Mr. Scratch observed Father from the dark corner of the room. He admired Father's brutality and cold demeanor, but the sharpness and wit that he'd once had were dissipating over time. He knew he'd be replaced with another Father eventually but there was still something he needed from him. He needed that last ounce of potential wrung out from his skin and bones and into that wonderful place they called home. It was necessary, as Mr. Scratch was not wasteful - unlike his predecessors.

He watched Father do his work from time to time and yet the sheer brutality of his craft had never quite reached the heights he'd wanted. He wanted a primal urge to comply. The instinct for violence and chaos, imbued with Mr. Scratch's supreme order, had been just under the surface of Father's being. He knew it would never reach the standards of his ambitions, simply because he hadn't been there since day one. In any case, it showed him the potential of future Fathers. Ones that would be trained from birth under him.

William, however, proved to be more than just another boy. Too inward in thought to become a Father, surely, but perfect for other needs. Mr. Scratch wondered just how far he would be willing to go. Could he stomach the truth if it were to shown its face before him? Would he end it all by his own hand or somehow squirm his way out of there? How much help would he truly need, or could he make it out on his own? At what lengths would a person go to preserve their own life and was that even an experiment that Mr. Scratch was willing to allow?

"Why not," he thought.