Stacked Deck (Or: Colin Wallis vs Single Parenting)
September (1)
The tiny warning blip appearing in the upper-right corner of his HUD blinked patiently, waiting for Armsmaster to acknowledge it. It was doomed to wait for a good long while, as the color of the envelope icon indicated it wasn't a priority message, and a high-speed chase tended to take top spot for Armsmaster's attention.
Well. Medium-speed chase. Uber and Leet had decided to adopt some tinkerfab in-line skates this week, and had been spray painting graffiti over the city. The duo had made the rather poor decision to do so close by to Armsmaster's patrol route, and the hero sighed as he just knew this was getting filmed. The Tinker sped up his motorcycle, then slowed down to keep pace with the skill-channeling cape Uber. As soon as the villain slowed down to try and take a turn, Armsmaster reached over and gave Uber an almost casual shove with the butt of his halberd. It ended the chase pretty handily, though Leet was quick to rush and retrieve his partner. Irritating, but not an unexpected result.
Then it was back to his patrol, then back to the PRT building, then back to his office to fill out the paperwork that always accompanied a cape encounter. The tiny icon blipped patiently until Armsmaster was finally free to follow up on it, by then close to one in the morning. All immediate tasks complete, Armsmaster poured a bottom-of-the-pot coffee, finally sat down in his reinforced office chair, and opened his mailbox.
He promptly sprayed his desk with the coffee and choked.
-
Hey, little brother-in-law! I hope this gets to you quick, because I tried your phone but you never answered. You're still in the yellow pages, though, so hopefully you are still in Brockton Bay! I'm writing because I need a favor. You see, my sister and her husband are coming to the United States to work, and they need someplace for their son to stay for a while. I agreed at first, but now Allen and I need to travel too, so we're in the process of moving and I'm needing to find new work, and it's really not a good time all around to be looking after a teenager. So I gave her your address instead! I'm pretty sure even you would have let people know if you'd gotten married or had some kids of your own, so don't try and tell me you don't have the time or space! Besides, it's only for about 6 months, maybe a year. I'm told he's a very well-behaved young man, you shouldn't have any trouble with him. I don't think you've met our nephew before? So I enclosed a picture as well as his flight information, though I got it from a school yearbook so it might be a little out of date. Be sure to pick him up on time, and have a good year! Love, Akane
-
Armsmaster hadn't even finished reading the mail before he was bringing up his contacts list in his HUD, only to find that he'd never added his civilian contacts to his armor's memory. He wracked his brain trying to think of the last time he'd seen his eldest brother's contact information. If it was anywhere, it would probably be… on his fridge? He vaguely remembered typing a whole list of contacts and emergency numbers, and taping it to the appliance. Not the miniature fridge in his lab, or God forbid the specimens cooler, but his actual fridge.
The one at his house.
This prompted a 20-minute search of his office, looking for the keys, since of course he hadn't put their location into any .txt files either. And it would almost have to be a .txt file, he reflected, because the last time he'd even needed them had to be… what, 2006? Checking in monthly had long since become an unnecessary chore, so while he still paid taxes on the property, he'd at one point winterized the pipes and then had the water and electric discontinued.
Armsmaster found the keys, which did not contain any car keys because he hadn't needed a civilian vehicle in forever when he could build much better ones himself, and marched quickly back to the garage, sending Dragon a quick apology text on the way. He wasn't going to have any time for tinkering tonight, not until he got this sorted out.
* * *
On paper, Colin Wallis lived in a small house situated between the Docks and the Towers downtown, a boxy little building squeezed in between two other similar buildings, with a strip of lawn roughly four feet wide separating the house from the sidewalk. Armsmaster did remember the address, though he had to turn around and drive his silenced motorcycle around the block a bit to find the alleyway entrance, a path behind the houses on the street composed of gravel and tall wood fences. It was a much more discrete place to park, at least, though he still had to walk to the front door to enter. With a little bit of struggle and a muffled curse, he got the door to open and slipped inside before anyone could see.
Four years of dusty silence greeted him, with the dust at least being very literal. He flicked on a helm-mounted flashlight and suppressed the creepy-crawling feeling induced by the sheer number of cobwebs. It hadn't gotten to Abandoned Temple levels of neglect, not even remotely, but the thin carpet of detritus covering everything was a stark contrast to the comforting, ordered sterility of his lab. A quick march to the kitchen kicked up more of the stuff, but as long as he didn't breathe in too deeply, it should be fine.
Armsmaster's memory proved itself reliable, for the most part. The typed sheet of contact numbers was still there, attached to the outdated appliance by a magnet rather than tape. It had gone yellow and slightly brittle with time, so Armsmaster took care to handle the list carefully just long enough to take a quick photo. He could scan it later and see if there were any other phone numbers he might need. In the meantime, he set the list back in its place on the fridge, then dug into a thin storage compartment set into the armor on his leg; even if he rarely used it, he'd always tried to keep a non-PRT phone and a headset jack available. Armsmaster pulled the cellular phone from its place, eyed the yellowed paper once more, then dialed.
Several rings later, the line connected with a sleepy grunt and a slightly-annoyed "H'lo?"
"This is Colin Wallis. I am looking for Allen or Akane."
"Oh— Colin!" The woman sucked in a breath, the slightly more alert tone of voice sparking a bit of recognition. "Colin, it's… two in the morning."
"Yes. I just got your mail. I was working late." Armsmaster judged that his sister-in-law was probably awake enough to be reasoned with. "I can't take him, it's out of the question."
"I know it's inconvenient, and I'm sorr—"
"It's more than inconvenient, Akane," he stressed. He heard the woman sigh, then a few moments later a muffled thud— a closed door. When she spoke next her voice was louder.
"Colin, I know you like your space, but please."
"Akane, I work late almost every night," Armsmaster said, deciding to underplay the truth a bit. "And I don't have a space set up for a guest, let alone the time."
"He's a teenager, he doesn't need a babysitter."
"Doesn't matter. I'm not doing it, Akane. You agreed to this, you can just take him with you wherever you're going."
Her response was biting. "We're not going on a cruise, Colin. We're— we're going to Texas."
"What's the difference?"
"Well, Texas has the Anderson Cancer Center." When he didn't respond immediately, she continued. "Allen didn't want me to say anything— but somehow I doubt I have to worry about you bringing it up."
Armsmaster set aside the rebuke—it was valid enough, even if she couldn't know the reasoning for it—and lowered his voice, instead. "What kind?"
"Colon. They've got specialists at Anderson. Your grandfather got it too, didn't he?"
"I don't remember." The conversation fell to silence for a few moments. Armsmaster tried to rub at his temples, but his helmet was in the way. "I can't take care of a teenager, Akane." Not with his work. Not with his city.
"Find a handbook quick, then. It should be easy, my brother had him last year. Ryotaro said he was an upstanding young man."
Armsmaster sighed, and swore on the exhale. There wasn't any excuse that he could give. That left him with… he pulled up the email attachment on his HUD. Three days to figure something out. "...alright. Good luck in Texas."
"Thanks. Good luck to you, too." Click.
Armsmaster put the phone back in its compartment, and leaned carefully against the kitchen counter behind him. He stayed there for a while, in silence. Eventually he focused back on the email, and with a few practiced flicks of eye movement, brought up the picture Akane had sent along with his flight number. Gray eyes and a serious face stared back at him, the young man's skin and lines of his jaw suggesting someone still caught between childhood and adulthood. A teenager.
What the hell was he getting into?
Two days later, he had yet to find a solution, but he had by no means been idle.
He'd had to requisition one of the unmarked cars from the PRT garage, but it was a necessary first step in getting anything done in civilian clothes. He'd contacted the utility companies, and arranged for their services to be re-instated, but in the meantime he had a generator in the basement that proved sufficient for his needs. The ever-reliable shopvac he'd kept stashed in a closet of his lab proved its worth in clearing the layers of dust from just about every surface, though Armsmaster had at least had the foresight to cover his furniture with sheets before he'd locked up, years ago. Every non-covered surface needed scrubbing, which prompted a reluctant trip to the supermarket for cleansers and rags. For two days, he shaved hours off of his usual routine, to take advantage of the daylight to make up for the electric company's lack of haste. For two days he kept his eyes forward, resolutely ignoring the curious glances from neighbors who watched a man they had likely never seen move in.
When he finally declared the project finished, the house was at least livable, if not lived-in. He transferred a half-full duffle bag of clothes into the master bedroom, and set it on the floor. A moment later he reconsidered, sighed, and unpacked them into the dresser, mouth set in a permanent grimace of near-disgust. Denim jeans and sweaters, over the thinnest stab vest he could find. He may as well have been naked.
With no immediate task in front of him, Armsmaster felt a familiar tightness creep across his ribs, and he unconsciously tugged at the stab vest's straps near his shoulder. What was left? Groceries, probably. He didn't cook, but he could provide the basics, as well as frozen pizzas and the like… only, the boy was coming from Japan. He had no idea what the teen might be accustomed to, or even allergic. Schools had already just started for the year, but he could probably pull a few strings with Arcadia. One more thing to worry about.
That did remind him, though, that he'd wanted to get a couple of desks. A student needed a place to study, and if Armsmaster was going to be stuck here for probably six hours a night, he was going to need a place to work, as well. He couldn't bring any of his tech with him, which grated already, but getting a computer up to code for security would let him keep up with any programming needs.
His phone buzzed in its holster at his belt. Armsmaster checked the number, then stifled a sigh before answering. "Armsmaster here."
"Huh, didn't expect that to work. Boss, where are you? The Director's paged you like six times, and you haven't answered any messages." Velocity— not who he'd expected, honestly.
Armsmaster leaned around the kitchen doorframe, to eye his helmet sitting on the faded couch. He could just barely make out the tiny blip of an alert light. Wonderful. "Apologies, I didn't get them. I'll head back to base shortly."
"Eh? I didn't— you're not scheduled for a patrol this afternoon, I thought?"
Car keys, where did he put the car key— right, in his pocket. "I'm not on patrol." Silence from Velocity. Armsmaster didn't quite resist the eyeroll. He did scoop up his helmet and start towards the back door, reciting that week's verification code from the M/S protocols as he did. He heard Velocity give a brief, nervous laugh.
"Let the Director know I'll be there in about thirty minutes." Traffic shouldn't be too bad, if he hurried, but he would need a few minutes to get back to his PRT-building armory and into his armor. Velocity gave an acknowledgment, and hung up. Whatever the Director wanted, it was as good a time as any to bite the bullet and request some time off.
He made it in twenty-eight minutes, but that didn't stop the sullen glare Director Piggot graced him with when he arrived. Miss Militia, Triumph, and Dauntless were already here, and a quick glance at the schedule on his HUD confirmed that Assault and Battery were on patrol. That didn't account for Velocity, but before the meeting room door closed behind him, a red blur zipped into the room and over to the other side of the table, coalescing into the speedster as he turned off his Breaker state.
"First time for everything, I suppose. I hope you've got a good excuse, Armsmaster." The Director had the gall to sound flippant, but her eyes were shrewd. Armsmaster just grit his teeth and sat down, the lack of of an answer prompting more than one raised eyebrow. The Director's was among them, but she started the meeting.
Armsmaster eyed the clock, then chastised himself for the lack of focus. Roughly sixteen hours left. He waited until the Director shuffled her papers straight with a clack, and asked, "Is there any other business before we disperse?"
Time for that bullet. "I need to re-adjust my schedule to contain no more than two patrols a week after 10 PM." Armsmaster ignored the wide eyed looks, and swallowed the bitter taste of lead. "Additionally, I will be absent tomorrow."
"And what brought this on?"
"My sister-in-law's nephew is coming to stay with me for the next few months." The startled silence didn't last, thankfully. Armsmaster opened a panel on one arm and withdrew a folded paper, then smoothed it before setting the printed photo on the desk and giving it a light push towards Director Piggot. He caught at least two of his co-workers craning their necks to see.
"You have a sister? You have a nephew?" Dauntless said, now actually standing up to get a better look. "Huh. Good lookin' kid. Doesn't really look like you, though." The younger hero's face took on a guilty flinch.
"In-law, I said. We're not related." It was a fair assessment. The teen in the photo had calm gray eyes, and hair that looked almost silver to match, likely a result of poor quality of the original photo, which the subsequent scan and print had done nothing to correct. His identity and scheduled flight information were still written below the picture, to put a face to the name.
Yu Narukami, age 16.