Andrew couldn’t really say he wanted to be here. The moment his boat docked at Uvelea and they’d gotten past the cliffs surrounding everything, he’d been shocked at how huge it was. He’d seen the invoice and knew there had to be a lot of people here but the sheer size of it completely floored him. It almost gave him a headache to try and comprehend the sheer size of the complex he was in.

The tour was mostly bureaucratic bullshit, although meeting Madame Thornton was an experience and a half. She was brisk and to the point, leading the way through the facility and answering each of his questions wholly and concisely, sparing no detail. The three annexes were of course huge, each devoted to different spectrums of research. Throughout most of it he was attentive but a bit bored, the image he was seeing a bit different from what he had seen on paper.

That is, of course, until he witnessed some of the experiments. Some seemed relatively normal, just doctors taking blood samples and observing the slaves being used. Others, however… The first to really capture his attention was a female slave who must have once been exceptionally beautiful, but now looked ragged and emaciated, as though she should already be dead. The most noticeable thing though were her breasts, uneven and lumpy and covered in a myriad of scars. The doctors had led her into a room and strapped her to a table, not even bothering with anesthetic as they took a scalpel to the less scarred of her breasts and made a straight, precise cut down the center and right over her nipple. Her scream pierced the air, full of pain and a touch of familiarity, as though she were used to it. Which she probably was.

“What are they doing?” Andrew demanded, face a mask of hard lines while his voice was steady and controlled, hiding his disgust.

Madame Thornton gave him a beatific smile, as though true torture was not happening right in from of them. “Slave C-dash-one-four-oh. One of our most prolific subjects in our studies on cancer. The focus for her is of course breast cancer. This is a routine checking of the tissues. They will most likely take a sample before sewing the incision and sending her back to her cell.”

Barely able to stop from curling his lip, he asked, “And do they not believe in anesthetic?”

“There is no point in wasting the money.”

Hunter pushed away from his desk with a heavy sigh, tossing the pen down on the nearly blank paper before him. It shouldn't be this hard to write a letter. A letter that would never be read because the recipient was..dead. He flinched a little at the thought, still not able to accept that his father was no longer living. The man had been a living legend for years, there was just no way. There was no way to really kill...such evil like the monster Caretaker was.

Of course the night with Blaine and Sebastian had helped, as much as he'd fought against it. The time and attention--the loving and safe feeling he'd felt at being with his intendeds again had been wonderful. And for the first time he'd felt a little clearer, like maybe he could give the letter to his father a shot. But then Andrew messaged him, sounding rather distressed. Something about the island Caretaker had kept secret from everyone. The one where he'd conducted medical experiments...

Hunter shuddered at the thought even now and his mind was too far down that rabbit hole to go back. He couldn't do this, couldn't sit there and write down his feelings and thoughts to such a monster. He wanted to confront him face to face. With a firm nod of his head, he rose from the chair and moved from his bedroom to the front of the suite. "I'm going out, Ducks. I'll be back later. Be a good boy while I'm away," he called out to his claim as he closed the door behind himself.

The hike to the Southern Cliffs wasn't exactly a quick stroll, but Hunter knew it was where he needed to go. Each step, he remembered. He remembered walking the path with Blaine, his father subdued. Bound and gagged and covered as they lead him to his death. He'd done it. Hunter had obeyed without question and helped murder his own father.

Finally he reached the spot and glanced around. The grass was still trampled down, footprints still visible in the sandy areas. Here. It had happened right here. And he'd simply turned his back and let it happen. Hunter moved to the very edge of the cliff, as far as he could possibly go, and looked down, watching a few bits of dirt and rock tumble down the steep, rocky side into the breaking ocean below.

He wasn't sure how long he stayed there at the edge of the cliff, just staring down into the sharp, jagged edges of rocks that jutted up from the rough waves that crashed hard against the side of the cliff. His eyes were fixed, but his mind wandered. Had his father been angry? Afraid? Had it hurt to fall? Did he suffer or was his death quick? Was he even dead at all? As his mind swam with questions, Hunter took another step. And then another...And suddenly the ground was giving way beneath him.

That feeling, the feeling of the ground giving way was the very real thing for how he'd been feeling mentally and emotionally since this all began. And he only had a split second to decide. Whether on instinct or choice, Hunter wasn't sure, he jumped backwards, stumbling and falling down to his ass as he watched the ground he'd just been standing on disappear down the side. He sat there for a few minutes, his heart beating faster than he'd even realized.

"Of course that's what I get. I come out here to try and talk to you and you try to kill me. Seems like death hasn't changed you a bit, has it, Father?" he said finally, his eyes narrowing a little. Yes, he knew his father wasn't really there and he probably sounded crazy talking to thin air. But it was all he had left and it felt better than quietly writing things out and sticking them in an envelope. 

"I've been sick over this, you know. I have so much guilt and...disgust at myself. Of course I know you're a million times more disappointed in me than I am in myself. And now you're calling me even weaker than I was for feeling upset about following orders and doing what needed to be done." Hunter looked down at the ground for a few seconds.

"But you've always thought that about me, always called me weak because I didn't fight as hard as Andrew did," he said, his voice quieter than before. He shook his head. "B-But what did you expect, really? You raped me! You held down your twelve year old son on his birthday and raped him! Drug it out all day long. You tortured me! And then called it a fucking test!"

Hunter rose to his feet as his voice rose and his fists clenched at his side. "Me, Andrew, Serena...Derek, Tabitha, James, Logan, Samantha, Bryce..." he trailed off, refusing to list the names of all his of-age siblings that his father had raped and destroyed. "You broke us, ruined us all. Your own fucking children, your own blood. You sick, twisted fuck!"

Finally, he was feeling something besides hurt and despair, something other than guilt and pain. He was angry. "You were never a fucking father. You've always, always been a monster. How I could be loyal to you...How I could fucking care and be upset that you're gone. You had it coming, old man. This?" He gestured to the cliff. "It was too fucking good for you. You've beaten and raped and tortured. Experimented and murdered...You've destroyed everything you've ever fucking touched. Especially me. Made me just like you. Or tried your damnedest anyways."

Hunter shook his head hard. "You know, I really hope you aren't dead. I hope you're out there somewhere suffering, dying slowly all alone. Even that would be too kind." The wind lifted a little, stirring his hair. He took a moment to breath in the air deeply, letting it out slowly. "Blaine asked me to write you a letter. To tell you how I felt, to get through all of this. But any time spent on you is a waste. I hope against hope that there is a heaven and a hell because you deserve to burn for all fucking eternity."