The man rubs his index finger with his thumb carefully, thinking. There's no need for the poor boy to continue living. He'd be mocked, ridiculed. He'd have a nasty scar, the man thinks to himself. No, it's much better if he goes quietly, for him and for the rest of his family, the man decides.

And besides, the man thinks to himself, isn't that a lovely little advantage? The boy was a stain on his reputation, an oddity that spoiled the bunch and soured the whole image. He'll no longer be the business man with an estranged son, no, this will be a nice little tragedy in his pocket. People will pity him, he'll be back in the good graces of the public eye soon enough.

And as for Michael.....well he caused this little accident, didn't he? Yes, Michael deserves to be punished. Grieving should be enough. William smiles to himself as he crouches down, his scarred palms wrapping taught around the outlet, and with a pull it unplugs, soft beeping becoming a steady flatline in an instant. He stands, and brushes off the front of his suit jacket, swiftly walking out the hospital room and down the hall, past the nurse at the front desk. The cold air of the night greets him as he steps outside. Nobody saw. Nobody will ever see.