THIRD POV
Several Months Before
"You sure you don't need anything?" the tattoo artist asks for the one-thousandth time. "At this point, I'll give you the alcohol I have for free."
"I'm fine," Vanko grumbles back.
In the dimly lit sanctum, the tattoo artist transforms the blank canvas of his flesh into an awe-inspiring masterpiece; an opus in ink, a symphony of scales, fire, and myth etched into man.
With each stroke of the needle, the creature emerges, sinuous and powerful, its coils intertwining with the ironbound contours of Vanko's back. The dragon's wings, expansive and majestic, unfurling across his shoulder blades.
As the intricate design coalesces, it challenges Vanko's unbreakable resolve. His breathing is level, his knuckles clenching in silent agony. The pain is palpable and visceral. His stoicism elicits concern from onlookers, because he should be screaming.
"I'm only saying," the artist begins again. "The detailing of this, even on a small scale has grown men, older than you, weeping."
Vanko disregards him, keeping silent.
The dragon's scales come alive under those skilled hands. In the end, as the last stroke is applied, the masterpiece is unveiled—a dragon, fierce and untamed, immortalized on his back.
"Man, I need to know the source of your strength."
"Not what," he corrects. "Who."