20 - Who we are

The tumult of people, the footsteps of nurses followed by stretchers moving through the white corridor, the bursts of voices, conversations, and occasional laughter. From time to time, a door would open, letting people pass: either a patient or medical staff, only distinguishable by whether they wore a coat or carried a file filled with documents in their arms.

Loved ones sat with them, having come to offer their support to the convalescents. Some patients were there just for examinations, some were slightly unwell, we saw some staggered accompanied by IV drips, and some were in such bad shape they couldn't stand, moving around in wheelchairs.

And on a chair near the wall, a boy sat there, his gaze lost somewhere beyond the tiled floor. He barely moved, only shifting to cross his arms or adjust the hood of his sweatshirt. Indifferent to what was happening around him, everything unfolded with an almost mechanical fluidity, and he was apart, a stranger.

It was 7 AM. The sun had risen not long ago. Vinny had left for a motel in a discreet corner of the city, while Landon had not returned to the hotel, wanting to avoid finding himself alone in a room with his thoughts. Instead, he had stayed in the woods and hunted during the remaining hours of the night, taking advantage of the minimal surveillance.

The only drawback was that he wasn't in a car, so he decided to hunt only small prey. He later sold his catch to Angus, filling his nearly empty wallet. Ten minutes later, he walked out, $143 richer than the day before. This time, he would take the car and return tonight...

Without wasting time, looking to keep his mind occupied, he went to the hospital, ignoring the constant "digital" gaze on him.

And there he sat, motionless, silent, absent as he had been for hours. Nothing seemed to reach him,not the discreet ticking of the clock, nor the rustling of white coats. He himself wasn't sure what he was waiting for. He had come here mechanically; after all, this was where he had spent most of his time.

The corridor continued to live on, without him, as if his presence made no difference.

'(Maybe that's the case...)' Landon kept staring at the floor, absent, but his thoughts drifted to young Jessica, the blind girl from the first day, the paralyzed little girl, and many others...

'(I guess some would disagree...)' A faint smile appeared on his lips.

"HERE! I have a stabbing victim, punctured in the chest, liver perforated. The hemorrhage has been slowed, but he lost a lot of blood!" A shout pulled him from his thoughts.

Landon sighed and turned towards the wounded man being carried on a stretcher.

'(Might as well find something to do...)' He remained seated and observed the situation.

A young man in his twenties, black jeans, and a leather jacket stained with red, even sunglasses resting on the top of his head.

His haki sensed that he wouldn't make it. It wasn't that the wound was fatal, but he had lost too much blood.

He focused his energy and mind on his clenched fist, and as the stretcher passed in front of him, he opened his hand, releasing a blue azure butterfly. It glowed faintly and remained discreet despite the intensity created by the numerous fused flames that had formed it.

With a single flap of its wings, the beautiful creature landed on the stretcher, carried away along with the young man.

'(It won't be hard, it's enough to wake up the organs weakened by blood loss. The bad boy will get through it.)'

The boy wasn't as injured as Vinny had been. A simple construction of his concentrated flames (several flames combined) and the doctors' surgical intervention would be enough to save him from his fate.

The teenager with rebellious locks sighed, relaxed into his seat, pulled up his hood properly, and rested his head back, his emerald eyes closing.

**********************************************

"Turn left and keep going straight," Lydia spoke to Stilinski, who was by her side. The two had reunited again after a few hours of sleep.

Both were in the sheriff's car. She was following the whisper calling her, giving directions to the sheriff.

Noah Stilinski followed her words, driving into the woods. Following the guidance of a supernatural teenager who spoke to the dead, he couldn't help but feel doubtful.

"Do you know what we're going to find?" he asked her.

The redhead took a few seconds to answer.

"A body..."

"A body?" the sheriff repeated.

"The corpse of the last Walcott," the banshee added. The sheriff glanced at her. The girl sat silently, staring straight ahead, her green eyes fixed on the road, but her focus was elsewhere.

She wore a light blue dress, her strawberry blonde hair arranged in a braided crown. She had light makeup who let pass her natural beauty. The sheriff couldn't help but think that years ago, this authentic and unpretentious appearance would have been unthinkable for her.

The sheriff's eyes casually landed on her earrings, adorned with a flower symbol, and he smiled.

"Nice earrings. They look familiar," the officer remarked.

Lydia's hand reached for the jewelry at her ears, and she smiled.

"Yes, maybe you remember them. Stiles gave them to me..." the redhead said softly.

"Oh, I do remember. Stiles' savings and my wallet both ran dry that day. Thank God he returned everything," the sheriff chuckled at the memory.

"Not everything... Haha..." She laughed softly at his words.

"Yes, he bought me a whole bunch of stuff for my birthday..."

"There was even a 45-inch flat-screen TV," she finished, laughing stronger.

The sheriff joined her, remembering that day.

"Haha... how could I forget? His room was a real Aladdin's cave."

"Hmphh," the redhead chuckled, pointing in a direction.

"Take a left." The sheriff followed her instructions.

She lowered her hand and thought back to that day when she walked into his room and discovered everything he had bought her as gifts...

"He knew lilies were my favorite flower..." she began softly.

"So he gave me these earrings engraved with a lily." She touched the earring with her fingers, her mind elsewhere.

"And out of everything he bought me, this was the only thing I accepted..." her voice trailed off into a murmur as she drifted back to that time,when there was no danger, no supernatural threats, no monsters, no werewolves, no cursed gifts. But also no friends, no group, no pack. There wasn't even a real Lydia Martin...

That time when she was the sexy and shallow popular girl,or at least, she played the role to perfection. Lydia wasn't sure if she missed that era or not...

'(At least, everything was simpler...)'

Sheriff Stilinski was also feeling nostalgic, thinking about his boy, who, lately...

Barely sleeping, irritable, migraines, occasional hallucinations, nightmares,symptoms he had already seen in a close person to him before...

(Maybe it's just temporary, some kind of lingering effect from the Nemeton incident that will gradually disappear...) He really hoped that was the case.

They finished the ride in silence, each lost in their thoughts, only breaking out of their bubble when Lydia gave directions and the sheriff followed.

Finally, after a last turn onto an infrequently used path, they arrived at their destination.

Stepping out of the car, they found themselves in an isolated area, just before the canyon.

"It's not far," Lydia murmured, listening to the whisper growing slightly stronger. She entered the woods, letting herself be guided.

The sheriff followed her, and less than a minute later, they reached a small clearing where the strong smell of something burnt filled the air.

"Hmmm," Lydia clenched her throat, suppressing the instinctive scream that threatened to escape. She turned her head away, closed her eyes, the corners glistening with moisture, and her fists tightened on their own.

She remained like that for five seconds before,

"Fuuuuh," she exhaled, reopening her deep green eyes and lowering her gaze.

On the ground lay a charred silhouette, blackened like coal. The corpse was missing some parts, scattered around the body. Judging by the footprints in the dirt, some animals had likely tried to make a meal out of it but, finding the taste unpleasant, had spit out the chewed remains nearby.

"Hmmphhh," the sheriff simply sighed before grabbing his radio.

"This is Sheriff Stilinski. We have a 10-7b case in Beacon Hills Woods. The suspect is possibly the last Walcott. Send the forensics team and notify the FBI. I'm sending my location now," he said calmly.

The redhead stared at the burned remains on the ground. The sight disgusted her, but she couldn't say that Walcott didn't deserve this,not after what she had seen in that basement yesterday.

And at last, the whisper that had followed her since then vanished.

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and reopened them. She looked around, waiting. But after a few seconds, nothing happened. No visions, no whispers from the dead,nothing.

The only sound that echoed was,

"Copy that, Sheriff. Patrols are on their way," responded a voice through the radio. The sheriff clipped the device back onto his belt.

He glanced at Lydia, who was still fixated on the corpse.

"Come on, Lydia. Don't just stand there," but the redhead remained motionless, still waiting.

"Lydia," Sheriff Stilinski repeated. Lydia realized she was waiting in vain. She finally nodded and slowly stepped back.

(Why isn't anything happening? My powers...?) Lydia wondered. She thought she had understand, mastered her curse...

*************************

Landon sat peacefully, eyes closed, as someone approached and took a seat beside him.

The young man with curly strands didn't react, simply pulling up his hood and remaining silent despite the occasional furtive glances he could feel in his direction.

"I wouldn't recommend the coffee here. Feels like drinking a concentrated potion of bitterness," the person said uncertainly, their voice soft and melodic.

Landon feel another glance but showed no reaction.

"At least the caffeine does its job... Drink a whole cup, and you could wake the dead," the person continued awkwardly, a nervous little laugh escaping her delicate throat.

Landon, without even opening his eyes, completely ignored the person beside him.

Silence settled between them, interrupted only by the ambient noise of the hospital.

(He's really a recluse...) the young woman thought.

(Just as expected, based on observations and behavioral reports...) The psychological assessment strongly emphasize him as a solitary person, among other traits.

"I'm good at what I do. I did my research and figured I'd probably find you here," the hunter said, watching him for any reaction.

But nothing changed on the boy's face. She might have thought he was asleep if not for the occasional slight movements proving otherwise,he was simply ignoring her.

Still, the brunette with shoulder-length hair pressed on.

"I read about the miraculous cases in this hospital... As if a guardian ang..."

She was cut off.

For the first time in this one-sided conversation, Landon's voice rang out.

"What do you want from me?" His tone was calm, indifferent. His eyelids remained closed, and he didn't even turn toward her.

The hunter's lips trembled. Her face tensed slightly.

"Uhm... I..." she stammered.

"I wanted to thank you for..." But once again, she couldn't finish.

"I heard you. You can go back to your life now," the young phoenix interrupted, his voice still tranquil and disinterested.

Another silence fell. A minute passed as Landon remained relaxed in his seat.

Then, her gentle voice resonated once more,

"You're the one who eliminated the Walcotts, aren't you?"

She had the boy's first reaction, Landon lightly turned to her, his misty green eyes now open, staring directly at her.

The hunter fidgeted in her seat under his gaze, grimacing in discomfort. Her eyes darted away, betraying her unease.

(Hmmm, she's acting strange...) Landon thought, before being interrupted as she quickly spoke again.

"No, no... It's not what you think. I know what they really were. I'm not here to condemn you or cause problems," she said hastily.

She glanced around and noticed the attention she had drawn by nearly shouting, then composed herself.

"I just wanted to warn you. The FBI and police found the last Walcott in the woods," she continued in a lower voice.

(Hmmm...) Landon processed the information.

"But you did the right thing erasing those monsters from the face of the Earth," she added firmly, her eyes suddenly blazing with determination she hadn't shown before.

Landon looked into her eyes. The hunter met his emerald-silver gaze, and all her fierce passion evaporated. She bit her soft lip and looked away, fidgeting uncomfortably in her seat.

(Her behavior is odd. Is it fear?) Landon wondered. But his Haki sensed no fear. He decided it wasn't important and stopped scanning her presence. After all, he didn't care...

Landon stood up, dusted off his jeans, and began to walk away. He had sensed the arrival of a few patients, likely coming for routine checkups.

(They probably won't be under anesthesia... I'll have to knock them out myself...) Landon considered how he will approach them before stopping in his tracks.

"...Thank you."

A small voice, almost a whisper.

"Thank you for everything you do..."

The young phoenix turned around, gazing at the hunter. Her delicate face was lowered, cheeks flushed, her slender silhouette slightly curled in on itself.

On her lap, her clenched fists trembled slightly.

And she was sincere. Landon could feel it. This wasn't an act,his Haki told him so. He sensed genuine gratitude, even admiration, followed by real embarrassment, awkwardness, and a flood of other emotions. He could hear her heart racing...

Landon stared at the hunter,the deceitful, cruel woman he knew she was,now appearing vulnerable, timid.

He didn't know how to react. Or what to think.

He stood there for a few seconds before simply shaking his head and turning away.

Walking off for good, the phoenix's silhouette disappeared down the hospital corridors.

As she listened to the fading sound of his footsteps, the hunter slowly lifted her head, sneaking a timid glance with her hazel eyes.

Landon simply preferred to forget that moment. He headed towards the ground-floor rooms where patients were waiting for their exams. It was in the east wing, in the Radiology/Medical Imaging department.

When he arrived, Landon sensed the patients: a diabetic, a person suffering from appendicitis, a one-eyed man, and a person with a motor disability.

Landon could only help the disabled man and the one-eyed man. He focused his Haki on the second one, approaching his room. Based on the life aura, it was a middle-aged man, probably in his fifties. But first, he had to make sure of something.

Was his second eye missing, or just dysfunctional? If it was the latter, he could heal it. That would be a miracle,a strange one, but at least it would make some sense.

But if it was the former... an eye regenerating out of nowhere...

That would be unheard of. Even werewolves couldn't regrow limbs. News channels, the Pope, and an exorcist would all be called in.

(Hmph... if it's the first case...)

But It seemed to be the second case. He stopped in front of the door and put his hand in his pocket.

Over time, his list of essential tools had grown. Besides the black cloth, he now carried two small hooks that he used to fix the fabric onto walls, ensuring it was well aligned and glued with no openings.

He also carried a hygienic mask, black sunglasses to hide his face when needed, and a heavy yet soft squash ball,useful in situations just like this one.

He grabbed the ball, waited a few seconds to make sure no one was paying attention, then, with his back still turned, silently cracked the door open just enough to slip his hand through. With all the strength his position allowed, he threw the ball at high speed toward the African-American man standing by the window. It struck the back of his neck, knocking him out , as he collapsed backward onto the floor.

Landon stood in front of the door quietly for a few seconds before slipping inside discreetly.

He picked up the man and placed him on the bed. But then, his Haki sensed something new. He removed the man's pirate-style eye patch and opened his eyelids.

(Damn...) What he had assumed was a dysfunctional eye was actually a glass eye.

Landon sighed.

(Sorry, buddy.)

Still, he gave the man a bit of his fire, healing some minor issues,his hips, lower back, worn-out heel, and a few vertebrae,while holding back the flames from reaching any higher.

He arrived to the door, but before open it, he glance behind him, looking a the file hang up to the bed.

( Simon Fellas, 7t street elffreth, hmmm) immobile for a few second ,his thoughts hidden behind her emerald eyes.

He turned arround and left the room heading to the second patient.

***************************************

At the end of the day, night had already fallen for a few hours...

A young man suddenly woke up, gasping, as he lay on a cold, dusty floor, dressed only in a white T-shirt and pajama pants.

He managed to lift his back and look around, confused,until a sudden pain hit him. A pure, unbearable agony unlike anything he had ever felt before.

"AAAHHH!"

Panicked, he looked down at the source of the pain,his left foot, covered in blood, crushed in the jaws of a bear trap.

"AAAHH!" he screamed, lost, in agony, unable to understand what was happening as crimson droplets slid down his ankle.

He placed both hands on either side of the bear trap and tried to pry it open. But he lacked the strength,or clarity, to succeed.

(This isn't real. It's a nightmare...) he thought, letting out a nervous laugh at the ridiculous situation his self-destructive mind had conjured. But his laughter died in his throat.

In dreams, one couldn't feel pain. Even a false pain would wake you up. That's why the myth of pinching yourself to test if we dreaming exist.

But the suffering raging in his left leg was all too real.

Suddenly, he heard a sound,a heavy footstep, followed by something scratching against the ground.

The teenager looked around, but all he saw was darkness.

Frantically, he grabbed his phone and pressed the flashlight button multiple times before it finally turned on after the fifth attempt.

Now holding a light, he looked around, strangely able to forget the pain in his foot.

But the scratching sound continued... and now, there was something else.

"Wataaakushiii..."

A voice. Deep. Hollow. Cavernous.

The boy scanned frantically his surroundings, but he couldn't pinpoint the source of the eerie call.

"WHO'S THERE? WHO ARE YOU?"

He reached for his phone which he had dropped, his only source of light.

"Takadee Waanayy..."

It echoed again, from everywhere at once.

A cold shiver ran through his veins. He began to tremble,was it from the cold or from fear?

"W-What?" the boy's voice was fragile, tired, barely resonant.

He pointed the flashlight in front of him and slowly turned around.

Pipes. Old pipelines from another era.

"Kooorewa Waaaraay..."

That voice... sounded spectral. Like it didn't belong to this world.

"I... I don't understand."

Trembling, he collapsed onto the floor in exhaustion, forcing himself to keep his eyes open as he took in the strange warehouse he was in.

Machines. Giant industrial equipment sat between rust-red pipes, all covered in a thick layer of grime and dust.

And then... between one of the machines and a wall, sitting in the corner, he saw it. The thing that had been speaking to him.

The silhouette was barely visible, but he could make out a leather vest,and beneath it, black bandages, filthy and ancient, covering its entire body. The darkened, decayed fabric acted as its flesh.

The boy dared not speak. He held back every sound, even his frantic breathing, his brown pupils freezed on the figure back to him.

Crouched there, it was drawing something on the wall. Repeating the same motion, over and over again. Writing the same figure.

Time passed, a few seconds that last a long time, until suddenly, the silhouette stopped.

The arm that had been drawing slowly dropped, its mummified palm opening.

And a small white chalk fell to the ground.

The cylindrical object rolled slowly, turning over itself, one rotation after another, gently, without haste,right before the boy's eyes.

It continued to move forward , wobbled slightly before coming to a final stop. He stared at the motionless object for a moment, as if ensuring it wouldn't move any further.

And then,

"Raanokoo tootannodaa..."

The wounded boy, as if shaken awake, suddenly remembered he was not alone. His gaze snapped back toward the corner of the wall.

But there was no one there.

"I... I don't understand... Who are you?"

The young man trembled.

But the silhouette had not left without a trace.

On the wall:

己

The boy stared at the symbol,the Japanese kanji,and recognized it. His light brown eyes locked onto the character, and...

He began to understand...

"Oneself..." he whispered. (己 = Oneself)

And before his eyes,gently, slowly the kanji crumbled into dust.

from below, but little by little the whole symbol faded away. The entire symbol vanished,

As if it had never existed.

"This isn't about who I am, Stiles...But who we are..."