Sirens began to howl throughout the prison. Red lights ignited in the corridors, flashing across the concrete walls. Footsteps slammed against the floor, orders were shouted, weapons were drawn, and everyone was searching for Akira.
He ran with everything he had left. The corridors all looked the same, doors repeating endlessly, every corner leading to another corner.
'Why is this place so huge…?'
He turned sharply and stopped. Five police officers stood right in front of him. Their weapons were raised, barrels locked onto his small body.
"Stop right there, you monster!"
"Fire!!"
The moment he moved again, bullets exploded through the air. Akira jumped aside at the last second, slammed into the wall, and slid to the floor, but one bullet hit him. Burning heat tore through his shoulder, and pain ripped through his entire body.
"AAAH!!"
The cry escaped him, but he didn't stop. He forced himself up, leaned against the wall for just one second, then ran again.
'Not now… I won't die here!'
He leaped over a metal table, knocked it down behind him, and sprinted toward the end of the corridor. There was a large glass window overlooking the outside, rain pouring behind it. Bullets kept chasing him, smashing into the walls, shattering around him, but he didn't look back.
'The exit… there!'
He clutched his wound, gathered what strength he had left, and jumped without hesitation. The glass shattered with a thunderous crash, shards flying everywhere as Akira's body burst through. He fell from the second floor, slammed into the ground, rolled several times, and heard something crack inside him… but he didn't stop.
The rain was heavy. The street was almost empty. The city was silent except for distant sirens that were getting closer. He lifted his head with difficulty, blood mixing with rain on his face, and a small smile appeared despite the pain.
'I made it…'
He staggered to his feet and ran into the dark alleys, disappearing into the shadows, leaving behind the prison, the bodies, the blood, and the chaos that would not fade easily. His steps were slower now. His damaged body could barely carry him.
He ended up in a narrow, abandoned alley, trapped between two decaying walls. The darkness was thick, the smell of rot and stagnant water filled the air, but it didn't matter. This alley was perfect for hiding.
He leaned his back against the wall and slid down to sit on the ground. His breaths came sharp and broken, and with every breath, the real pain began to surface.
He lowered his gaze to his shoulder. Blood was still flowing slowly, the burning growing worse with each second.
'This… is bad… really bad…'
With difficulty, he raised his trembling hand. He tore the sleeve of his shirt with his teeth, exposing the wound. The bullet was still lodged in his flesh. Just seeing it made his stomach twist. Nausea rose in his throat, but there was no other choice.
'I can do this… I just… can't think too much… no one would help someone like me anyway…'
He took a deep breath, then pushed his small fingers into the wound, searching for the metal.
"AAAAAH!!"
His body froze. Pain exploded all at once, deeper and harsher than he imagined. He shook violently, tears spilling without control. He tried to pull his hand back, but his stubbornness was stronger than instinct.
'No… I have to… keep going… I will… never be weak!'
He tried again. This time, his fingers touched the surface of the bullet. A new wave of pain hit him, nearly knocking him unconscious. His mouth opened to scream, but he clamped his other hand over it, choking the sound in his throat. He didn't want anyone to hear.
'Ah… Mom… it hurts… it hurts so much… Mom… why did you leave me to live all of this alone…?'
Slowly, with a shaking hand, he worked the bullet free, feeling it separate bit by bit from his flesh. Every movement was pure torture. And finally… he grabbed it and pulled it out, painfully slow.
The bullet came free at last, covered in blood, and dropped to the ground. He stared at it for a moment with exhausted eyes and broken breaths.
"Finally… I did it…"
Exhaustion claimed him. His eyes closed, his head fell back, and he lost consciousness.
He woke to the harsh cold of morning. He opened his eyes with difficulty and saw the same crumbling wall. It wasn't a dream.
"I'm… still here?"
He tried to move, but pain in his shoulder forced him still. He looked at the wound. The blood had partly dried, but it was still open, the skin around it swollen and stiff. He stared at his trembling hand.
"No one saved me…?"
After a long moment, he remembered one thing. His house was close to this alley. He pushed himself up slowly, holding his injured shoulder, and began to walk with unsteady steps. The exhaustion was clear in his eyes, but luck was with him. No one noticed.
He reached the house after minutes that felt like hours. He shoved the door open and nearly collapsed. His body was covered in wounds and blood, and the sudden movement reopened the injury. Blood flowed hot and fresh. Sweat poured down his forehead.
Filippo was sitting in his chair and smoking. When he saw Akira, he froze. Shock spread across his face, unfamiliar to him. For the first time, he wasn't cold.
"Akira?!"
Akira slowly lifted his head and looked at him with empty eyes. Filippo stepped forward, his gaze jumping between the blood and the wounds.
"What is all this blood? You're supposed to be in prison… how did you get out?!"
Akira's voice came out weak, broken, strange:
"I… escaped…"
He swayed, almost fell, but barely held himself up. He raised his tired eyes to him.
"And I killed them too."
Filippo froze. His eyes widened, tension exploding across his face.
"Killed who?!"
A faint smile formed on Akira's lips. Blood began to seep from his mouth.
"I killed them all… everyone who stood in my way… the officer… the guards… the police…"
Filippo stared at him. He no longer saw a child. What stood before him was something else… something dying.
Suddenly, Akira's body collapsed to the floor. He pressed a trembling hand to his wound as blood poured out.
"Dad… I think I'm… going to die here… and finally… you'll be free of me…"
His body shook, his face pale, his breaths broken, his chest rising and falling unevenly. Filippo stood frozen. He didn't know what to do. The child he had always seen as a burden… was now between life and death in front of him.
Filippo's voice came out low and rough:
"Damn it…"
A pale, bitter smile touched Akira's lips. His voice was weak, fading with each word:
"Dad… why do you look so nervous? Wasn't this… what you always wanted?"
Filippo stiffened. His fist clenched hard, his face almost expressionless. Meanwhile, feeling began to drain from Akira's limbs. His vision blurred. His voice came again, even weaker.
"It hurts… I didn't think… dying would feel like this…"
Filippo finally moved. He sat down beside him on the floor without a word and looked down at him. He didn't know what he was feeling. It wasn't pity, and it wasn't warmth, but it wasn't the familiar cold emptiness either. It was something heavy and strange, pressing on his chest without a name.
At that moment, Akira sank into darkness. His head tilted slightly, his breathing barely audible. Without thinking, Filippo reached out and touched his forehead. It was cold… unnaturally cold. He placed his hand on Akira's chest, checking his pulse. It was there, but weak and uneven, as if unsure whether to continue.
His voice came out in an unfamiliar tone:
"Damn you, kid… even in death, you still cause me trouble."
He thought this would be easy. He was supposed to feel relieved, or at least free, watching the child who had brought him trouble for years finally fade away. But what he felt wasn't relief… it was weight.
Without thinking further, he made his decision. He bent down, lifted Akira's body into his arms, and left the house immediately.
He said quietly, but firmly:
"You won't die that easily, you bastard."
He moved into the street. At first he walked, then found himself speeding up, then running without realizing when it started. His breathing grew heavy, his grip tightened around the body in his arms. He reached a small clinic at the edge of the neighborhood, its door faded, its lights dim.
He opened the door quickly. An old man with a light beard and gray hair appeared, wearing a medical coat and dark glasses. He looked up, clearly tired.
"Filippo? I haven't seen you in years… what's wrong?"
Then his gaze dropped. It stopped on the blood-soaked body. His eyes widened slightly. He said nothing for a moment, then sighed and opened the door fully without asking questions, completely ignoring everything said about this werewolf child and his danger.
Filippo's voice came out tense and urgent:
"Take him in. Quickly… before anyone sees."