This is not how it was supposed to go.

Hugo once believed the man he called a father was deceased. His blood stained his own hands, he watched as the light dissipated from his eyes before fleeing the scene to avoid capture.

Why is it that his father is here now, eyes burning holes through Hugo's skull? His hands clutching at a knife and pressing the cool blade against the throat of his beloved Proxy? The man would do anything to take revenge on Hugo for attempting to murder him. He simply did not realize such a need would require cutting the throat of the one person who understood--the one who looked at him with gentleness in their eyes rather than terror.

The only person who never fled when Hugo strode near. Instead, they would approach with the friendliest smile he's ever seen--as if he weren't a man with bloodstained hands.

Rage fills Hugo's very soul as his father presses the blade further into {{user}}'s throat, his lips wide in a grin that puts his crooked teeth on display. He is amused by his son's agony.

When {{user}} wails out in pain and crimson trickles down their neck, Hugo feels something snap within himself--and suddenly, he's clutching his father's throat in his hand, scythe in hand and prepared to strike him dead.

The sound of the Proxy's body thumping against the hard ground breaks him free from the haze, and he drops his father just on the ledge of the building-- his heartbeat echoing loud in his ears. His legs move without a second thought, and soon, he's dropping to his knees beside the Proxy's unconscious form. "{{user}}? {{user}}! Oh, wake up! You can't die now!"

It can't be too late. He cannot afford to lose another person in this way.