"It's all the social media, the A.I., drones, ring cameras, and the phone cameras.
There are eyes everywhere, intrusive, probing eyes all the time," Cameron cried to his father."I never made excuses when I was your age," Carl scoffed. "I was innovative, creative, always thinking of new ways to do what I needed to do."
"That was during your time, Dad," Cameron pointed out. "It's different today; there's no freedom like how you had back in the day to do what you did! I'm fucked because of technology!"
"Then, maybe that's why you're such a failure, Cameron; you don't get fucked enough," Carl growled, the words out more than he articulated.
"Don't say things like that to me, Dad, I'm a grown man," Cameron rubbed his fingers together nervously. "I've got a job and other real responsibilities. I own a house and a car outright; I came to you son to father for advice. You can't talk to me like that anymore."
"No, you're right, Cameron. I agree," Carl adjusted himself in his chair. "You got all those responsibilities you take care of; you are a man. A man who whines like a little fucking baby whenever things get too complicated. I blame your mother for that; she spoiled you too much as a kid. She wouldn't let me toughen you up like I wanted. If she did, you wouldn't have grown up to be the sobbing little piece of shit you are now standing in front of me in my own house, telling me that I can't talk to you like that."
"Dad, don't use words like that, please," Cameron begged his father.
"It's the whole reason I had to kill your mother, Cameron," Carl adjusted himself in his chair again, but this time, it was like he was preparing to go on a carnival ride, like a Ferris wheel or a rollercoaster. "She saw the signs, Cameron, she did, and when she did, she kept you from me. Wouldn't let me be around you, so I wouldn't try to teach you everything I know, but she couldn't deny that that apple did not fall far from my tree. I had to do it; as much as I loved your mother, I had to kill her; otherwise, look at you!"
"You killed her for nothing, but maybe it's better. At least Mom didn't live to see this," Cameron said in a melancholy voice as he looked around the living room and kitchen. Ambient light from the living room illuminated a kitchen sink, oven, refrigerator, and microwave that hadn't been used in a while.
"When was the last time you cooked something for yourself?"
"I eat out," Carl rumbled. "Can't be bothered to do all that other stuff in the kitchen."
"You want me to cook something for you before I leave?" Cameron asked.
"Well, there's those Tomahawk frozen steaks some of the guys from the league gave me after I cleaned them out of their winnings for poker," Carl replied. "See if you can fry it up; if not, no worries, I'll get something from the Taco place down the road."
A computer sat on a desk in the corner of the living room that caught Cameron's eye. "That's that, old Hewlett-Packard from 2006, the one I got you from CompUSA, right?"
"Yeah, I never had any use for it," Carl laughed. "I was never into that tech stuff because I knew it would screw me up, just like it did to you."
Cameron also noticed all the security cameras he'd gotten for his father sitting in the boxes they came in, unopened. "You never installed these cameras either?"
"Nah, that's what I got guns for," Carl said.
Opening the refrigerator, Cameron saw the hefty size of the Tomahawk Steaks. They were all frozen solid, and it would take most of the day to unfreeze them adequately enough to be fried in a cast iron frying pan. At that moment, Cameron realized there was a better use for it.
"Just get off that social media tech shit; that's what's making you soft. Can't make anyone a victim and actually kill them if you're paranoid about Big Brother all the time," Carl now used the lecturing tone of voice that Cameron hated. "Get fucked right now is what you have to do; get your dick sucked and your nuts rubbed at the same time. That's what I'd recommend!"
While Carl sat in his armchair, reveling in his ability to rile up his son, he didn't know that Cameron stood directly behind him with the frozen Tomahawk steak in his hands, raised above his head. "I already told you I'm a man, Dad, and you can't talk to me like that anymore!"
Cameron brought the chunk of frozen Tomahawk Steak right down on his father's skull and split it in half. He gave it six more solid whacks just to be sure. There were no security cameras in the house, not even from the Hewlett-Packard computer, which sat there unplugged.
Serial Killing is brutal enough without your serial killer father riding your ass all the time and calling you names. Carl's death may not have solved the whole problem, but it was less of a problem he had to deal with.
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