Sterling's Blood

Stalker

"Where? Which exact spot did it happen?", I stammered.

No answer.

"I said, where did it happen exactly?!", I walked up to Farrell. "Who did it?", I grabbed his shoulders, tightly. "Who fucking did it?!"

"Wallace, you're making a ton of noise. Calm down and-"

"Calm down...?", I stared at him awhile. "Fuck you!", I punched him in the jaw.

"Fuckin'-", he struggled to mutter through his bloodied and twisted mouth, leaning against the helicopter's nose for support.

"I have some seventeen!", Albert rushed to the cockpit, and took out a grey syringe while Farrell showed a thumbs up as if all he got was a meagre scratch. Albert then injected the liquid right at his jaw, and it healed up within seconds, with him spitting out the liquid once it was done.

"I'm... sorry.", I murmured.

"It's okay. Just... keep it under contro-"

"What is that?", I pointed at the syringe.

"That's type-17. It's a long stor-"

"Dad's blood, isn't it...?", my voice shook.

"How did you even know that?"

"When I was kidnapped by that winged fuck and that tentacle dickhead."

"Winged?", He thought for a few seconds, "Oh, you must mean Magnus' kid."

"You say that like you're friends."

"Oh god, no! I just know everyone. I see you've also met the ruthless bunch."

"Met?", I scoffed, "Who's this magnus now?"

"Her father. Died, a long time ago."

"Good.", anger seethed through me.

"Derek then raised her. She was always one of their stonge...", he trailed off, "No, one of their most merciless. Because it's always the ones that stop at nothing to kill, who end up being among their most prized members. She turned out to be way more vicious than her father."

"What is type-17 really?"

"It was...God, rest his soul, extracted after he was killed. Mass-produced to then use for injuries. He could willfully donate some when he was still alive but... he wouldn't let them study it. And for them, it just wasn't enough. They wanted him dead. And this can never get out to the public because that would mean that all these drug companies and medicines would go out of business and then they all just makes less money."

I fell to my knees, hyperventilating. "Dad.."

Farrell rushed to hug me. "I know, son. I know."

He continued, "I wanted you to see for yourself the man that he was. He was... a good man. But he was still barbaric in the ways he lived with that power. He was never afraid of... anything. Anything other than his family having even a finger laid on them."

"What happened to me in that accident?"

"It broke a delicate surgery's work in your thyroid gland. Roger had that done to block your powers so you could live a normal life. And that's out the fuckin' window."

"What?"

"A part of your thyroid gland is responsible for the type-18 in you. He had it blocked so you'd live only a normal life. And a life-threatening situation was brought to you to initiate your...- your full-being."

"And why were you part of them?"

"It was a job. Not a job we enjoyed but... You know, what, he definitely enjoyed half of it. With the way he smiled at his killings..."