Angus's Arc

Chapter 2 of 3

The line came out clean. Angus lifted the machine, watching the artist's skin respond to the ink. The artist studied it for a long moment, face blank. Then he reached for his phone without a word. The screen lit up with photos. Tattoos — hundreds of them. Stories carved into bodies from artists across the country. Names Angus recognized from magazines, people who'd built careers on making survival permanent. The artist scrolled slowly, letting each image sit. Then he stopped on one: a memorial piece, black and gray, every line deliberate. He turned the phone so Angus could see the detail work up close. Angus looked at his own first line on the artist's arm. Clean, sure. But next to what sat on that screen, it was just a beginning. The artist locked his phone and set it down on the wooden table beside the skull targets on the back wall. A metal sign hung above them: MESS AROUND & FIND OUT. The artist's eyes followed Angus's gaze to it, then back. "You can finish this piece," the artist said. "But after that, you're going to the range out back. You need to see what real pressure feels like before you touch another person." He stood and gestured toward the door behind the shooting display. Angus nodded once. The bar had been set. He knew where he stood now — and how far he had to climb.