Sim quietly closed the door to Amigo’s apartment behind him.
â€œSim?â€ Amigo turned from the kitchen, walking toward his adopted son. â€œAre you okay?â€
He held out a hand, as if offering a hug.
Sim pushed the man’s hand away and plopped himself on the couch again.
â€œI killed the Phoenix,â€ he said blankly.
Amigo’s eyes widened. â€œYou what?â€
â€œSlit her throat,â€ Sim said.
Amigo shook a bit, his hands clenching into fists.
â€œWhy?â€ He asked. â€œWhy would you do that?â€ His angry questions held a forced softness in them. Truthfully, Amigo wanted to slap Sim and then some. The last thing he wanted was for his son to take part in the family business.
Sim seemed to be completely out of it, however. He wasn’t paying attention.
â€œShe came back to life,â€ Sim continued.
There was silence. Amigo tried to process what he had just been told.
â€œShe turned to dust, then, just. Poof. There she was again. Out of fire. Naked.â€ Sim stated.
â€œLike a Phoenix?â€ Amigo crossed his arms over his chest.
â€œLike a Phoenix,â€ Sim replied.
Amigo sat down next to Sim on the couch, taking a deep breath.
â€œI know this is hard to comprehend, Sim, but the important thing here is that you killed someone.â€
â€œShe’s still alive,â€ Sim answered, hands gripping his knees while he looked forward.
â€œBut you still killed her.â€ Amigo got up and kneeled in front of his son so he could make eye contact. â€œThat’s a big step. That’s a huge change of mind, Sim. People don’t just kill. Are you okay?â€
Sim frowned, pushing Amigo’s caring hands away from himself and looking away.
â€œDon’t be stupid, you do it all the time,â€ Sim stated, crossing his arms over his chest.
â€œBut I don’t know the victims personally. It’s a job, Sim, not an act of hatred or some other emotion.â€ Amigo put his hands on Sim’s knees, trying to read what his son was thinking.
â€œThis is gay. Just chill; I’m fine,â€ Sim spat, pushing Amigo away and walking to his bedroom. He closed the door behind him and laid down on the bed.
Amigo rolled his right hand into a fist and hit his forehead with the top of it. Stupid, he thought.
And Kingsley was already in bed. He probably wouldn’t have any smart words for this situation anyway.
Amigo didn’t want his son to turn into a murderer. This was Dexterity, he knew. People killed eachother for silly and stupid reasons every day. Every hour, even. But he didn’t want his son to turn into some sort of stereotypical Dexterian psychopath.
And it seemed that every day that went by, the control of Sim’s predestined path was slipping through his fingers. He knew what being a Doppelganger meant, and he didn’t want his son to be one.