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Angeles Cooper was always a bit of a black sheep in the family.
There was something just a little humorous about it all — in the living room hung a photo of the Cooper family, eight children in total, not including the two spouses also present in the picture. It was a nice photo — admittedly a little dated (three more of the siblings had since married, and four grandchildren had been born), but a nice photo nonetheless. They were a classic Frontier family, really. Lots of kids, devout Christian parents, and most everybody sporting jeans, boots, and a button up with some cattle grazing in the distance. All except for Angeles — dark hair tied back loosely, tattooed arms left bare in the sun, cargo pants and a tank top dirtied by her most recent project. She stuck out like a sore thumb.
Jack had always worried about her. It’d annoyed Angeles for the longest time — her kid brother, following her around like some lost dog, constantly asking questions about where she was going or who she was with or what she was doing. Still, she’d gotten attached to him over the years. The first time a punk middle schooler had punched her baby brother, she’d damn near punted the kid across the barley field. He probably deserved it, too — she could still conjure the mental image of the idiot flying through the sky, screaming his little head off. It was a real shame that she didn’t do anything of the sort. She probably should have — it’d been eight years since then, and her blood still boiled whenever she saw that brat in town.
Angeles had recruited Jack after that. They kept the whole incident between the two of them. She still had no idea how he’d managed to keep their parents from finding out — punk-middle-school-brat’s parents were probably livid after seeing their punk-middle-school-brat kid come home in tears with mud in his hair and a nasty bruise — but whatever Jack had done, it worked.
She taught Jack a lot of things. Mostly things she’d figured out on her own — like how to swear like the core system folk (she’d been born on Earth, anyway), or sneak around the house without Mom noticing (the floorboards in the entryway creaked like hell, so escaping through the bathroom window usually was the best option), or how to build a music player like they used to use in the old world (Big Joe would let her take scrap from the pile in his garage — he had pretty much everything she could need back there). Jack absorbed it all with surprising ease. Angeles had worried that he wouldn’t take to it very well with how quiet he was, always staying out of trouble and doodling in the corners of his homework. He seemed to enjoy it, though.
Once, when she was seventeen, Angeles had saved up enough money to purchase a cheap tattoo gun and some pigment. She’d managed to buy it under her parents’ noses during their last visit to the city. She didn’t bring it home, then — that ran the risk of discovery, and she’d spent way too much time saving every credit she could get her hands on only for her to lose it now.
They stashed it at their oldest brother’s house. Lucas and his wife, Naomi, kept quiet about it — again, a result of Jack’s mysterious manipulation magic (really, it was probably just ‘cause he was such a historically cute kid, even at fourteen; even she struggled to turn him down when he really asked, a skill that came with being the second youngest). Keeping it at Lucas’ place made things marginally easier for them. Mom and Dad weren’t as suspicious of whatever trouble they could be getting into if they knew where they were. Theoretically, anyway.
Jack eventually gave Angeles her first tattoo. She’d gotten tired of practicing on fruit and insisted he give her one, which he promptly objected to.
“What am I supposed to do?” he’d asked in a mild panic.
“I don’t care,” she’d said, pushing the tattoo gun into his hands. “Draw something ! Just don’t make it stupid. What, are you scared or something?”
“No! I just—”
“Then prove it, idiot. Draw something.”
He’d narrowed his eyes at her. “Fine. Bitch.”
Jack tattooed a dick on her shoulder. Honestly, she kind of deserved that one.
Their mom found it a few months later, when Angeles was half-buried in the engine she’d been taking apart. By then, they’d added onto the tattoo a couple times — Jack felt bad for the revenge-dick and had converted it into a flower. He’d done a pretty good job of it, too. She didn’t want to get rid of it. Angeles told her mother accordingly. Her mother didn't take very kindly to it.
The tattoo gun disappeared after that.
She graduated high school a year later with good grades and stellar test scores. Angeles decided to try her hand at college after she got accepted into Dunnam Vale on a full-ride scholarship, despite knowing full well that she wasn't going to enjoy it in the slightest.
Jack, then fifteen years old, had waved her a quiet goodbye on the train platform as he held a sobbing Lucia, the youngest of the Cooper siblings at only eight years old.
The image was burned into her memory. Angeles wasn’t sure why.
College didn’t work out. She dropped out after a year and came back home. Her parents were surprisingly accepting of her decision — they welcomed her back with open arms and gave her a room to stay in. Her mom didn’t comment on the new tattoos she had acquired, or the short hair she’d decided to cut herself after a particularly bad depressive episode, or the new scars she’d gotten along her neck that looked suspiciously risqué. She was grateful for that.
Jack was admittedly a little more distant after she returned. That stung more than she had expected.
Her dad sat her down not long after — if college wasn’t on the table, then she was going to have to find work elsewhere. That wasn’t surprising at all. She’d been thinking about starting her own business for a while, anyway — so she told him as such.
She was good with her hands. She liked to fix things. Break things. Build things. She’d worked with a couple Titans at school — maybe she could try something with that?
Her dad quickly agreed. They could set something like that up.
The first order of business was setting up shop. There was a run-down shack a quarter mile down the road that was technically on their property — Dad gave her permission to do whatever she saw fit, as long as she could keep things within her budget.
Jack came by to help every so often. He’d found a couple friends while she was away, and they would come with him, too — Sam and Bailey. They seemed like decent kids. That was a good thing — Angeles had to remind herself of that. Socializing wasn’t one of Jack’s strong points. She was proud of him. Still, she was admittedly a little jealous of the group.
Two months later, that little shack became a full-blown garage. And the next day, she had her first customer.
It was Jack. He’d brought a tattoo gun, one he’d apparently broken. She let him test it on her other arm after she got it fixed up. Mom apparently didn’t know about it — no surprise there, since she’d probably track it down and toss it if she found out that sweet little Jack liked to give people tattoos. At least he was smart enough to wait until he was older before he got one himself.
Things continued on. Angeles had somehow managed to acquire a broken-down Titan and fixed it up well enough to get it running again. She bought some books on Titan mechanics and studied them intensely. She’d even met a Pilot — a man named Lastimosa with an Atlas-class combat Titan, working for IMC security. He was kind enough to answer some of her more specific or confusing questions and paid her generously.
People started bringing her more Titans after that. Soon enough, Angeles became positively swamped with work — with no other Titan mechanics around outside the city, she had a claim on pretty much every customer within a hundred miles. At first, she was grateful for all the work, but things began to get a little concerning after a while. IMC officials began to visit their neck of the woods more often. Combat work skyrocketed. Some of her old regulars mysteriously stopped coming in. IMC patrons nearly doubled.
Rumors spread. War was at the cusp of breaking out on other planets. Civil unrest. Riots in the cities. Angeles did her best to ignore it all.
Jack still stopped by in the later hours. He’d grown into himself pretty comfortably, standing a good four inches over her. Clearly, the high school girls thought he was attractive, what with his dark curls and soft smile. He’d even snagged himself a girlfriend, a nice brunette named Elise. She came with him to Angeles’ shop fairly regularly. Jack helped out where he could, content to simply share the space with his sister. Elise would sit in the corner and watch the two of them work. They didn’t talk much otherwise.
He started a whole sleeve tattoo on her arm. They worked on it when Elise wasn’t there — a sweeping image of a Titan wrestling a dragon. Angeles liked it.
Eventually, it was his turn to leave for school. Jack stopped by her shop again — she wouldn’t be able to send him off at the platform, what with her massive backlog of IMC work — to say his goodbyes. Elise was there, too — she’d be going with him to Dunnam Vale. Angeles didn’t really know what to do. She didn’t like goodbyes very much.
Jack had pulled her into a quick hug. She hadn’t expected it.
“I’m gonna call you,” he’d said. Angeles didn’t know if he meant that as a threat or not. She was pretty okay with it, regardless.
“You’ll do great,” she’d murmured. And she meant it.
She turned up her music in the shop that night. He didn’t finish her sleeve.
The news came as a shock to everyone.
Thirty students had reportedly been harassing IMC officers. Somebody brought a gun. Things escalated. Seventeen out of thirty were killed. The IMC officers weren’t responsible. ‘An act of self-defense’, they said. The students had attacked first. They brought the guns on campus illegally. The fault was with the students.
Everybody else knew better. The Dunnam Vale Massacre, they called it. Seventeen students shot dead. Angeles had damn near panicked when she heard about it.
Jack came home from school a month early. Angeles was relieved by that.
Uncle Derek made some snide comment at dinner one day about the students involved in the shooting. Dad and Lucas immediately began to shout at him. Mom and Isabella stared wide-eyed. Matthew and David both paused mid-bite. Julian scowled. Lucia swallowed thickly.
Angeles punched Uncle Derek in the face. She didn’t care that her fist left his nose crooked.
Jack left the table. He didn’t touch the food on his plate. Angeles went after him. Nobody followed.
“Hey,” she called as she cracked the back door open. He sat on the porch outside, his head in his hands. The sun had set long ago, but they could still hear the cattle lowing in the distance. No stars tonight — the clouds were moving in thick for the winter. She could hear everyone shouting inside at the table — Dad hardly ever lost his cool like that, but Derek had always been able to push his buttons. Someone called to get their uncle to a doctor. She didn’t hear anyone shouting for her or her brother.
“Jack.”
He didn’t say anything. She watched his shoulders rise and fall rhythmically with each breath.
Angeles slipped the door shut behind her and sat down beside him. She elbowed him gently. “Don’t listen to the fat bastard,” she said. “He never has anything worthwhile to say, anyway.”
Jack scoffed into his hand, but otherwise said nothing.
She sighed. Cicadas chirped loudly, despite the oncoming chill. Her fist started to sting a little from where she’d punched her uncle.
“C’mon, dude,” she said as she nudged him again before standing up. “It’s loud out here. Let’s head over to my place.”
He glanced at her and considered her for a moment.
Angeles frowned. She grabbed his wrist and pulled him to his feet. He followed quietly.
They walked down the road together in silence. She stuck her hands into her pockets and walked slowly, glancing at Jack periodically. Bright headlights broke over the hill occasionally as vehicles passed them by with a low hum. They stepped into the grass-filled ditches that lined the roads to avoid the traffic.
She’d converted part of her shop into a proper living space some time ago. Some people found it a little strange, but she honestly liked it. It was a nice little loft overlooking the shop, enclosed with proper insulation to keep the inevitable heat at bay. It was admittedly a little small, but everything she needed was there — bed, kitchen, bathroom, shower — right over her shop. She could keep an eye on things and rest at the same time.
Jack followed her up the stairs leading up to the back of the loft. She fidgeted with the lock for a moment before popping it open and slipping inside.
Angeles flicked the light on and headed straight for the refrigerator. Jack stood awkwardly in front of the door, unsure of how to react.
“Sit down, dude — we’re not strangers or something,” Angeles said as she grabbed two beers from the fridge. “I know you aren’t technically allowed to drink yet, but we both know this won't be your first,” she said before Jack could comment. "Just don’t tell mom you got it from me.”
She cracked one open and set it on the table in front of Jack. He glanced at the drink, then at her, before sighing and taking it gratefully. Angeles slid into the seat opposite to him and took a sip.
They sat in silence for a while. Her gaze drifted toward the window opposite to them, leading into the shop itself. The shop lights weren’t on, but the dim moonlight illuminated enough of the familiar scene for her to make out the Titan she was currently working on — a heavily modified Stryder. This one hadn’t been registered with the IMC. She wasn’t going to tell anybody that, though.
“So,” she said after a moment. Jack glanced up at her. “Ever planning on finishing up this sleeve you started?” she asked.
His gaze shifted down to her right arm. The tattoo wasn’t as fresh as it’d been when he was first working on it. They’d probably have to clean it up before finishing it.
She gestured toward one of the drawers in the small room. “Ink’s over there if you want it.”
“...Think you just got tired of walking around with an unfinished sleeve,” Jack murmured as he glanced toward the drawer. He took a drink and twisted his lips in consideration.
Angeles shrugged. “That’s beside the point.”
“Right.”
He looked over at the drawer again. She could practically see the gears turning in his head. You know you want to, she wanted to tease. Don’t lie to yourself, kid.
Angeles was right. He got up with a sigh and opened the drawer.
Setup took a little longer than she remembered. Angeles grabbed the antiseptic wash and towels from the bathroom as he set up the tattoo gun.
“I don’t think I have the stencil anymore,” Jack said as she sat down again, supplies in hand.
“It’ll be fine,” she said.
Jack frowned. “I don’t remember what the rest of it was supposed to look like.”
Angeles waved him aside. “Don’t worry about that,” she said. “I’ll be happy with whatever you decide to do. As long as it isn’t a dick.”
Jack cracked a smile at that. “Don’t tempt me.”
The antiseptic felt cold against her skin as he began to prep her arm. Goosebumps threatened to rise under the cold contact.
Angeles pulled out her phone with her left hand as he worked and began scrolling through her music.
Radiohead seemed like a good pick. She turned on the playlist and set the device down on the table.
Jack pulled out a pen and began sketching out his design. He wiped at it occasionally, unhappy with his work. He murmured something under his breath. She didn’t quite catch it.
Angeles took another drink of her beer. She glanced at him as he worked. His eyebrows were furrowed and a slight frown adorned his lips. He wiped at his work again with a scowl.
“What’s on your mind, dude?” she asked.
“Nothing,” he murmured. He pulled the pen out again.
“You’re a terrible liar.”
“Me not lying kept both of us out of trouble.”
Angeles glanced at him quizzically. “What are you talking about?”
Jack gave her a sidelong glance. “You seriously never noticed?”
“Why the hell would I pay attention to that?”
He sighed and shook his head. “You know, people are usually a lot more willing to believe you when you’re honest about things.”
“Yeah, no shit, Sherlock,” Angeles scoffed. “Seriously, though — what are you talking about you not lying? I thought we were in on things together. Partners in crime.”
Jack lifted her elbow and looked over his handiwork. Eventually, he nodded satisfactorily and capped his pen before reaching for the tattoo gun. “We were,” he said. “I didn’t tell mom everything, don’t worry. Just enough for people to believe me.”
Her skin prickled as he began to work on cleaning up the tattoo. The sensation was familiar — Jack holding her arm steady with one hand, balancing the tattoo gun in the other. She’d missed moments like this.
“You still haven’t answered my question,” Angeles commented. She glanced at Jack again.
He paused, lifting the gun from her skin. Jack looked up at her and met her gaze for a moment before he shook his head with a sigh and resumed his work.
“...Think I’m gonna join the Militia,” he murmured after a moment.
Angeles paused. “Huh?”
“It’s—” Jack started, “—it’s fucking dumb. And reckless. I know. I just…” He pulled the gun away and looked up at her again. “I’m so fucking tired of this.”
She blinked at him, her mouth hanging open. The Militia? Jack, her baby brother, serving in the Militia, fighting against the IMC on the battlefield? The thought was downright chilling. Angeles shut her mouth and blinked again before looking away.
Jack resumed work on her arm.
“...Is this because of what happened?” she asked quietly.
He sighed deeply. “...I guess. Yeah.”
The gun vibrated against her skin as he continued his work. After a moment, he shut it off and switched the tip out for a larger blending tip. A quick test for ink flow, and he was back on her arm.
“What happened, if you don’t mind me asking?”
Jack shook his head. “Exactly what Dad said his theory is. Almost exactly.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. They were — they were protesting. Since the IMC had seized more land, and stuff. Nobody brought any weapons or anything. Just — a bunch of college kids, with some cheap ass posters, upset because their friend’s family was kicked out of their home for oil.”
“I see.”
Jack paused again. Angeles glanced back toward him when he stopped, concerned.
His hands were shaking. He was starting to breathe heavily, too.
“Hey,” she started, reaching for his shoulder with her other hand. “Hey. Jack. It’s okay.”
“Elise and Sam were there,” he murmured shakily. He set the gun down and sighed deeply in an attempt to calm his frayed nerves. “They — they didn’t make it,” he choked.
Angeles swallowed thickly, unsure of what to do. She rubbed his shoulder in an attempt to help him calm down.
“I just—” Jack began again, his voice a little more measured and even, “—I mean, Elise joined that resistance group our first semester, and she got Sam in it, too. I didn’t want anything to do with it, so we all just…split, after that.”
Another shaky breath. “It’s okay,” Angeles murmured.
“…Maybe things would’ve been different if I’d said something,” Jack mumbled. “I don’t fucking know.”
“Hey,” Angeles said. God, he looked so tired. A burst of anger flared in her chest. She’d punch Derek again in a heartbeat. No question.
The Militia. Her baby brother wanted to join the Militia. What could she even say to that? He was going to leave her again, anyway.
“...I’ll go with you,” she said, shaking his shoulder gently.
Jack’s head snapped up. “What?” he breathed. “No — no, don’t do that, you—”
“—can make that decision on my own just fine,” she interrupted. Did she really just say that? “You know me, Jack — partners in crime, remember? And if it means I can kick the ass of whoever gets on my bad side, even better.”
Yeah, she realized. Yeah, she did just say that. A feeling of uncertainty wormed its way into her stomach, but she quickly stamped it out. Of course she just said that — and she meant it, too.
Jack watched her incredulously. “I—” he started. “What about your shop?”
Angeles paused for a moment. “I’ll close it down,” she decided. “Or maybe Julian can run it.”
“Julian can’t fix shit. He works demolition, Ange.”
She barked out a laugh. “True. Guess I’ll have to close it down, then,” she said with a shrug.
Jack paused. He knew better than to argue with her once she’d set her mind to something. “...Fine,” he eventually said, admitting defeat. “We’ll join together.”
His shoulders visibly sagged as he admitted that. He’d been stressed about going alone, Angeles noted. Maybe going with him would be the right call after all.
“Hey,” she said after a moment, nudging him with the toe of her boot to get his attention. “Hurry up and finish this damn sleeve,” she said. “You’re fuckin’ what, nineteen and still don’t have your own tattoo? I’ve failed you as an older sister,” she said as she took a drink of her beer. “Hurry up and think of what you want — I’m gonna give you a tattoo before we leave, and that’s a threat.”
Jack paused as she spoke before shaking his head and picking up the tattoo gun. A ghost of a smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he turned the device on once again and resumed his work.
“...Sounds good to me,” he murmured.