I drummed my fingers on the dash of the Meteor as the vehicle churned across the open road.

Maybe it was just false hope, but I expected Director Kingston to call us in for a debriefing. Possibly involve us in whatever restructuring that was now taking place within the League. At least tell us something. Instead, we had been held at arm's length. No work scheduled on any of our calendars.

His office just left us a message. Kingston forwarded his thanks and told us to enjoy a few days off. We'd earned it.

Roy prompted the conspiracy that the Director might want to silence us. Take us out. That idea was put down in short order. If anything, we have proven just how much of a boon we were to keep around. A scalpel sharper and more accurate than the Director imagined.

Then, we got a little drunk. It was Roxy's birthday, after all. We went out to eat for lunch, and then again for dinner. Not quite as relaxing a recovery as we needed, but the Disasters had a good time. It felt remarkably freeing to just be around friends without a direct threat hanging in the background.

Other than the trip to Roxy's parents' house.

The inevitable had come to pass. After an early night at the hotel, we had just enough time in the morning to shop for some clothes that weren't burned or did not smell of smoke. The farming city where they lived was a simple drive along a single road. I was at least thankful Chevalier and the World Government were out of the picture.

Without the protection of Goldarch, we were vulnerable.

I looked over at Roxy, who was sitting in the passenger seat. She had her eyes closed. Not sleeping, but she had been resting for the last hour or two. The trip wasn't too stressful for her, but I could sense some lingering nerves.

Clara sat in the back and had been scribbling in a notepad since yesterday afternoon. When prompted, she would only tell me that they were ideas for improvements. Weaponry and gadgets for me, I hoped. It was interesting to see her use more analogue forms of planning rather than use a laptop or datapad, but she had been a little out of sorts since our home burned down.

Her leg was a little stiff, but she'd otherwise physically recovered from the ordeal. When I prompted her for her thoughts about this trip, she gave a rather dismissive answer. From previous conversations, I assumed she was looking forward to opportunities to wind the rest of us up.

Personally, I couldn't find it in myself to either relax or busy my mind with the future. It felt silly to be so wound up about such a simple meeting that I could breeze through, but... This was a true test of who I had become.

Not just an effective killer, pragmatic leader, or cunning survivor. Her parents were normal people outside of the Goldarch bubble. Every attempt to finesse them was important because I was dating their daughter. Roxy had accepted me at first sight, but there were many who looked down on those with cybernetics. Or were heroes. Or… mass murderers.

I exhaled through my re-breather slowly and tried to distract myself with something productive.

Both Clara and Roxy had an interest in getting me that new mouth. The actual process was a bit of a sticking point, however. Getting caught would be bad. Extremely bad. Not just for our careers, but we would surely just be handed to the World Government before the League could intervene.

It was a project that needed to simmer.

"You need to chill, Dubs." The super put her hand on my arm. "It'll be fine. Like I said before, my mother will adore you, and my pa is all bluster. You've dealt with worse."

[Possibly. Let me just go over the dozen prefabricated scenarios in my brain again so I know what will be best to say.]

She rolled her eyes. "No time for that. We're here."

Clearly, my attention to the passage of time had been short a few credits. Most of the scenery for the last few hours had been nothing but arid plains and the occasional group of random vegetation. So I had tuned it out. As I switched my focus to the front screens of the vehicle, we turned off to the left. A dirt road stretched away from the main route that went further into the next city.

I sighed and tried to straighten out my dark slacks. We had purchased some smart-casual clothes at a store. Dark green shirt with sleeves rolled up, over a white t-shirt. Black slacks. My usual boots, as nothing else fit my cybernetic feet just right. The color scheme felt vaguely on the nose, but… I didn't hate it.

Roxy had a sleeveless red top on. Dark brown shorts. Also on theme. She had cut the most pristine flower head from yesterday's bouquet and had attached it to the side of her hair. Rather cute, in my opinion. Clara had a simple soft gray shirt under her usual dungarees. I wondered if it was just natural for superheroes to gravitate towards their branding even when off the clock.

The house wasn't too far off the main road, and the Meteor shortly pulled up across dusty gravel. Roxy gave me a pat on the arm and left her seat. I briefly gave our destination a glance through the monitors before following suit. The back of the vehicle opened up. This was happening.

I stepped out beside the other two. Despite being on a farm, as part of the farming mega-city, the surrounding area looked more like a desert. Or perhaps a ranch. Further west past the house were barns and blurred shapes of either tall crops, walls, or something else. The scale of everything reminded me of the wastelands, although there was some air of organization to it.

My eyes ran over the house as we walked over, and I almost wished I had my goggles so that my lens could pick up more detail. There was probably an attic near the center, but otherwise it was a single-story building. Dark ruddy wood and white trimming that had faded thanks to weather exposure. The porch had a couple of wooden chairs set about alongside a small table. Wind chimes moved with the slight breeze, but not energetic enough to make a sound.

The porch creaked slightly as we stepped up, and Roxy sighed before knocking on the door.

This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

It opened almost immediately, which wasn't surprising since the Meteor was quite an attention grabber. Especially for how quiet it was out here otherwise.

A tall, slim woman appeared before us, with a wide smile across her face and a joy in her eyes that briefly disarmed me. Curly red hair down to her shoulders contrasted with the soft blue dress she wore - which had a white apron over the front.

"Roxy," she beamed, pulling the super in for a hug as her bright eyes turned to the techie. "And Clara, dearest. My two precious lambs, it's so good to see you. Oh, and this must be the Dubs we've been hearing about."

[It's a pleasure to meet you. You have a lovely home.]

From what I could see standing in the entrance, I could sum up the interior as rustic. Simple and quaint. A grandfather clock sat immediately to the right, against a wall full of small paintings. Stylized versions of different crops or farm-life related scenes. It reminded me exactly of how Roxy had decorated the back room of the house.

"Such a polite young man," she gushed. "You can call me Debra. Dinner is just about ready, if you girls would like to lend a hand? Hank will keep you company in the lounge, Dubs."

Before I had the chance to process, the three of them had already swerved their way to the left into the warm kitchen. I turned away from the smirk on Clara's face to step into the aforementioned lounge on the right.

There was a cozy atmosphere in here that bordered on stuffy. Several cabinets lined the walls surrounding an old-fashioned television. Each shelf held various knick-knacks. Keepsakes and photographs from days gone by. Both the wallpaper and carpet were dated. A long couch went along the wall opposite the TV, but it was the recliner to the side that had my attention.

Roxy's father stood up from the chair and took a step forward with his hand out. Despite the polite intent, he didn't look too pleased to meet me. He was shorter than expected, but broad and heavily tanned. The slight awkwardness in his movements suggested to me he was more comfortable in work clothes than the shirt and slacks he had on.

[Hank, a pleasure.]

"Dubs, was it?" He shook my hand. "Not much of a name. Take a seat, son."

I took a seat on the couch where he indicated, and he sank back into his recliner. While I was used to dealing with people who had an aura of danger or self-confidence to them, Hank was just straightforward and self-assured. Told it like it was, I remembered Roxy telling me once.

[Unfortunately it is better than my hero name.]

He grunted and pulled a face. "You've only been in the job a short time, right? What was a man of your… skills doing before that?"

By skills, he meant the cybernetics and gasmask welded to my face. Perhaps that was a bad take on my end, as even to be a hero meant that I must have some degree of proficiency to be of any use to the League.

[Private… security. Roxy was the one who convinced me I could do something more morally good with my time.]

Hank nodded, but his eyes never left me. "I'm a good read of people, son. There's something about you I don't quite like."

[If it's the mask, I can remove it. You might like that even less, though.]

"Pah." He chuckled, a wry smile at the edge of his lips. "I'm protective of my gal, you understand? No matter how strong she is, I still look out for her." The man worked his jaw, his piercing eyes still not leaving me. "I'd offer you a drink, but Roxy already warned you were nil by mouth."

I followed the gesture of his hand to a cabinet housing glasses and a few glasses of dark liquor.

[That is correct, although I could pour you one? What's your poison?]

"Scotch. Double. Dry." Hank tilted his head, giving me permission. "You don't strike me as much of a kiss-ass, but go ahead."

We had already used a few too many spare canisters for drinking alcohol the previous night. Until we could set up our workshop and fabricators, I had to make do with the basic ones. It made the prospect of sitting around for a family meal that little more awkward, but I was here now. I stepped over to the cabinet and opened it up to seek out a glass and the scotch.

"Last suitor she brought around was a bit of a snide weasel," he said, unprompted. "I told our gal he was no good for her, but she was smitten. Only so much an old man can do."

I glanced to the side at the television.

[Did you happen to catch the Arena the other day?]

"Of course." Hank exhaled through his nose. "Was hoping you'd give Maestro what he had coming to him. We hold grudges out here."

It would be unusual if they hadn't followed along with Roxy's career, especially recently when we'd been more in the spotlight. They had seen the talk show. Knew me from that and my attempt at winning the Arena.

I turned and handed over the drink before sitting back down on the couch. He raised the glass in a cheer before taking a sip.

[You'll have to excuse my lack of soft skills. Before meeting Roxy, I was an obsessive workaholic. Not much of a people person.]

"Now that, I do believe." Hank sucked at his teeth and tapped the edge of his glass. "I was the same before meeting Deb. Sometimes the ox needs the yoke."

I nodded slowly, understanding some of those words. With a glance toward the open doorway, I then leaned closer to the man and lowered my voice.

[There's actually a related topic I would like to discuss with you.]

"Oh?" He raised an eyebrow and sat forward in his recliner, meeting me halfway. Maybe he even knew where this was going.

[I seek your approval, as I wish to ask for Roxy's hand in marriage.]

There it was. The real reason this whole event had been mental sandpaper for my tired brain. Not that I had a set date in mind, soon or otherwise. This was just part of the prep work.

Hank narrowed his eyes and shifted even further forward on his chair so that we were barely two feet apart. "You really love her that much, huh?"

[I do. She not only completes me, but constantly betters me. I want nothing but the best for her in life.]

"And that's you?"

[Perhaps. I would go to any length to be.]

He ran his tongue across his teeth, his eyes trying to read mine. "Any length. Even kill for her, hero?"

[Give me names. It will be done.]

Hank chuckled again and shook his head. With an exaggerated sigh, he moved back and relaxed in his recliner. "I can tell by your eyes that you ain't bullshitting me. There's more to it than being a hardass, though. But I've heard the way she speaks about you. You even have our Clara's approval, which is as big a vouch as you're likely to find."

I nodded and sat up straight awkwardly. There were very few things in the room that I could fit in my gun-arm chamber and use to escape this situation.

"So… you have my blessing." He gave me a dry smile and tipped the glass to me again.

Relief flooded my system. I knew that Roxy's parents were on the old-fashioned side. She probably didn't care about me getting her father's permission, but I wanted to tick that box to prove how serious I was about her. I wasn't even sure if we were ready for marriage anytime soon, but… the intent was clear in my mind.

With the aches of the last week seeping away, I felt more content and unburdened than ever. A bright future lay ahead of me, even if we skirted the shadows on occasion. The balance would set us free.

I smiled internally and tried to latch onto a response for the man. Before my mind could get back into conversation mode, a knock at the door interrupted me.

"I'll get it," Debra's voice came from the kitchen.

My brow furrowed, and I looked back at Hank after glancing at the doorway.

[Expecting someone else?]

He shrugged as he took another sip of scotch, but he was also frowning.

The front door opened, and there was a brief exchange of murmured words. Debra then stuck her head in through the lounge doorway. "It's someone to see you, Dubs. An old associate?"

I found myself up and walking before my brain even registered it. All calm and peace had left my body, as if half of me remained on the couch. I stepped out of the room and into the hallway. Roxy had clearly overheard her mother, as she was out behind me from the kitchen.

We froze in place, our eyes glued to the man standing in the doorway. Dark gray suit. Gray hair down to his shoulders. A rough beard. Fedora in hand clasped to his chest in apology for interrupting us.

But he needed no introduction. No apology would be enough.

"Not a bad start," he said, eyes focused on me. "But that was only phase one, Agent W."

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.