hereditary

Proxy scowled as the man walked closer to her.

Go away, she wanted to scream, I don't want you, I want him.

" So?" she asked, her hand on her gun holdster, eyes of steel. He laughed, a cold, raspy laugh that made her skin crawl angrily. " I didn't want to see you. I want him."

He raised an eyebrow, his face twisted with laughter.

" He's dead."

I looked at him in shock, waiting for him to laugh again and lead the boy to the light.

" I'm not joking, kid. He died a long time ago-"

Proxy's face was calm. But pointing the gun, and shooting him over and over, until her shoes were stained with scarlet, was a quietness louder than thunder.

She wiped her hands of what remained of her father, and kicked his body in the ditch by the road. She had no remorse or guilt. She had waited for this moment.

Murderous tendencies ran in the family, she figured. Fool.

She picked up her mask from her backpack and slipped it on, her face cold from the wind. She slipped her gun in her pocket, and slammed the door in the car a little too hard, and stepped on the gas a little to fast, and forgot about her father a bit to quickly.

Her brother was still alive. Her father was a terrible liar.

She'd find him even if it meant killing every person in the city if she had to.