Three months. It takes three months to get my Father to finally speak to me again. I'm outside and it's cold as a bastard. The wind is cutting past my long sleeved Capsule Corp. t-shirt like razor blades. I'm laying on top of our house, back against the curving metal and my training boots propped up on the antennae box. Father left three hours ago and as usual he's trying to do the right thing. Boring, sure, but all the same, my day is going kind of nice.

My life up until now was never that exciting. I never had to wonder whether some opponent was about to try and sever one of my limbs, jump at shadows, or fear of someone hunting me down. But I sure as hell been in battle. I know from experience all the weak points of the anatomical body. Spar hours on end with a man who's power could kill me. I can feel where a life force has been by sensing the heat trails they left behind. Detect the life force of a single ant eight meters in the ground. Reboot a long deactivated kinetically rechargeable power terminal and execute a low-level diagnostic program. But what's the point in learning all that if I'm never going to use it?

I lick the scar on my lip. He's never hit me in the face before.

Here it is, the day before I turned fourteen. The day it happened. My tongue grazes the 'birthday present' Father gave me constantly. I was wrong and I know it, but somehow I can't admit to regret it.

...

Father doesn't know I'm in here. But I sense his energy lingering closer and closer. I won't be long now. From where I'm standing, three feet away there should be a light switch. I can feel the heat from the wires in the walls lead me to it. With my fingers, I fumble the wall until I hit the button for the light.

Zink

He's coming home now. I'm sure of it. No sweat. As I trespass into my father's room, I use the breathing trick to be methodical, just like him. He must've rubbed off on me over the years.

Funny, I think when the chamber illuminates. With no hesitation, I tear into the room. It's clean as hell beside the long crack crawling up the wall. This is the first time I've ever been in here. All these years, he's locked it up as if he was hiding something. I was almost speechless when I found the light above the door glowing faintly green when Father left. I don't know what I was expecting, but Father's room looks as if it's never been inhabited. He was always a robust, wholesome man, but still. My natural instincts kick in and I feel like snooping deeper into his chamber. I ignore the growing, but faint energy of my father. That was a mistake.

"Oh man, this is molto pessimo." I whisper to myself with sarcasm. Even the slightest detail I need to assume that I father will notice, so I move gently across the room. The chamber looks exactly like mine except for the steel bars covering my narrow windows. Lacquered wooden floors, spotless. I look down at a trash bin with the word Capsule Corp. embossed on it. I take a closer observation of the few pieces of furniture in the room. Everything but the bed in here is coated with a fine layer of dust. I stop and look at the short table shoved against the wall. Socks, boots, pants, shirts, gloves, knee pads, earplugs, bandages, space blankets, belts, and other stuff I don't even recognize are clattered neatly on top. I'm guessing this is what Father brings with him in those dino caps every time he lifts off and leaves.

Bingo.

I find the container sitting in the nightstand with I slide it open. I squat down to it. I sense that this thing is important. It's gotta be if it's in here, locked up and such. A whole lot of grey and nothing stares back at me. No buttons or handles. No anything. Simply a slit bisecting the container. Yet another questionable thing I add to my mental list of my Father.

Now I'm thinking that whatever this thing holds is something Father didn't want me to find. Beautiful.

I lean in closer. With my index finger and thumb, I mash the container up and into my palm. Light weight. Even more secretive. The longer I hold it, I notice it heating up. Computerized. Those circuits are warming up as the box awakens. The mystery of the cube deepens even more.

"Hello?" I say stupidly.

Zink.

I drop to one knee. I've been ignoring his energy so long that it hits me when he finally arrives. Father is home. Crud.

I'm smart enough to know I don't have any time to escape. I frown and set my jaw and look back at the cube in my palm. I toss it back into it's drawer like acid. If acid could hurt me, anyways.

My quickened mind thinks up two ways out of this homicidal situation.

One: Tell him the truth. It'll either get me nowhere or he'll get embarrassed for mistakenly leaving his room unlocked enough to simply throw me out of his room. Impossible to be pulled off.

Two: Run out the house and out fly Father. VERY unlikely, but maybe I could take the opportunity to impress him? Always gotta find a little light in the bad situation of things.

I'm going to go with the second one, naturally. Better survival rate.

I dampen my energy, just in case it makes any difference. I hold my breath, without knowing and quick walk to the door. Half way across the room, my mind aches with more pangs of his energy. Rising and rising. I press my finger around the door handle and exhale slowly. I slide it open, squinting my eyes as he space between me and my freedom widens.

I was terribly mistaken.

Father grabs my arm right when we meet eyes. He shoves the rest of the sliding door in the wall and he swings me to the side. Without hesitation the jerk punches me in the mouth. My right upper canine cuts a clean gash in my bottom lip. My head smacks the floor with a snap when I fall back. He's still standing, but I just touch my lip with my finger; it comes away bloody.

"I thought it was never in the face," I say, panting clouds.

"You are not supposed to be in here, boy." Father says, doing his best not to punch my face in probably.

I know this already. It's how he's always been. Still, I'm kind of stunned. He's never hit me in the face before.

My father's dark, shadowy eyes are trained my my mouth, calculating how much damage there was. He blinks and looks away. Nothing serious, I guess.

I licked the blood off my lip. Gross.

...

And I never heard another thing out of him since then until today. Still haven't the slightest idea what's in that cube of his.

The horizon bleeds red as the sun goes down. For about three seconds I lie still, listening to the wind. Best not to jump out of a comfy spot right away. The magazine under my head continues to crack loud noises as the pages flip wildly. I've been perusing that same read for about four months now. Can't say I like reading the same old thing in my free time. It's of some 'Mother Monthly Guide' trash. Talking about how all teenagers are practically the same, shit like that. Before the silent period, I used to sneak in little questions that I had of it to Father. Grades, shopping, and parkswere the only topics he said anything significant about.

Finally the annoying cold convinces me to head inside. Better catch a nap while Father's gone.

Still, I'm stunned at the random speaking up of him.

"You're going Super Saiyan when I get back, son."

Damn it.