"Alright, let me know if I've got this straight," the sheriff's voice reverberated in the dimly lit office. "There's a list of prices for the heads of the supernatural creatures in Beacon Hills."
"And who the hell is paying for all of this? Who's this so called 'Benefactor'?" David asked, snatching the list of names with a mixture of bewilderment and apprehension. "And what the hell does this mean? I'm worth what, 5 miserable dollars?"
Alistair couldn't help but chuckle at David's peculiar priorities, of course he would be worried about how much he was worth, not the fact that his head was at risk. He gently took the list from him, placing it on the table. "We've got a theory about that, actually."
Amidst the intense scrutiny of the adults, Scott stepped forward. "We believe that after decoding all the names, the prices should add 117."
"117 what?" the sheriff probed.
"Million," Scott declared with a grave tone.
Stiles seized the list from the table, scribbling Ks and Ms in front of the numbers attached to each name. When he finished, he raised his eyes to meet his father's, his expression filled with gravitas. "The 117 million stolen from the Hale Vault. We believe they're being used to finance these assassins."
As the gravity of the situation sank in, the adults exchanged alarmed glances. Scott spoke again, his voice carrying the weight of a dire revelation. "Someone wants all the supernaturals in Beacon Hills dead."
"Okay, but we still don't know who's this 'Benefactor', and why they're doing it." Alistair mused.
"So, this list gets published, from God knows where, and these professionals just receive it." the sheriff began to piece together the puzzle.
Stiles jumped in, eager to add his insights, "Alongside the key."
David concluded, "And so, they start to go after the names on the list. And they get paid."
Examining the grim evidence, they had uncovered a series of peculiar marks on the most recent victim's lifeless body. The wound was akin to a gruesome stab wound, surrounded by a cryptic hexagonal pattern. It led them to a chilling deduction: considering Demarco, the inaugural victim of the Deadpool, had been hired to deliver alcohol to the party, the one who hired him held responsibility for his death. It had to be someone present at the party, a fellow student, probably someone they knew.
When Derek asked him to come to the school, because apparently, he needed to be present for one of his alpha talks, David certainly hadn't anticipated walking into a scene where Derek had Liam pinned against a locker room wall by the throat.
Liam, the poor boy, was gasping for breath, desperately attempting to extend his claws in a futile struggle to break free.
David's voice remained oddly calm in the tense situation. "Let the boy down, Derek," he calmly instructed. Without hesitation, Derek complied.
Derek couldn't help but remark, a trace of amusement dancing in his eyes, "You were right, he's explosive."
David, rolling his eyes at Derek's attempt at humor, approached Liam. The young werewolf was still trying to steady his breathing, clearly shaken. David placed a reassuring hand on Liam's shoulder. "It's alright. Just breathe with me," he coached, guiding Liam through a few calming breaths until the tension began to dissipate.
Suddenly, Scott entered the room, offering Liam his lacrosse stick. As the bell signaled the end of their encounter, Scott instructed Liam to head to his next class. Only David remained with Scott.
David offered a warm smile to the confused and disoriented Scott. "Why the smile?" Scott asked, clearly perplexed.
David's eyes sparkled with a sense of insight. "I can see a bright future for you," he replied nonchalantly with a shrug.
"Are you kidding me? I have no idea what to do," Scott exclaimed wearily. "I need, like, a manual on how to be an alpha or something." His voice carried a note of desperation.
"Scott, none of us knew what to do at first," David reassured him in a composed tone. "That boy carries a heavy weight within himself. You need to help him to redirect it."
Scott's concern grew. "But he can be dangerous," he argued.
"That's precisely why he needs our help," David concluded before taking a seat on the bench next to Scott.
"I thought I could finally focus on school. But now Kate's back, I have a beta, and there's this whole Deadpool mess, and I don't know what to do," Scott confessed, the burden of his responsibilities weighing on him.
"Our names are on that list, Scott. I daresay that's the most urgent matter at hand," David responded, his voice steady, even though his internal turmoil raged beneath the surface.
In the economy class with the coach, Stiles couldn't help but notice the end of a lacrosse stick - it bore the unmistakable hexagonal shape seen in the lethal wounds of the most recent victim. The logical deduction was that the killer was most likely in the lacrosse team.
Hence, Alistair found himself, alongside Stiles, Scott, and Kira, in the coach's office, embroiled in a mission to locate the murder weapon.
"Okay, I think this is just stupid," Alistair commented, earning pointed glances from the others. He rolled his eyes in exasperation. "If I had a favorite killing stick, I certainly wouldn't leave it lying around at school."
Kira suggested, "Maybe we should try to get the game canceled."
Scott countered, "Playing the game might be the best way to catch the killer red-handed."
Alistair and Stiles exchanged incredulous glances, seemingly bewildered by Scott's plan.
"And what if we catch him red-handed, bathing in the blood of his victim? A victim that could be either of you two." Stiles retorted sardonically, his finger dramatically pointing towards Scott and Kira.
Alistair chimed in with a tone of concern, "The problem is that we don't really know anything about the list."
"Who made it? How do they make it? How did the do a supernatural census? They know about every single one." Added Stiles.
In the end, their collective efforts yielded nothing substantial. A sense of futility hung in the air as they grappled with the harsh reality that there was no discernible way to halt the lacrosse game.
As they strolled across the sunlit parking lot, the sound of a distant commotion drifted toward them, piquing their curiosity. Alistair, along with the others, made his way closer to the source of the disturbance, and it wasn't long before Alistair's keen eye discerned one of the central figures – none other than Liam. He stood face to face with a tall, strikingly handsome guy.
Alistair couldn't help but notice the earnestness in Liam's attempts to greet the taller boy. However, the response he received was a cruel, mocking laughter that made something stir inside of Alistair. The emotional turmoil within him intensified as he witnessed Liam's rapidly deteriorating mood, his anger building with each passing moment.
The Keeper decided to step in. With an icy, penetrating gaze that bore into the taller boy's soul, Alistair's lips curled with a palpable sense of disgust. Without hesitation, he draped his arm protectively enveloping Liam's shoulder.
The shit-eating grin that once adorned the unknown boy's face began to wither as Alistair held his ground, his unwavering eye contact a silent challenge.
In a voice filled with steely determination, Alistair addressed Liam, "Come on, Liam. It's not worth it to waste your time with impolite bigots." Without wasting a single second, Alistair led Liam away from the tense encounter, his ears catching the muffled voices of Scott and Stiles as they endeavored to divert attention from Liam by ridiculing themselves in the background.
Not even five minutes later, Alistair found himself with Liam pinned against a wall in the showers, torrents of water cascading over both of them.
Liam's transformation was already in full swing, his eyes a blazing shade of bright yellow, his fangs exposed. He emitted menacing growls and struggled ferociously to break free, but Alistair's years of experience allowed him to hold his ground against a fledgling werewolf.
In short order, Scott and Stiles burst into the scene, with Scott lending his strength to subdue Liam against the slick wall. After a few agonizing moments, Liam gradually regained his composure, returning from the brink of his animalistic instincts. With a collective sigh of relief, they turned off the shower, allowing Liam to settle on the shower floor, still dripping wet.
Scott delved into the matter at hand. "The car you destroyed; you mentioned it belonged to a teacher."
Liam was quick to offer his defense. "He was also my coach. He benched me for the entire season."
Alistair, unyielding in his pursuit of the truth, pressed further. "And what did you do to deserve that?"
Avoiding direct eye contact, Liam struggled to explain himself. "I may have received a few red cards."
Kneeling to Liam's level, Alistair spoke with a mixture of concern and determination. "Liam, we need you to be honest with us. What really happened?"
With a note of desperation in his voice, Liam initially whispered, "Nothing." But after a brief moment, as Alistair stared into his eyes, he could sense the vulnerability in the young werewolf. Liam eventually spoke, his voice trembling with the weight of his confession, "They expelled me from school and sent me to a psychologist for an evaluation."
Scott inquired, "What was the diagnosis?"
Liam replied in a meek voice, "Intermittent Explosive Disorder."
Stiles, ever the sarcastic wit, couldn't resist a comment, quipping, "IED? You're literally an IED? Fantastic, Scott. You've given superpowers to a walking time bomb." A sharp glare from Alistair, however, silenced him immediately.
Liam went on to explain that he had been prescribed Risperdal, an antipsychotic medication, but of course, he hadn't been taking it. Apparently, it made him too drowsy to play lacrosse.
Scott, showing concern, suggested, "I think you should talk to the coach and sit out the game."
Liam, however, refused. He stood up defiantly, saying, "No, I can do it. Especially with you," as he looked at Scott.
Alistair sighed, emphasizing the seriousness of the situation. "Liam, this isn't just about the game. The person who killed Demarco at the party is likely part of the lacrosse team."
Perplexed, Liam asked, "Who's Demarco?"
Stiles interjected with a grim response, "He's the one who brought the beer to the party. The guy who got beheaded."
Scott added the final piece of the puzzle, saying, "And whoever ordered the beer is the one who killed Demarco."
For a moment, Liam's expression showed signs of thought or attempts to recall something. Intrigued, Alistair placed his hands firmly on the boy's shoulders, grounding him. "Liam, if you know something, you have to tell us," the Keeper urged.
Liam hesitated briefly before finally revealing, "I don't know who ordered the keg, but I do know who paid for it."
"I don't care if he's a foot taller than me. I can take him," Liam declared with unwavering determination, his voice reflecting his decisiveness.
Michelle and Mason exchanged glances, hesitant to offer any commentary. Liam's intense and expectant gaze, however, prodded Mason to speak up. "Yeah, sure, of course."
Following Liam's piercing stare, Michelle's gaze fell upon Brett, the same guy who had stirred trouble with Liam in the parking lot. She had to admit, as much of an asshole as he was, the guy was hot, and he appeared to be well aware of it. He was like a walking, self-assured exhibit, putting on a goddamn show while putting on a simple jersey.
Furrowing his brows, Liam swiveled back to face Michelle and Mason, realizing they had been indulging in quite a lengthy gaze at Brett. His tone carried a touch of accusation as he asked, "What do you two think you're doing? You think he's hot, don't you?"
While Mason initially attempted to defend himself by saying no repeatedly, Michelle, blatantly, said yes. After a moment of failing to come up with a convincing denial, Mason surrendered, admitting, "Alright, maybe. Maybe a little."
"He wants to destroy me," Liam declared, his voice weighed down by the burden of his predicament.
"But you can definitely take him. And then, maybe, give it to me." Mason suggested, prompting a surprised laugh from Liam and Michelle.
Before they departed, Michelle placed a reassuring hand on Liam's shoulder. "Just so you know, I think you're hot too," she said. As Liam was about to respond, Michelle continued, "You just get out there and wipe the floor with those smug prep asses." With that, she left, watching a deep blush creep up Liam's cheeks and neck.
Shortly after the game began, Michelle overheard Scott's futile attempts to negotiate with Brett. With each passing minute, Liam's anger mounted, pushing him to the brink. It wasn't long before Scott and Stiles had to physically restrain him to prevent him from leaping at someone.
Knowing that the chances of Garret, a guy in the team, being the killer were high, Michelle couldn't help feeling cautious as she and Mason sat next to the guy's girlfriend, Violet. The unease hung heavy in the air as the game unfolded.
"I know this is probably related to the Deadpool, but I can't have her here at the station. I'll have to call Eichen House and report her in about a minute," the sheriff explained, directing Alistair, Lydia, and Malia toward a determined girl demanding to see Lydia.
Lydia, with an air of authority, negotiated, "Give us an hour."
"You've got fifteen minutes," the sheriff curtly replied. Lydia and Malia entered the room. Alistair was poised to follow, but his path was blocked by the arrival of his father and a deputy. The handsome deputy's face was etched into Alistair's memory, and he found himself momentarily frozen in place as both men approached.
"You called Lydia," the deputy, Parrish, noted.
The sheriff offered a simple confirmation, "Yes."
Parrish probed further, "Because of Meredith, or the other thing?"
Both Alistair and David were simultaneously struck by confusion, and they inquired in unison, "What other thing?"
Parrish shifted his gaze between the two men, locking eyes with Alistair for a moment before swallowing hard and shifting his attention to David. "The psychic thing," he said, as though it were a shared understanding.
Alistair couldn't help but find amusement in the situation as he questioned, "You think Lydia's a psychic?"
Parrish swiftly returned the question, "Do you?"
Alistair hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to respond, leaving the sheriff to clarify, "I don't. I simply believe she's intuitive."
Alistair couldn't help but roll his eyes at the response. "That's exactly what everyone says about psychics," he remarked, a hint of skepticism coloring his tone.
Parrish's smile hinted at a shared sense of amusement, but the sheriff let out an exasperated sigh. "I used to consider myself a rational human being," he grumbled. "Now, get in here and shut the door." With that command, the men stepped into the room, their curiosity piqued.
Upon entering, Lydia's first action was to hand Meredith a telephone, instructing her to pick it up. However, Meredith simply stated that it wasn't ringing.
As Lydia conversed with the girl, the situation became even more confusing. Lydia claimed they had come because Meredith asked for her help, but Meredith countered that, in fact, it was Lydia who had called her.
Recognizing that things were spiraling into confusion, Alistair decided to intervene, drawing upon his knowledge of police protocol for assisting individuals in distress. Kneeling in front of Meredith, he calmly addressed her. "Meredith, can I ask you something?" She nodded in response. "When you need help or need to find something or someone, is there someone you reach out to? Perhaps someone you call?"
Meredith offered an answer, "That depends, different people for different things."
Parrish, standing alongside Alistair, also knelt down to her eye level, his body close to Alistair, letting him feel his body warmth, and continued to question, "So maybe there's a number that can help us. Someone we can call."
With her affirmation, Parrish requested the number. Lydia, taking the phone from Meredith's hand, dialed the number the girl provided. It was a short string of only four digits, and Meredith insisted that it was all there was.
Alistair could sense the mission's failure looming, as Meredith remained steadfast in her assertion that those were the only numbers. Malia and Lydia began to press her, demanding the rest of the number as if there were more to divulge.
Driven to frustration, Meredith finally snapped, "That's the number!"
Tense minutes passed on the lacrosse field, the anticipation building as the game unfolded. Suddenly, a ferocious collision sent three players crashing to the floor, with Liam being among the fallen. The sickening sound of bones snapping echoed through the stands, causing Michelle to cringe, especially when it seemed like Scott had to snap the bone in Liam's forearm back into place.
However, Brett's luck didn't seem to hold as the referees swiftly intervened, escorting him off the field. Michelle couldn't help but notice Violet's malicious grin as she watched Brett being taken away. Then, amidst the flurry of activity, Scott's voice reached her ears, clear and urgent, "It's you, Liam. He's after you."
Following Meredith's return to Eichen House, Alistair, Malia, and Lydia congregated in David's office, the atmosphere charged with tension as they deliberated their next course of action.
Alistair, as an analytical thinker, offered a different interpretation, "Maybe we've been looking at this from the wrong angle."
Lydia probed, "What do you mean?"
Alistair, his tone brimming with conviction, responded without hesitation, "Come on, Lyds. We've been in this game for far too long to think she was giving a straightforward answer."
Malia, as a pragmatic wildcard for the group, suggested, "What if it's like algebra?"
Alistair sought clarification, "What do you mean?"
Malia elaborated, "What if the numbers are actually letters?"
Lydia, not one to dawdle, reached for a piece of paper on the desk and started transcribing letters, forming a few words that could potentially work. She then reached for her computer and navigated to the coded page of the Deadpool. After inputting multiple variations, one of the keys finally unlocked the list, and the new names began to rain to populate the screen.
After a fleeting moment of distraction, Michelle's keen observation skills detected a close absence. While everyone on the field was engrossed in discussions about how to proceed with the match, Violet had vanished.
Without hesitation, Michelle rose to her feet and followed Violet's trail, which led her into the school and ultimately to the locker room. There, a disquieting scene unfolded before her eyes – the referees lay unconscious on the floor.
As she cautiously approached, hushed voices reached her ears, the words laden with tension. "You were cut with a poisoned blade; it was laced with wolfsbane. It won't kill you, but this will," came the unmistakable voice of Violet, resonating with a chilling malevolence. On the ground was Brett, writhing in agony, already filling the poison's excruciating effects.
Desperation colored Brett's voice as he demanded, "Why are you doing this?"
Violet's response was cold and calculated, "Because you're worth a lot dead, Brett." The sinister words hung heavily in the air, casting a pall of apprehension over the room.
As they meticulously examined the freshly revealed list, the room was abruptly pierced by the creaking of the door as Parrish entered. Startled, Lydia nearly leaped out of her seat, hastily closing the laptop.
Parrish, his gaze directed chiefly at Alistair, inquired, "I wanted to know if you guys need someone to take you home."
Lydia, not wasting a second, replied promptly, "No, we're fine."
Parrish acknowledged her response with a nod. As he turned to depart, Alistair halted him with an unexpected request. "Actually, I need to speak with my father." With that, Alistair approached Parrish, leaving the room awash in a disconcerting realization - the deputy was on the Deadpool.
As Violet was on the verge of securing the necklace around Brett's throat, her own air supply began to diminish. Panicking, she wheeled around, only to find Michelle's enraged countenance standing there like a tempest about to break.
"Didn't your parents teach you to respect other's life?" Michelle's words nearly growled from her lips, her anger seething.
She didn't relent until Violet, now on her knees, clutched her throat desperately, attempting to force precious air into her constricted lungs. The pallor of Violet's skin was already shifting towards a ghastly hue.
Scott, intervening to defuse the situation, entered the room. He stood next to Michelle and gently gripped her arms, urging her, "Let her go."
Michelle's eyes blazed with righteous fury as she retorted, "But she was going to kill him. Who knows how many she has killed?"
Scott, the voice of reason and a calming presence, simply responded, "But you're better than her, and you know it." His words somehow held enough weight, and his presence and scent were grounding enough to pull Michelle back from the precipice of her wrath. With a resigned sigh, she simply wiped her hand to the side, propelling Violet's body against the nearest wall, rendering her unconscious. "Stupid bitch."
From the concealed recesses behind the dimly lit shelves, Esther listened intently as voices resonated from beyond the darkness. The ominous declaration, "In Mexico, we call this, a standoff," reverberated, accompanied by the unsettling sound of guns being primed for action.
The woman continued her dialogue. "The girl we hired to find Kate hasn't reported back in days. You know her, right?"
"Braeden," Chris responded, recognition heavy in his voice.
The woman's words carried a veiled threat, "Well, maybe your sister had found her and killed her. Maybe we should stop hiring others to do our job."
Sickened by their conversation, Esther emerged from the shadows with swiftness. Her lasso shot forth, snatching the firearm from Severo's grasp. In a heartbeat, her other hand leveled a gun at the intruders, her resolve unwavering.
"I would've thought Alistair's warning would be more than enough," she observed, her steely gaze fixed upon the intruders.
Araya's complexion drained of color as she stammered, "We have a reason to be here."
Esther, her tone sharp and sarcastic, retorted, "Don't all criminals and offenders do?"
Araya, determined to defend their actions, countered, "We're hunters, Christopher. We follow a code." Her accusatory and angry eyes rested on Chris.
Maintaining his composure, Chris finally spoke, "My family are no longer hunters. I thought that much was clear."
With a self-assured smile, Esther delivered her final words in a dismissive tone, "You've heard him. You have your answer. Now leave, before your testing of my understanding exceeds its limit."
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－ ３８０６ ｗｏｒｄｓ －
Author's note
Thank you for reading!
Comments, votes, and follows, are always appreciated.
- 𝒿. 𝒻. 𝒸. 🐼💜