WALKER #1 [COMPLETED]
For Zild Apollo Walker-Grimaldi, nothing could alter his perspective on matters of love, given the responsibilities in his life and family affairs. Growing up in a world he longed to escape, he found a fleeting sanctuary in th...
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"You killed my mother. I want you to take responsibility. I want education in exchange."
My lips involuntarily parted in disbelief. She sounded like she had a good three decades under her belt. The kid exuded a level of maturity that would make even a seasoned CEO question their life choices. There she was, seated across from me, not as a child, but as if we were about to engage in a formal negotiation discussion.
I cleared my throat and shifted on my seat. "May I ask how did you know about it?"
"I was there," the kid uttered, emotionless. "Sinundan ko siya ng araw na 'yon. You injected something into her hand."
I narrowed my eyes, attempting to intimidate her. "If you're not afraid of me, why are you here, kid?" I smirked, and she blinked. "You should have called the police at that time."
Yumuko ito. Napasandal ako sa backrest ng swivel chair. Hindi ito puwede malaman ng Decagon, lalo na si Giovanni. At this point, the most prudent action, the moment she handed me the paper with her mother's name, would have been to usher her to HQ. But this is just a kid. Young and abandoned because of me.
Decagon has its rules, and among them is a strict prohibition against harming the innocent, children, mothers, and pregnant women — though there are exceptions, particularly when it comes to threats to Decagon's safety and security.
"Thank you, Mister..." she said timidly.
Hindi ko napansin na nakatulala na pala ako sa lamesa dahil sa iniisip. Kumunot ang noo ko bilang tugon sa bata. Why is she grateful? I just killed her mother.
"She lied. My mother lied about my father."
Her father. The one Pascal killed. But lied?
"What do you mean?"
"My father is truly dead, but the money she would have received on that day will be used solely for her own purposes, not for my education."
I narrowed my eyes. "Why are you grateful? I made you homeless."
"I am grateful because I won't suffer anymore. You made me homeless, which is why I am here. You killed my mother, and now I have no one else. I need you to take responsibility for me from now on. I want to go to school."
"Why are you making a deal with me?"
"Because I need to live."
She needs to live.
The impact of the word pierced my chest. Conscience creeping in. The child is practically a linguist all on her own. Not even a trace of blame in her eyes.
"What's your name?"
"I don't have a name."
I chuckled. "You're lying through your teeth. I am not just any person you can deceive so easily. I can find out your information within just a minute."
