One Shot Man
BlackoutMatty Morrican, Blackout
Matty should have been in his element. The man on the ground first, hood up but skeleton hoodie open, mask not yet on. Pacing, watching… and stewing about this morning.
Ever since Uncle Tony died, the Wraith had become more paranoid and protective of his son than ever. The word ‘curfew’ had never been said outright, but it was pretty much what his Dad was doing. It made it really hard for Matty to have any sort of life at all, given he needed to make time for homework, Drama Club, his exploits as Blackout… and, dare he say it, having a girlfriend, all as well as getting home on time. It was time for it to stop. It had been a week now, surely that was enough?
As it turned out, his Dad had disagreed with Matty’s view on things.
Which led to a shouting match.
Which led to Matty storming out of the house early, spurning his usual ride to school.
And that, at present, including the precise words he used as he left, was now making him the world’s worst point man.
He was tired, distracted… and this wasn’t a place to be either.
It didn't help matters that your dad had got it into his head that the girl you like is called "Sally" and keeps referring to her in awkward-dad moments. He even suggested you invite her over for dinner -- although whether that's so he can gather information about her, or so that you're off the streets and behind bulletproof glass as much as possible, you can't tell. He even had a tailor come to the house to fit you for a new black suit since the old one that you wore the last time a Pavone got knocked off is too small for you now. You can tell he's under a lot of stress but he doesn't want to let on to you -- and you can't let on how much you really know about it. It makes for a lot of long, moody silences on the drives to school, which he has been insisting on doing lately.
Right now, you can see other young people in hoodies going in and out of the Jungle, a little like bees in a hive, if the hive were made out of old tents and tarps. It's not really very much like a beehive, in fact. Even Shakespeare couldn't make that metaphor work. But you figure that you could slip in there easily enough, just one more kid in a hoodie, if you had a plan about what to do after that. What do you do?