CHAPTER 67: The Uber Lycan - 2 Conclusion

CHAPTER 67: The Uber Lycan - 2 Conclusion

Enid Corp — Two hours later.

The smell of disinfectant filled the infirmary. Phoenix was sitting on a gurney, his shirt in tatters and his back bare, still marked by the blackened holes from the silver bullets. The pain was unbearable, like hot coals embedded in his flesh.

Enid, wearing gloves with a metal tray beside her, held a pair of surgical tweezers.

"Easy now..." she said softly, resting her free hand on his shoulder. "I have to take them out one by one."

Phoenix gritted his teeth.
"Easy?" he retorted with sarcasm. "You're ripping burning coals out of my back, Enid... what part of 'easy' seems realistic to you?"

She suppressed a smile and, with a steady hand, inserted the tweezers into the first wound. The metal clinked against the bullet, and Phoenix grunted, slamming his hand on the gurney.
"Shit!" he spat, his forehead beaded with sweat.

"Shhh..." Enid glanced at him, with a tenderness disguised as professionalism. "Hold on. It's almost over."

She pulled out the first silver bullet and dropped it onto the tray with a metallic clink.
"One down."

Phoenix exhaled through his nose, trying to compose himself.
"I swear I'd rather face ten Olivas than your tweezers."

"Don't be so dramatic," Enid replied, preparing for the second extraction.

"Dramatic my... Arghhh!" he yelled as the second bullet came out and his whole body shuddered.

She placed the bullet next to the first one and leaned in to look at him.
"Look at me, Phoenix."

He turned his head slightly, panting.
"What?"

"It was another successful mission." Her tone was soft, sincere, very different from the one she had used in the tent with the politicians. "You did it, as always."

Phoenix looked at her, his lips curved into a tired smile.
"You say that as if I had the option to fail. You know that when it comes to you... I don't."

Enid fell silent for a second, then went back to work to hide the emotion shining in her eyes. She pulled out the third bullet, this time a little faster.
"Fuck!" growled Phoenix, clenching his fists.

"Last one." Enid leaned over him, her voice low, almost a whisper. "Just one more, and it's over."

The tweezers went in again, and the pain tore another muffled roar from Phoenix's throat. The bullet came out and fell onto the tray with a metallic sound that, finally, meant relief.

Enid set the tools aside and placed both hands on his back. Before her eyes, the wounds began to close slowly, leaving nothing but reddish scars that faded completely.
"There..." she whispered, stroking the now intact skin. "Good as new."

Phoenix slumped forward, breathing heavily, then looked at her over his shoulder.
"I owe you one, Doctor Drakewood."

She laughed softly and gave him a light kiss on the neck.
"You owe me many, Rogers."

He smiled, though the fatigue was still on his face.
"As long as you're still here to collect... I don't mind."

Days later...

The dry echo of gunshots reverberated in the underground shooting range. The air was thick with gunpowder, weapon oil, and the faint hum of industrial ventilation. Phoenix kept his gaze fixed on the metal silhouette at the end of the lane. His arm was extended, steady. The pistol trembled slightly with each detonation, as if responding more to his thoughts than to his muscles.

He emptied the magazine. Reloaded without looking. Fired again.

He wasn't thinking. He didn't want to think. But he did anyway.

When I don't know what to think about, I force myself to remember.

Phoenix's gaze lost itself in the faint smoke floating before him, like a blurry curtain transporting him back centuries. To his true origin. To his time.

The 18th century... what an irony. I was born in an era that isn't even studied in detail anymore. A footnote in the books. But for me, it was everything. It was mud, hunger, fear... and her.

The weapon lowered slowly. Phoenix took a deep breath, his brow furrowed. Sweat trickled down his temple, not from physical exertion, but from the thoughts tightening inside him.

Mother... How you raised us, with your fingernails, your soul in tatters. Me and Karick. Two unwanted sons. Two mistakes the world didn't deign to forgive. We never had a father, only your wounded hands and that look in your eyes that never surrendered, even when the village scorned us as if we carried the plague in our blood.

He fired again, without aiming precisely. The bullet ricocheted near the target. He didn't care.

Karick... eleven years older. He left. Traveled the world. He wanted something more, something different. And I stayed. Alone with you. Alone with everything.

He holstered the weapon with a mechanical movement. Closed his eyes for a moment.

The rest... the rest is history.

Silence. The electronic system of the range beeped twice, signaling the end of his allotted practice time. But he didn't move. He remained there, still, like a statue amidst the echo and memory.

I don't know why I keep remembering all this. Maybe because I don't know where I'm going... and because I can't stop wondering where I come from.

The metallic voice of the shooting system sounded over the speakers:
"Session ended. Restart module?"

Phoenix opened his eyes. His expression didn't change.

Phoenix stowed his weapon in its holster and left the shooting range without a word. The metallic sound of the sliding door was left behind, swallowed by the clinical silence of the Enid Corp hallways. That sub-level, illuminated by impassive white lights, had the feel of an abandoned operating room. Everything was neat, functional, cold.

He walked slowly, hands in his pockets, his gaze lost on the shiny floor. Each step echoed like a distant sound inside his own head.