Mind Games - Chapter 15

“They call them 'Office Heroes,' apparently,” I explained, flipping through the document once more. “Not formally or anything, but I think it's one of those workplace-humor jokes. They're more or less the IT geeks that everyone needs, but no one wants to admit to needing.”

That got a mild chuckle out of my father as he sat across from me at the table, stacks of paper and a laptop each strewn about randomly as we ate dinner, talked, and looked over information relating to Endeavor's job offer. And that was what it was, make no mistake. I'd be officially limited in my capacity and exposure to certain cases as well as the hours I could put in each week, but I was deeply cynical how those mandates would stack up against reality.

Even if I was willing to use them, quite hypocritically, to support my own arguments in favor of the arrangement while negotiating with my father.

“That seems to be a good way to put it,” Niko nodded with a half-smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, proving that habits ran as deep as our genes given the waves of bittersweet and nostalgic happiness that lapped between us. The man had lived with his quirk for his entire life and yet he still emoted like others couldn't feel everything he did.

I didn't know whether to count that as a reassuring sign of the durability of the human condition or a sour note tallied against that same condition's ability to change and adapt.

“Is something wrong, Dad?” I asked, using a pair of chopsticks to push fried rice into my mouth.

“It's just...” The older man frowned, setting down the pages he was studying before looking up at me with a narrowed and thoughtful gaze. “I'm grateful for you opening up about all of this, coming to me for advice and permission, telling me about all these uses for your quirk... but, it's been years. You didn't think I needed to know... or could handle knowing – and I'm not sure which is worse – that you needed to go to the doctor to get your quirk reassessed.”

Niko swallowed, storm-wracked emotion clouding the room's atmosphere. “Am I a bad father, Hitoshi?”

I blinked, then grimaced. Lying to Todoroki Fuyumi honestly didn't bother me all that much. Perhaps it would, one day, but for all that she authentically cared about my health and welfare, I'd also just met the woman and barely knew her. There was only so much emotion I could conjure under those circumstances, sadly. Especially when lying to her provided me with legitimacy and the ability to use more of my abilities openly instead of forcing me to conceal an even bigger part of who I was. A little lie to tell a larger truth.

And I could live with that.

Niko, though... was my father.

“You remember my first birthday after what happened with Mom?” I asked, leaning back in my chair, as much as I was able to in the stiff dining room seat.

A roiling wave of embarrassment shifted, regret and sadness sounding in the distance like thunder. Heat colored his cheeks. “Ah... I am still sorry about that cake, Hitoshi. I just got busy with work and the next thing I knew the smoke alarms were going off... your mother was always the one who knew her way around the kitchen.”

Absently, his gaze shifted to the faded soot stains around the oven. They were no longer noticeable, unless you knew what you were looking for. We'd cleaned it several times, after all, but never quite got around to giving the area a new coat of paint.

I chuckled and shook my head. “What I remember... is rolling out of bed and hearing loud noises, then stumbling into the kitchen to find everything coated in white foam. Including you. Even if it was kind of a disaster, it's a good memory. One that showed you actually tried, even after everything that happened.”

I shifted awkwardly and, unlike my manipulations in Endeavor's office, it was honest. “I won't say you were the best Dad ever, I think we probably both know I'd be lying if I did, but... trying counts for a lot. In my book, at least.”

Niko cracked a smile, running a hand through his navy-purple hair and sighing. The cloud of emotions hovering around him grew deeper, more intense and more complex. “Under the circumstances... I think that's probably the best review I could hope for. Thanks son, you know I-”

My eyes widened and I held up my hands, “Ah!”

Dad blinked, realization spreading like momentary beams of sunlight in a hale across his quirk, then dimming just as quickly. “Hitoshi, I gave you a pass for pulling that stunt when we visited your mother because it made her laugh. Well, that and my suppressants, but if you're going to be a hero you should probably drop the middle school fantasies.”

I hummed, the crisis having momentarily passed as I picked up another set of documents, these detailing the obligations I would be under to pay back the agency by the length of my employment term. The details were... interesting, given the provisions for early contract release. “What makes you think it's a fantasy?”

I felt Niko's attention on me and looked up to meet his gaze, our mutually-dispassionate stares meeting in the air between us like a pair of energy blasts from a shounen anime. He raised an eyebrow, rubbing at his jaw as skepticism spiked through his emotional aura. “If you can prove it, that you work for this-this... Celestial Bureaucracy of yours, I'll drop it, son.”

I snorted and shook my head, breaking eye contact to pull my laptop up. “No you wouldn't.”

Niko went to respond, but I simply reached out and tapped the stacks of paper, silencing him momentarily.

“You'd want to see my employment contract, talk to my liaison, evaluate my workplace conditions... do everything that we did for the internship and that we're doing for this offer,” I pointed out. “Because you're a good father.”

He cradled his chin, thoughtful curiosity clearing the miasma of depression as he was pulled deeper into the conversation. “That's... well, that's probably true. Hmm, and you don't want me to do that? So that's why you aren't going to prove that this whole Celestial Bureaucracy thing is real. Or, at least, that's what you believe.”

I gave him a short nod, skimming more paperwork and pulling free a highlighter to mark specific sections for his later review. I'd need to see about changing that clause. I didn't care if he was the number two hero in the nation, he wasn't getting that large of a cut of my merchandising rights. The cap of the marker still in my mouth, I muttered around it, “Pretty much.”

Niko stared at me as I worked, starting to drum his fingers on the table as I felt the familiar sensation of the man's mind at work deciphering a complex problem like a dog gnawing on a bone. It was an 'emotion' that didn't translate well to human language. The best I could do was usually 'preoccupied distraction.'

“What if I promise not to?” Dad asked tentatively. “Not to interfere, that is? With whatever this job you say you have from them is. Will you try to prove it to me then?”

“If you actually want me to,” I said, spitting out the cap and closing the highlighter with a sharp click. “But you'd have to live with the knowledge of it, and I'm not sure you want to do that.”

Energy thrummed through his quirk, sharp curiosity, stormy concern, and diffuse confusion. “What do you mean, Hitoshi? That I'd have to... live with it? Are they asking you to do something bad?”

Not asking. Just waiting patiently for circumstances to force my hand a little further down that slippery slope.

“I'm not hearing voices, Dad,” I sighed and rolled my eyes, knowing where his mind had gone. Dropping the marked-up papers on the table, I propped an elbow up and set my chin on it. “Think about it like this... two-hundred and... fifty years or so ago, no one knew what quirks or powers were. And if you tried to tell them that you knew a guy who had a goatee of living fire and could shoot blasts of flame from his body... their reaction would be pretty much what your reaction is to me, right now.”

Niko frowned, frustration and understanding entering the ethereal mix while confusion precipitated out like vanishing rain. “So I'd have to keep it a secret, is what you mean. Because no one would believe me.”

“And, unlike teenagers, which society excuses for their eccentricities, adults get shown to quiet padded rooms a lot faster with a lot less leniency,” I deadpanned.

Dad nodded slowly, a light storm of contemplative learned-helplessness and the resulting depression fomenting. “I just... I'm worried that if you sign up with the Endeavor Agency – or even become a freelance hero on your own – and slip up and mention your delusion in front of a camera or have some coworker talk to a tabloid... it would ruin your reputation and future job prospects.”

Not an invalid concern.

“Which is why the 'character' of my hero identity is going to be a conspiracy buff,” I explained, lazily flipping through a set of documents I'd already examined. “I'll wait to introduce that element until I'm confronted about it and then go on a polite and serious rant about quirks being an alien experiment, squirrels controlling geopolitics, and probably something about a moon base.”

Niko's shoulders drooped. “You're not exactly inspiring confidence, Hitoshi.”

“Unlike normal adults,” I clarified patiently, “heroes are tolerated when they're weird. If you lean into it properly, you even become popular for it. Look at Wash, the guy's costume is a literal washing machine and he's in the number eight slot nationally. Weird sells, Dad. As long as you can sell it.”

“I'm actually worried that I'm the one going crazy now that this is all kind of making sense,” Dad muttered, half-irritated and half-resigned. “So it's an-an... affectation, then? Something that you're practicing to pretend to believe in and want to use me as some kind of test-group for your potential marketing appeal?”

I cocked my head, not having expected that angle, then spoke slowly, drawing out the question I was asking as I thought over the exact phrasing. “If I agree to that interpretation, would you still take my warning seriously?”

Niko sighed and rubbed at the bags under his eyes that I suspected, half-seriously, were a congenital condition. “That's a 'No,' then.”

“Can we get back to discussing vacation days and education financing now?” I asked with a sigh.

Dad lifted his head to stare at me, then clapped his hands in a burst of uncommon energy. “Okay! How about... you show me something small. Something that I can reasonably convince myself was a trick, but is odd enough that I won't be able to figure out how you did it.”

I hummed, cocking my head as I saw where he was going with this. “And if you can't figure out the trick I use, whatever it is, you'll let the subject drop and listen to my requests about vocalizations of affection until, at the very least, you can come up with a solution as to how I pulled off my trick.”

Niko smiled, a disused expression on the man's face that was slowly coming back into fashion. “If you pull a rabbit out of a hat, I promise to do as you ask until and unless I figure out where the rabbit came from.”

I narrowed my eyes, turning the compromise over in my mind while simultaneously considering...

Ah, that would work.

“You promise?” I asked, pulling out my phone and tapping it against the table. “You aren't going to demand to know where I got the bunny, freak out and call Quirk Services, or whatever?”

“I promise,” Niko stated with a small smile. “But, if I do figure out your trick, you have to at least drop the eccentric superhero act here at home and let me express affection to my own son.”

Ow, that guilt trip hurts.

“Deal,” I stated, then skittered my phone across the table into his grasp. He looked at me questioningly. “Break it. Drive a knife through it, crush it, throw it on the floor and stomp on it a few times... whatever you want to do. Just destroy it.”

Niko frowned, confusion dancing again in the cloud of his emotions as he regarded the device hesitatingly. “Don't you use this for your streaming stuff, Hitoshi? I don't want this silly little experiment to-”

I waved him off, silencing him. “It'll be fine. Worse-case scenario, I have all the latest stuff backed up on my PC. Including my contacts. I can even use an app to make calls, if I need to talk to someone.”

Niko sighed and stared down at the small black rectangle showing off its lockscreen. “I'm not buying you a new one, okay? This is coming out of your pocket.”

“I acknowledge that you will not be buying me a new phone,” I stated with a straight face, my leg beginning to bounce with frustrated and anxious energy. “Now either shatter it into a million pieces or let me start dinner.”

Dad hesitated another long moment and then dropped it on the ground, bringing his slipper-clad heel down on it several times and staring down at it, before pausing and doing so once more for good measure. He blinked, frowning, and looked back up at me. “Okay, I broke it. Now what-”

I quirked an eyebrow, holding up the unblemished smartphone in my right hand, visibly looking it over in faux-puzzlement. Looking back at my father, I frowned at him in mimicry of his own expression. “Are you sure? Seems fine to me.”

Shrugging, I passed it over to him again, letting it slide across the table.

Blistering incomprehension beat down upon the room like the hottest day of summer, sweltering in its intensity. Hand shaking, Niko picked up the phone, swallowing as the same lockscreen lit up. For a long moment, he said nothing as he studied the smartphone, then shook his head as he looked up at me. “You had two of them, right? That's a good trick son, but-”

 I tapped the side of the table where he'd dropped the phone. “Then where are the pieces of the first one?”

Niko blinked, the thought having not occurred to him as he pushed his chair back in a squeal of wood on tile flooring, looking uncomprehendingly down at the clean floor.

Well, mostly-clean. I really need to do some intensive housework. Dad's been better, but the dust is accumulating to the point it could stage an insurrection.

“How... the hell,” Niko muttered, looking between the functioning smartphone and the floor where he'd destroyed it, even going so far as to lift his slipper-clad foot up to stare at fine indentations in the sole of the shoe so great was his disbelief.

My Father looked up at me, an edge of fear and wonder creeping into his aura and body language. “Hitoshi... this isn't part of your quirk, is it? I mean, for all that you can brainwash yourself, apparently, I can't see how-”

I shook my head and held up my hand, the invisible tether that bonded it to my soul going taut at my command, Niko blinking in shock as it teleported from his fingers into my palm. “Soulbound smartphone. Standard issue just in case my superiors need to get in touch with me. Guaranteed internet and cellular service on the material plane no matter your location.”

 Niko blinked. “W-wait. Is that why I've never seen a bill or... how did I not notice that?”

I grimaced slightly. “There's some occupational jargon for it, but unless you're specifically calling people's attention to it, like right now, they don't notice it. They come in different physical interfaces – books, clay tablets, parchment scrolls – depending on the comfort zone of the user, but when some people get deployed to a remote jungle with a stone age tribe or something and they want to keep their smartphone... well, it'd be inconvenient if they burned you as a witch or started deifying you whenever you took a call or listened to music.”

“Y-yeah... I guess it would be,” Niko mumbled, his emotional aura numb and placid. “S-so... you can just call it to you? Whenever you want?”

I shrugged and nodded, activating my trap card. “It's how I was able to call the heroes in when I was kidnapped. Having this-” I tapped the phone against the table lightly. “-means that, save for truly extraordinary situations, I'm never going to be out of contact or unable to call for help.”

Dad set up straighter in his chair, numb shock clearing like clouds before the relief of a sunny sky. “Th-that actually makes me feel a lot better about all this.”

It was supposed to, yes. Ending on a high note will make it less likely for you to spiral.

Again, the manipulation felt like sour sandpaper against my conscience, but-

I blinked as my phone chimed, Niko jumping slightly. “I-is that your-your bosses?”

I gave the older man a deadpan stare as I looked up from the text notification. “It's my girlfriend, Dad.

His face flushed. “O-oh.”

 I frowned as I mentally translated the message. “Maybe I should try for the cryptography specialization on top of linguistics? I get to test in three categories and being able to decode a teenage girl's use of katakana and emoji's has got to count for something.”

Niko snorted, then began openly laughing at the abrupt interjection of unexpected humor.

Thanks, Himiko. I owe you one.

“What's... ah, Toga-chan want? That was her name, right?” Niko asked, still grinning.

“I think she wants to get together for dinner,” I stated, frowning. I'd always hated emojis and the crazy pseudo-language that popped up with their use. Himiko's appeared especially complex, though, inserting kanji in a way that, ah... I nodded as I felt the deeper meaning snap into place. Instead of reading them for their meaning, I shifted to reading the more fundamental figure-based art that went into their original composition.

That's some next-level shit, girl. Why would you... oh, that's a depressing thought.

“You should invite her over,” Dad offered and I nodded, giving a vague hum in response as I twisted my new native script around in my head. “Hitoshi? Go ahead and reply, you shouldn't keep a woman waiting.”

I hummed again, thinking. “One minute, I'm thinking about my reply.”

Niko shook his head with a wan smile. “It's best to just be straightforward, son.”

“I think her parents are reading her texts over her shoulder,” I admitted with a narrowed gaze. “The message has a double-meaning. She wants me to refuse... no, put it off.”

Niko blinked. “That... sounds worrying. Is that normal?”

Making a decision, I began carefully typing out my reply, dipping into the seldom-used repository of colorful shapes and symbols. “For her, yes.”

“What are you saying?” Dad asked, partially rising from his chair.

“Arranging a meetup at a coffee place for the day after tomorrow, citing my internship as taking up too much time. Ugh, emojis,” I grunted, hitting 'send' and shaking my head. “I'm making dinner. Curry okay?”

“Y-yeah, curry's fine son,” my father nodded, cocking his head as his aura shifted to the preoccupied distraction that was so common during his all-nighters. When I glanced up from pulling out dishes, he had his phone in hand and was typing away.

Filling the pot with water, I sighed when I heard my phone chime-

Twice.

Blinking, I snapped it from my pocket to my hand, making no effort to hide the instantaneous motion. Unlocking the device, I blinked as I saw a coded confirmation from Himiko that, to me, was tinged with relief. My use of a version of her own code being a tacit admission that I understood it. The other one was...

I snorted. “Very clever. Love you too, Dad.”

“Not that I entirely believe you, but... I guess it's better safe than sorry.” Niko's aura swelled behind me, full with the weight of well-earned smugness. “Give me some time to think about it.”

That, at least, ended the conversation on a good note. As I made dinner, we continued talking about both my experience with my internship and thoughts on the job offer. My father wanted to go visit the Endeavor Agency in-person to get a better feel for them, but agreed that his more typical video-call approach was probably better. My offer to sit on his side of the call, remaining in our home physically seemed to be both reassuring and touching.

He was still concerned about... well, everything.

But he seemed to be coping well enough.

As I shut my bedroom door behind me, I sighed as I dropped into my computer chair and woke my computer up from sleep. One of my screens was dedicated to the digital library of rumors and modern folklore I'd been scraping from various forums and message boards. Most of it was bunk, of course and sorting through it had taken an algorithm that hadn't previously existed on this Earth as well as a lot of man-hours to double and triple-check the work it had done.

I was looking forward to what I could do with access to Endeavor's databases and the extremely likely possibility I'd soon have access to police cold cases as well.

As it was, I'd had to depend on a combination of news reports and articles, publicly-disclosed missing persons cases, and various public-facing social media accounts to cross-reference against my growing body of investigative leads.

Truly, the internet was as wonderful as it was horrifying.

Finishing my last line of code, I hit 'enter' and watched the system automatically populate a map with various data points.

Leaning back, I pondered the resulting diffusion of potential cases.

My mind's eye overlaid visions of the caped crusader sitting at his titular supercomputer, divinely-appointed investigators looking for inhuman infiltrators, and the brutal training of the Alliance to pinpoint dissident cells.

“Reorganize the spread and sort into color pools during eight-hour periods over the course of the day and night,” I muttered, hands reaching out to begin typing. “Then start overlaying maps. Underlying geography, population density, zoning, villain attacks...”

Literacy rates? Sure, why not. In fact, let's do a mass-download of all available census-derived records from government sites. Those are public-access.

“Why stop there,” I chastised myself with a smirk. “Third-party NGOs just love painting pictures with data to support their causes. Socioeconomic status, subsidized housing maps, childhood hunger programs, immigrant communities, the whole shebang.”

It took another hour, trolling through website after website and downloading all manner of maps, charts, graphs, and assorted other organizations of data. There would be statistical noise, of course; ghosts in the equations created by cross-referencing so many disparate collections of data that you'd eventually find some kind of commonality. It was far, far from perfect and would almost certainly generate several wild-goose chases, but it was also the most thorough approach I could possibly approach this situation given that I was starting from zero.

...and besides, even if some of those 'ghosts' aren't the ones I'm hunting, that doesn't mean they aren't real in their own way. I see you, trigger-distribution network.

In the end, though, I was able to comfortably lean back and nod at the slowly-evolving graphic I'd created, collated with thousands of case numbers and detailed analyses over the past several weeks.

“Now that...” I grinned widely. “That is what we like to call 'actionable intelligence.'”

Contrary to popular convention, though, I made my way to the bath instead of the window. I'd had a long day and earned some rest.

~~~

In what probably shouldn't come as a surprise to many people, here's a second chapter of Mind Games in a row. Join Hitoshi was he has a heart-to-heart conversation with his father, schedules another date with Himiko, and achieves a breakthrough in his research.

Next update will either be The Hand We're Dealt or a chapter of the Marvel Industrious timeline. Not sure which.

Thanks again for your support. Hope everyone's week started out strong.