But now he wanted answers.
He approached Marcus.
“Who is he?”
Marcus shook his head.
“I don't know.”
“You're lying.”
“I found out Walter used to train military personnel.”
Dylan stared.
“What?”
“That's all I know.”
Dylan looked toward the maintenance hallway.
“So the old man actually knows how to fight.”
Marcus smiled.
“You have no idea.”
Dylan's expression became serious.
“I thought he was just a janitor.”
Marcus answered:
“He is.”
Dylan frowned.
“And?”
“Being a janitor doesn't erase everything else you've done.”
Dylan was silent.
Later that evening, he found Walter alone in the equipment room.
“I owe you an apology.”
Walter looked surprised.
“Yes.”
“For what?”
“For making you a joke.”
Walter nodded.
“Thank you.”
Dylan waited.
“That's it?”
“What do you want?”
“I don't know.”
Walter sat down.
Dylan remained standing.
“Why didn't you tell anyone?”
“Tell them what?”
“That you could do that.”
Walter smiled.
“Would it have changed how you treated me?”
Dylan hesitated.
“Yes.”
“Then that's exactly why I didn't tell you.”
Dylan stared at him.
Walter continued.
“I didn't want respect because people were afraid of what I could do.”
Dylan looked down.
“I wasn't afraid.”
Walter smiled.
“You were.”
Dylan didn't answer.
After a moment, he asked:
“Did you kill people?”
Walter's face changed.
“Yes.”
Dylan swallowed.
“Did you want to?”
“No.”
“Then why?”
“Because sometimes there are situations where every option is terrible.”
Dylan looked away.
Walter said:
“That's why I stopped.”
Dylan finally understood.
The old man wasn't hiding because he was ashamed of being strong.
He was hiding because he remembered what strength had cost him.
The attack happened three nights later.
Walter was leaving the pavilion.
The parking lot was nearly empty.
He heard footsteps.
He stopped.
A figure moved behind a parked van.
Walter did not run.
He waited.
“Daniel,” he said.
No answer.
Another figure approached from the opposite side.
Walter's eyes narrowed.
Two.
Not one.
The first man rushed him.
Walter moved.
He avoided the strike and pushed the attacker into the side of the van.
The second man came from behind.
Walter turned.
Blocked.
Countered.
But age mattered.
His knee screamed.
His shoulder protested.
He stumbled.
The attacker grabbed him.
Then a voice shouted:
“HEY!”
Dylan.
He came running across the parking lot.
He hit the second man hard enough to knock him away.
Marcus followed.
The attackers fled.
Dylan chased them to the street.
Marcus stayed with Walter.
“You okay?”
Walter nodded.
“My knee.”
“Can you stand?”
“With help.”
Marcus helped him up.
Dylan returned breathing heavily.
“They're gone.”
Walter looked at him.
“Thank you.”
Dylan shook his head.
“You saved me first.”
Walter smiled.
“That was different.”
“No.”
Dylan's voice was quiet.
“It wasn't.”
Police arrived.
The attackers were gone.
But they had left something behind.
A small metal case.
Inside was an old military identification card.
Walter stared at it.
His face became pale.
Marcus asked:
“What?”
Walter turned the card around.