proceed.
"Sit here," Bruce instructed, guiding the pig-beastkin to a chair. He began preparing the tools, mimicking Lucas's process with careful precision.
"Which design do you want?" Bruce asked, holding up a sheet of paper with a dozen or so patterns—bear heads, pig heads, and, of course, the freedom wings.
"I want the wings," The pig-beastkin said quietly, his voice tinged with excitement. "Can you make them… big?"
Bruce nodded. "Sure thing." He set to work, sketching the design with bold, confident strokes.
Lucas watched, his brow twitching slightly. Bruce's wings were massive—almost comically so. They looked less like the graceful wings of a bird and more like a pair of oversized chicken wings, plump and meaty. Lucas bit back a laugh, wondering if he should step in, but he let Bruce continue.
"Hold still. It'll hurt a bit," Bruce said, his tone calm as he began tattooing.
"No problem! My skin's tough!" The pig-beastkin boasted, puffing out his chest. Bruce nodded and got to work, his needle moving faster than Lucas's but with less finesse. The result was rougher, more exaggerated, but it had a certain charm.
Thirty minutes later, the tattoo was done. The pig-beastkin stared at the massive wings on his arm, his eyes welling up with tears. The slave brand was gone, replaced by this bold, if slightly cartoonish, symbol of freedom.
"Thank you! Thank you!" He said, bowing deeply to Lucas and then to Bruce, his voice thick with emotion.
"Satisfied?" Lucas asked, his tone casual but his eyes sharp. He couldn't help but wonder if he should give Bruce a crash course in artistry before letting him loose on more clients.
"More than satisfied! This is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen!" The pig-beastkin exclaimed, his voice fervent as he stared at the tattoo. "City Lord, may I go? I need to tell everyone!"
Outside the tattoo shop, a crowd had gathered, their murmurs filling the air with anticipation. They were waiting for this moment—the moment they could truly cast off the chains of their past.
"Go ahead," Lucas said with a gentle smile, waving him off.
"Thank you, City Lord!" The pig-beastkin bowed again, his eyes darting nervously to Mina before he carefully made his way to the door. Once outside, he broke into a run, raising his right arm high. The wings, streaked with traces of blood and ink, gleamed in the sunlight.
"Look, everyone! These are my wings! I'm a free citizen under the City Lord! Not a slave! NOT A SLAVE!" His voice cracked as he shouted to the heavens, tears streaming down his face as he gazed at the sky.
"Amazing! It's real!"
"Freedom! True freedom!"
The crowd erupted into cheers, some laughing, some shouting, their voices blending into a joyous cacophony. The air buzzed with excitement, hope, and the promise of a new beginning.
Lucas stood by the window, listening to the uproar outside. A slow smile spread across his face, his dark eyes glinting as he looked out at the sky beyond the second-floor window. This was just the start—a new chapter, a brighter future. The best days were yet to come.
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