Epilogue
His name was Mitch Rapp, or at least that's what the man who came in everyday told him. He was 22, parents killed in a car crash 8 years ago, been kicked out of every boarding school he was sent to. A man he had never seen before said the same phrase day after day following his barrage of punches, kicks and cuts, trying to convince him of a life he didn't lead. Honestly, he wasn't sure how long he'd been there. It could've been days or months; it didn't matter anyway. Where would he go? He had no family, no place to call home and obviously if he was still here, he had no friends. No one was coming for him, why would they; he was just the pathetic little human in a world of monsters.
Gerard had killed his father, presented his bloody badge to him as proof. Now that alone might not convince someone, especially him, but the normally tan shirt and pale limbs it was attached to dripped with crimson truth of his fathers' demise. He couldn't look away no matter how much his mind screamed at him to. The puddle forming below the uniform shirt became a sea of memories, each drop a wave of new reminders of all the people he had failed in his life, unraveling his already strained mind. All the precious lives he took away or ruined with his very existence; his mother, Scott, Allison, Lydia, hell even Jacksons life would have been better if he had never been there. His dad; the one person who meant more than anything to him was gone and it was his fault. If only he had never gone to Scott about the dead body, never convinced him he was a werewolf, none of this would have ever happened. It almost made him want to believe the lie that the hunters were trying to convince him was his life. A normal kid whose parents died of normal non supernatural means. However, he held on because he would never give that bastard Argent the pleasure of seeing him break. Then a new man came to see him, syringe in hand filled with a bluish green concoction, the concoction that erased Stile Stilinski.
Three Years Later
There had been a rise in sightings of a group of individuals who have enhanced capabilities, and today was the day that their leader was to meet with Hurley. The man radiated increasing irritation with every second that ticked by. Mitch himself wished that the ticking of the clock was an unexploded bomb if only for it to be an excuse to leave the damn room. Sentiments that he was positive his former mentor shared. Not much was known about the enhanced individuals beside the fact that they well were enhanced. From what the recon teams could gather they had accelerated healing, heightened hearing, and smell along with immense stamina and strength. The team could never get close enough to hear any conversations even with their advanced tech. The only reason they knew anything at all was due to the leader himself passing along information "Out of curtesy" one day when they were discovered spying on the individuals. This irritated Hurley the most not knowing what they were truly up against. So far, except for the fact that they were enhanced they haven't done anything that would put them on any major radars.
Mitch panned around the room, his whiskey colored eyes scanning for possible threats. The waiting was the worst part; now that his superior was an elected official, he was so graciously offered up to be the man's personal bodyguard. He scoffed at such an outrageous notion. He didn't need a bodyguard; the man was ex-CIA with a confirmed kill list longer than a Christmas shopping receipt on Black Friday. The guy himself told him to "stand there and try not to piss anyone off". Finally, a commotion of raised voices and heavy footsteps signaled the arrival of their esteemed guests.