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***
Time continued its run, the Christmas holidays were behind us and gradually winter was gaining momentum, covering the city with a thin layer of snow, mixing with the dirt of the streets.
The resulting grey mass was not suitable for a festive mood, and the townspeople themselves were not particularly happy, preferring the quiet comfort of home to the noisy festivities. Too many unfortunate events had befallen the city in the past, many of which I had missed, being forced to sit in almost total isolation.
But there was a lot of good in it, because after the due date, even a little earlier than usual, the special agent hired by Shch.I.T.om arrived to check my chi.
-Is that normal?
As I whispered quietly with Rand, I kept catching suspicious glances from the operatives and agents, especially Clint.
Breathing heavily and wiping sweat from his forehead, the man knelt down in front of us, letting his breathlessness take a pause in our important conversation.
He had a balding head and a small moustache that turned into a beard. Tired eyes with huge bruises under them. Lots of wrinkles, making him look many times his age. And of course, the old clothes in the form of a monk's robe should give mysticism and mystery.
-Did they bring a charlatan here? -What?
-There aren't many mages in the world who aren't in organisations. Usually they're either weaklings or guys like Von Doom.
-Let me guess which one they sent us.
-There's nothing surprising about that," Danny said, shrugging nonchalantly and moving away, looking proud and independent again. There was only a little more to endure," he greeted.
While my teacher was exchanging pleasantries with the sweating Chinese, who had apparently realised that Danny was hitting the jackpot, I went over to Clint to find out what was going on.
-Dad, even you, who knows nothing about chi, should know that this guy's not the best option.
-It's all right," it was obvious that Legolas wanted to spit on the floor, and only decency kept him from such a gesture, "he can do his job, and we don't need more than that. I believe you are clean....
-Pip, pip, pip, pip," I slowly turned in a circle and pointed my forefingers at Barton, indicating that the search engine had found its target, "this is bullshit, Mr Overseer.
-I'm sorry, kid," he folded his arms across his chest, looking me straight in the eye without averting his gaze, "you're a good kid, but you're nothing more than that.
"They must have something super serious going on."
I wanted to smile, maybe even laugh in her face, especially at Clara, who would be alone here. She'll probably snitch on me out of the corner of her eye, but I'll deal with that somehow. The main thing is that the archer is gone, and with him the support group from the neighbour's garage... If there was one. If there even was one.
-Apprentice, come here.
Waving his hand at me, Danny loomed impressively over the "specialist," pressing the unfortunate monk with all his aura and power.
As I approached, he grabbed me by the shoulder, holding me in one position, pushing me forward under the fat man's widened eyes.
I could feel Qi and some other energy in the man opposite me.... But it was just crumbs. True, there was something familiar, elusive about it. Something that brought back memories.
The test itself didn't take long. Compared to my usual training sessions, it was only two hours, during which we had time to move to a couple of comfortable sofas.
In fact, from the outside, it looked like Rand had been called to a school in Chinatown for my bad behaviour.
-Clean in body and soul.
Tiredly hanging his head, the fat guy didn't bother with politeness or anything to say, but simply got up from his seat and walked on.
Agents, a couple of operatives and other regular colleagues of Shch.I.T.A. walked the specialist to the door, exchanging mutual assurances of friendship, chewing gum and other things....
But it was only an illusion, because the real fat man calmly stood near the wall, made a circular movement and, stepping into the portal, was gone, lastly only gave us a respectful bow. Just a split second before the orange gate closed.
-Not a word.
Apparently, the bow was intended more for Rand himself, who the monk looked at only at the last moment with sincere, boundless respect.
-I see.
***
-Main Freund, you are now a free man, like a bird in the sky, like a gopher in the fields, or like the unfortunate refugees in Canada---.
-Pfft.
Spitting my coffee out on the table, I can barely contain my laughter. No matter how many times I communicate with this nice doctor, I can't understand whether he is joking or honest.
I cast a suspicious glance at the happy Octavius, who was imitating cartoon characters and throwing everything in his suitcase, and had to admit defeat. Otto's emotions were too sincere and open, so I couldn't figure him out.
"There was a reason he was a supervillain."It had only been a few hours since I'd gotten my freedom, but I hadn't even had a chance to savour it when the news came pouring out of the horn.
I contacted my parents, whom I missed dearly, wanting to feel again the comfort and warmth that my new family had honestly given me for so many years.
Danny had asked me to visit Murdoch's dojo tonight, promising that the blind devil wanted to talk to me too. I didn't know the status of the Kingpin war or how it all ended, so it was definitely worth a visit to my first mentor to see how he was doing.
Peter was waiting for my answer, too, and wanted to crash at the flat like old times, stocking up on junk food and spending the day fighting the good fight on Faerûn.
But most importantly, I got a message from Gwen asking me to meet up and finally have a proper conversation. I didn't even know how to react to it, but my conscience and responsibility outweighed my childish resentments, so I agreed to her request. We needed to resolve our differences, at least just to dot the i's.
Having locked the screen of the phone, I felt like a hero of RPG games, where after passing the arc on you dump a bunch of quests, each of which requires immediate attention.
The most unexpected event was the imminent departure of Octavius, who was now in a funny hurry, saying out loud all the things he had taken with him. His language was full of ambiguous phrases, which only fuelled my excitement and amusement.
-Oh, I think that one Weiblish vekzoig will not be enough!
In general, Otto looked very colourful. He didn't want to disfigure his body with an implant, having had enough of looking at my swellings and scars, he'd created a much simpler and more reliable device that was attached on the principle of an ordinary schoolbag. Two manipulator claws, similar to the grippers from the machines used to extract toys and money from suckers. Obeying Doc's orders, they grabbed everything and dragged it behind him, while Mr Scoof only had time to poke his fingers at the things he needed.
-Doc, I think you'll find you'll have everything you need on site. -Yeah.
-Oh, Sean, how naive a child's mind can be sometimes, Mein Gott," he threw off his lab coat and quickly threw on his jacket, checking his appearance in the mirror, "there will be so many scientists there that it's hard to imagine how they will satisfy our desires.
-Where are you going?
-А? Hmm. New Mexico. Capital of deserts, stereotypes, spicy food and sweaty armpits, verdamt!
-Doctor!
-Oh, allow me, Clara. I have no prejudice against these people," Otto waved his hand nonchalantly at the woman who was looming over us, and went back to business, whispering some nuances to me, "Do normal people live there too? I have no hindsight, mein Freund, just for general development.....
-A smaller part of the state, I'd say.
Holding back my laughter, choking on my coffee, feeling tears starting to gather in the corners of my eyes, I wished I had a good camera to film the grief-stricken doctor literally hanging down his nose.
-Shayse.
-Dr Octavius, we've already discussed this.
-My dear Frau, I don't feel any negativity towards these people, it's just... -My dear Frau, I don't feel any negativity towards them.
-What's that got to do with it? -What's that got to do with it?! You're telling a former criminal important federal secrets.
-Mine Gott, who? Who is this dangerous, criminal element that dares to go through me to find out the secrets of my beloved country?!?
-Don't play games, Otto, -the poor woman, I felt sorry for her for a moment, although it was funny to see her trying to push her decision through without open conflict, dancing with a tambourine around her ward and the man, -though Sean is no longer under surveillance...
-Pfft.
My interference in processing made the capillaries in Clara's eyes burst, showing an extreme degree of frenzy.
-... Like I said! He's not under surveillance, but that's no reason to reveal state secrets to him.
-Oh, Frau, I don't quite understand you. -Oh, Frau, I don't quite understand you. He just told me where we'll be staying for the next few months until we can sort things out....
What are you doing?
Mr Mummy's Gentleman affectionately moved his palm aside and left a fleeting kiss on the back of it, before continuing to calmly collect himself. It was evident from his contented face that Octavius was satisfied with the result, especially with the redness in the cheeks and neck region, as demonstrated to us by the staid and serious woman.
-Nothing to worry about, Frau. Sean is my assistant, you could say my manipulator, like this claw. He's just a mechanism in my hands, creating a new world for everyone.
It was probably the first time in six months that I felt a moment of unity with Clara. We both looked at each other with dazed eyes, and then the unhappy assistant and agent began to press Otto again, probing the thin line she didn't want to cross.
-But that's state secrets. He doesn't need to know about it. He would be in danger himself....-"Oh, darling, don't worry," I said. I didn't remember where I got the memories from, but as I talked I kept hearing in my head the hoarse voice of the tank operator shouting, "It didn't go through," "Besides, Sean's a smart boy. He'd definitely recognise everything.
-How?
-What do you mean? I would have told him myself," the woman moaned, "events like this happen once every thousand years. Do you really think a piece of paper is going to stop me?!
-Oh, please, just come on.
"Defeat and death are upon us."
I put my hand to my temple and paid my last respects to the losing woman. I got the middle finger, but that didn't make the moment any worse.
-Don't mind her, mein Freunde. She's just overly anxious and worried about her job. We all have a weakness like that, don't we?
With a wink, clearly hinting at my reasons for using the tentacles, Otto paternally clapped me on the shoulder. A smile danced across his face, and he was glowing with joy and anticipation.
I couldn't help but squeeze the old German in my arms.
-Ho-ho-ho-ho, and you are obviously much more open and emotional than you want to appear.
But in spite of jokes, Doc answered me in the same way, and then without saying a word to each other we went apart. He was off to the south of the country, about to take part in some incredible project, and I stayed in the lab, preparing it for sealing and locking it with dozens of locks.
***
Torn between who to honour first, I opted for my parents, preferring to spend the evening with my elders.
And you know what, it was an amazingly good decision. The only downside was the explanation about the new scars on my face, but kudos to my parents for realising that I was constantly dealing with complex equipment.
Standing in the kitchen to the greatest hits of U2, the band that had stirred up my parents' youth, I helped my mother peel potatoes while Mary herself tended to the meat squirming in the frying pan.
It was chaos and disorder all around, and only my dad remained a haven of calm, steadily tapping away at a bottle of dark liquor and watching the news channel.
On his face now and then there were open and feigned emotions, showing with all his appearance how he was fascinated by the news.
-Sneaky bug.
-Oh, as if for the first time, - hearing my comment, my mother took away a pot of peeled potatoes from me and began to grate them, turning them into small crumbs, -You lived at home, so at least he didn't drink in the morning. Forgive me, Lord, but if he dies or grows an arse on the chair, what will I do then?
-Hey, I can hear everything.
Having already managed to hide the bottle, father waltzing into the kitchen, carefully looking at the front of the work and looking for the easiest thing to do, because the wife could hold a grudge, if too much lazy.
-"I'll do the onions.
-Oh, pf-f-f-f-f," she waved away her husband with a towel, and without hiding her smile, she passed by and started slicing, "you have eyes like a baby. Just a few seconds and you'll start crying.
-Don't give me that kind of talk.
Listening to their standard bickering, continuing to silently help my mother, while she was whipping the lazy father, a terrific and tender feeling was warming in my chest.
The atmosphere of a cosy kitchen drowning in pastel colours. Aromas of folk food, a light flurry of alcohol and the smell of home, which is in every flat and you can recognise your own, native.
Slightly creaking old chairs, given to my mother by one of the parish carpenters. An old tablecloth, hand embroidered by my grandmother, and on top of it a oilcloth stolen from my father's work.
Old photos on the walls, juxtaposed with paintings, still lifes, and just plain funny cards given to my parents during their lifetime.
The light bulb flickered a couple of times, making my father frown unhappily and, under the attentive gaze of a loving woman, begin to deal with it, because it's one thing to get away from cooking, but there should always be light in the house!
I probably didn't say much all evening, just listening to their family bickering, joking and talking about their simple and happy life. But no, even just their voices echoed off the walls, penetrating deep, deep inside me, remaining there as a series of pictures and memories.
-Honey, you didn't eat anything at all?
My mother's voice, excitedly looking into my eyes, brought me out of my musings. She leaned against the table and moved closer, her palm around mine, waiting patiently for an answer.
Out of the corner of my eye I noticed my father trying to sip a beer, but seeing my thoughtfulness, he put the bottle aside, sensing the change in his offspring.
-Oh really, -but I didn't bother them, and I would never want to do that. The parents deserved a quiet life without a troubled son. They're just starting out in life, maybe they'll have a normal kid," I'm just glad to be back home, so I thought about it.
-La-a-a-ano," she said, clearly not believing me. "Oh, that maternal intuition," Mary decided to change the subject, slapping her husband on the arm, "Simon, stop drinking beer out of thin air!
-What am I doing? I'm nothing.
The traitorous clinking of the bottle cut the lie short. We sat in silence for a few seconds while my father painfully invented an excuse, but time passed and no clever ideas came.
So, with royal calmness, he just clung tighter to his utensils, slicing the pancakes and ignoring our raised eyebrows and slight smiles.
It was nice to be back home. And it was even nicer to have a family evening without the intrigues, quarrels, arguments, fights and other nonsense that had overtaken me lately. Even just relaxing, talking about simple topics, not watching my speech and not worrying about the importance of the conversation.
Admittedly, I didn't even want to leave the flat in the evening, but citing a busy work schedule, I dressed up for the new meeting.
Feeling the weight of the old mackintosh left in my room, the tight jumper that prickled at the neck, where a scarf was unaccustomedly absent, I struggled to suppress the goosebumps and the delight of pulling a hat over my head as a finishing touch.
A simple mask, with a plain print, tightened around my face, stirring and rubbing a little, disturbing the new scars and clinging to them.
The coat revealed a crumpled old packet of cigarettes. Standing on the roof of the house, I caught a glance from another disgruntled neighbour, who shook her head sadly and crossed herself for my frail soul and damaged brain. I took out my cigarettes, looking at the packet in the palm of my hand.
-It's been a long time since I smoked..... I don't want to start.
Feeling the solemnity of the moment, I slowly turn my palm, letting the packet roll down smoothly, falling on the dirty, wet roof. My eyes follow the packet uninterruptedly as memories mottle in my brain.
-It's time to change a little. No longer play the hero, but be one," Biting my lip awkwardly, I decided to do "it" after all! Putting one foot on the parapet, holding my hat, gazing out into the New York night, -to change just as your dirty streets change every day....
But the words stuck in his throat. I wanted to say something pathetic. To dispel the night darkness with a speech, to burst into words that would settle in my head and help me to fly on a cable. But none of that happened. Or rather, I didn't need it anymore.
I could clearly feel it in myself. The usual trepidation, anticipation and slight fear had been replaced by self-confidence and sensible apprehension, backed up by vigilance.
-Funny...
With a quiet pop, the hook-cat that Otto and I had rebuilt to replace Daredevil's broken gift shot into the neighbouring house. Without further ado, without hesitation or fear, I simply stepped into the abyss, letting the cable and physics do their thing.
But something sure didn't change. Barely stepping onto the neighbouring roof, I turned back to where my neighbour was looking at me disapprovingly, picking up a crumpled packet from the roof.
***
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