Xiro Zean
Sloth
Nolan "Chronicle" Reyes
At what point is it appropriate to assume that a storm is coming?
Nolan Reyes' power allowed him to materialize items stored as blueprints in his memory, and ever since triggering, he had managed to obtain a vast, eclectic collection of general-use equipment schematics. The contents of this wide array ranged from the mundane, to the deadly, and even, to the downright peculiar.
Yet for some reason, an umbrella wasn't one of them.
And he didn’t think he’d really need one either; earlier, when he’d left the house, the weather hadn’t looked this bad. But one hour of Sunday morning mass later, and there it was: fuckin’ precipitation.
’Christ.’ Nolan sprinted along the sidewalk, away from the suburban church and towards his aunt and uncle’s house a few blocks away. ’You try to do Mother Nature a solid, and this is how she repays you.’ His jacket was drenched, his hair was dripping, and overall he was just not having a good time as cars raced by, splashing him with dirty puddle water.
It was days like these that he wished he’d drawn a Mover power. Or checked the weather before he left. Unfortunately, there was no changing the past, and besides, he had always been good at improvising. Ducking into a residential side-street lined with garages and backyard fences, Nolan took a quick moment to ensure there were no cameras or people and their cars in range (there weren’t) before materializing his super-suit around himself.
He grinned. Sure it was white and had no hood, but it didn’t matter if this thing ended up super filthy at the end of the day; after all, at the end of the day it would be nothing more than a memory. He adjusted his Protectorate earpiece - dicking around patrolling in costume without it would be bad form, obviously - and set out again.
By the time Nolan reached his subdivision, his projected jacket was weighing heavy on him and looking not very white at all. Again, he headed over to the most isolated place he could find in order to swap outfits. But just as he was about to take off his earpiece, someone from HQ decided to place a call.
“Hey-o. Chronicle here. Whatcha need?”
On the other end of the line, the contact began explaining the whole issue. Something about the gas station across the street from Giorgio’s Italian Steakhouse getting robbed by a villain. The thing that really caught Nolan’s attention was the fact that the person on the other end kind of sounded about as dead inside as he was during classes. He could really empathize with that. There was an awkward pause before Nolan realized the HQ had stopped speaking and was waiting on his response. He tapped his communicator.
“...Erm, yeah I’m on it. Just… Just let me get an umbrella.”
Outside the unlucky little gas station, some combination of PRT and police had arrived to seal off the scene of the crime. This left many drivers low on gas very disgruntled because the closest inner-city gas station was pretty far away. With his ability, Nolan could tell a few of them probably wouldn’t make it given the emptiness of their tanks.
Costume now spotless, pristine and re-summoned, Nolan once-more approached the scene of the crime after patrolling around the area, searching for their mystery wire woman. Unfortunately, clothes fitting the description of the perpetrator’s, large concentrations of metal wire, and that umbrella he said he was going to get earlier were nowhere to be found in the range of his structural analysis field
And thus, Nolan walked over to address the highest ranking PRT officer on scene to pass on the fruits of his labour. In other words, he was about to disappoint yet another adult.
“So uhh... I’m done checking everything out.” The young cape turned his head left and right, looking around with his eyes as if they would reveal anything his structural analysis and the eyes of several bystanders hadn’t. ”I can’t find anyone who could be the gal we’re gunning for. I’ve got a pretty good range on this Thinker ability, so she’s probably gone for good.”
Now left to his own devices, there was an awkward silence about Nolan even as he stood amidst the sounds of the city. He stared across the street, wondering what to do with the rest of his Sunday. Suddenly, an idea struck him. Nolan tapped his earpiece and spoke:
“So... HQ, mind doing me a solid and asking if any of the other Wards are up for a lunch at Giorgio’s?”
The operator - the same dead one from earlier, Nolan noted - gave the expected, professional response to such a query. Luckily, Nolan had a response primed.
“Yeah, yeah. I know I’m not supposed to use this line for personal business. If anyone asks, just call it a team-building exercise or a ‘steak’ out or something.”
There was silence. Nolan took the time to high-five himself for his masterful use of comedy. To bystanders, it looked like he just clapped out of nowhere. What a strange person.
The voice on the other end spoke, and the teenager blinked twice.
"Wait what you’re actually gonna do it?"
From the other side came a confirmation that he would, indeed, "do it".
"Wow I didn't expect that to work. I mean uhh... Thanks a lot, man, I’ll be sure to get you a box of donuts or something whenever I stop by HQ.”
