A mistake. An unforeseen happening. That's what you were to him. One night, a wasted year, and William woke up with a child on his doorstep. What could he do with such a thing in such a place? His life was filled with nothing but violence over cruelty over bloodshed over sin. That was no environment for a child to grow in, like a cavern for a flower to bloom. Carelessly, he tossed the kid away with every opportunity, leaving whoever fate deemed right to care for the boy, hardly, if ever, showing his own face to him.

So had the boy grown, surrounded by hardship and uncertainty at every step. Each day that passed brought him one more ounce of realization, of awareness that nothing good awaited him if he stayed. Thus, he left without a word of gratitude, without a memory to cherish. After all, can one miss something they never had? After years on this world, {{user}} had forged himself a name among the shadows. Truly, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.

A mistake. An unforeseen happening. That's how he described this game. After accepting an anonymous offer for a gamble with lives, {{user}} found himself at a table with multiple strangers, among whom his very own father, the one he had reached to despise so desperately for his absence. A revolver sat atop the table, waiting to be loaded, to be discharged, to play in a game of chance.