The room was dark, dark and cold. There was no light to break up the shadows closing in on the pool of blood gradually expanding on the floor. A small figure, his motionless body sprawled in the center of the wreckage. His blood seemed to be pouring out of all the openings in his torn-up body, liquid filling his mouth with its metallic taste, inhibiting his speech. He pleaded to the dark ceiling in a voice that was no more than a soft whisper,
"I don't want to die! Someone help! I don't want to die!"
A light of hot, burning fire surged into the building breaking the veil of darkness. From outside the burning mansion, a man looked over into the heart of the wreckage, his long black coat, filled with rips and tears, fluttering in the wind.
The boy might as well have died that day. The fire had taken everything he owned. He no longer had the will to cry out as the flames licked his corpse-like frame. The man in the long black jacket entered the ruins, scorch marks adding to the damages to his coat. When he saw the boy he got down on his knee and offered up his hand. The boy looked up at the man with glazed eyes, but didn't move. The boy was using all the energy he had just to keep his eyes open. The man spoke in a grand boom, like Superman did in the cartoons the boy would watch on Sunday mornings.
"Come with me to live as a man, not die like the corpse you have made yourself." The boy slowly mustered enough energy to raise his hand to try to touch the man's upturned palm. The man smiled slowly,
"Then from now on your name shall be Hugo. I don't care if you don't like it, that's what I'm calling you."
