Missa stops being scary around the fifth time Techno meets him.
You can only really witness a man struggle with changing the radio channel in his car while cursing under his breath in Spanish so many times before it stops being intimidating and becomes vaguely hilarious.
Missa is friendly enough to Techno too, who finds himself in close proximity with the guy more and more often. Phil more or less has 'apprenticed' Techno to Missa for the other man to show him the ropes. Techno wonders if there's nobody better within The Crows to do this, since Missa must be very busy being Phil's right-hand man and all. But maybe Phil prefers it this way because he can keep a close eye on Techno's progress.
There's not a single doubt in Techno's mind that his every move is being reported back to Phil.
At least he's mostly just supposed to stand around and watch Missa work. In a weird way, it genuinely is a promotion compared to what Techno used to do. Missa turns out to be the guy who sends most of the texts to give other people instructions. Sometimes those orders come from Phil himself, other times Missa just seems to know what needs to be done without a word. He keeps track of all their running operations, where their money is and when to get it back, who needs to be beaten up and who needs to be sucked up to. Techno watches in slight horrifying disbelief as Missa arranges a bribe for a major politician in the city. No wonder The Crows don't worry about being arrested.
And when things do go south, Missa is the one who handles the clean-up.
Not that he's going to get his own hands dirty. But he'll get somebody else to do it and stand by to make sure they don't screw up a second time.
"Get rid of this." Missa hands the gun off to a nervous-looking underling, maybe expecting punishment. "If it's ever found by the feds, I'll make sure your corpse won't be."
The underling swallows and nods several times, scurrying off to do just that. Missa sighs, the long-suffering sigh of a man who is tired of dealing with idiots.
"So…" Techno looks away from the corpse growing cold on the floor. Seeing a dead person is not half as shocking the second time around. Or maybe Techno is getting used to this whole murder thing concerningly quickly. "Seems pretty hard to find good crime syndicate personnel these days."
"We only enlist the best," Missa answers sharply. Not unkindly, but convinced.
"And?" Techno prods.
"And even the best sometimes isn't good enough. The Crows have high standards. We can't afford to mess up."
"Yeah, I imagine it's a struggle staying on top with all those other gangs around," Techno says. Missa gestures for Techno to follow him so he does.
"It's not about staying on top." Missa pauses, and a crooked smile forms below the skull mask. "Well, it's not just about staying on top. It's also a matter of survival. If we're not performing adequately, it could cost us our lives. It could cost Phil."
"I get the sense you'd like that not to happen."
One thing Techno has picked up on pretty fast is that Missa is loyal to an almost scary degree. He supposes that's why Phil appointed him as his second in command. This job doesn't leave a lot of room for mistakes, or backstabbing. Phil would need to be able to trust Missa unconditionally.
"If Phil dies, it will only be if I'm also already dead," Missa says seriously.
"...Okay." Techno can respect the ride-or-die attitude but it's a little dramatic.
He checks his phone. It is already well past midnight. He won't have time to finish his homework and at this rate, he'll skip class tomorrow again.
"Phil said he'd like to see you do some gun training," Missa says as they get in the car. Techno sits in the passenger seat these days. He doesn't want to feel like Missa is chauffeuring him around.
"Is that really necessary?" Techno asks. He isn't planning to stick around in The Crows that long. The promotion is one thing, he doesn't mind needing to play bodyguard or drive Phil places or whatever it is they expect from him in the future. All of that stuff Missa does. At least until he gets his degree. But-
"It wasn't a suggestion," Missa says.
"Right. I suppose it wasn't."
"Does tomorrow work for you?" Missa pulls up at Techno's apartment building. It's kind of silly, but Techno realizes suddenly he never told anybody in The Crows his address. But maybe it's better not to worry about that.
"I…" Techno wants to bring up his classes tomorrow. Missa lifts the mask to put it on the now empty passenger seat, since he's also done with work for the day. He's smiling at Techno still.
Some part of Techno wishes he could dislike Missa.
"Sure," he says. He can just make up for any lost credit next week.
The Crows transfer a small fortune into his bank account that night, more than Techno could have earned from months of working a regular job. It's an anonymous payment, untraceable.
Putting most of it into his savings, Techno neglects to put any towards his student debts for a degree he is getting more and more sure he's never going to earn if this continues.
"Have you ever shot a gun before?"
Missa has brought him to a shooting range. Techno almost thinks it's one of those normal places, used by hobbyists and disillusioned doomsday preppers. Except the man behind the counter nods at Missa suspiciously and closes the door behind him, latching it with a heavy lock.
Not for the first time, Techno wonders if this is all a convoluted plot to steal his organs.
"Techno?" Missa asks when Techno is too busy fantasizing about how pathetic his funeral will be with no friends or family to attend.
"A couple of times," Techno says. And at Missa's continued staring, he feels forced to elaborate. "My dad thought hunting built character."
Techno's dad also thought beatings were the best form of punishment for disobedient children. If he was alive, Techno's dad would think Techno's desire to go into literature is a sign that he had failed at parenting him right.
His father thought a lot of bad things. And that's why Techno tries not to think about him anymore.
"That's good," Missa says, making Techno grimace.
"So you're going to teach me how to shoot?" Techno asks. The shooting range is lit up but empty. The Crows must pay for private use between certain hours.
"Oh no, I hate guns," Missa laughs. "They're noisy and they smell… metallic? A mierda." Missa stops at the edge of a table. There are a few different handguns displayed on it. "Also, the recoil broke my nose once."
Techno tries not to lose it at that confession. Something about one of The Crows' top members messing up so badly they launched a gun at their own face feels oddly comforting. And at least very in character for Missa, who once almost faceplanted in front of Techno while tying his laces. You'd almost start to wonder what Phil sees in the guy.
But Techno also wonders what Phil sees in him.
"Then who is going to teach me?" he asks.
"He is."
Wilbur is wearing the same stupid yellow sweater and dramatic trench coat as the day Techno saved his life. Either he never washes his clothes or he has several copies of the exact same outfit in his wardrobe.
Techno hopes it's the latter option because… ew?
"Techno, there you are!" Wilbur greets him with the enthusiasm of an old friend. Despite this being the second time they ever met and the first time they barely exchanged more than ten words. When Wilbur throws up his arms, Techno almost thinks he's about to pull him into a hug and automatically takes a step back. But it turns out Wilbur is just really into big gesticulation.
"You weren't trailed when getting here, right?" Missa asks.
"Yes, I checked." Wilbur rolls his eyes and then throws Techno a smirk that's meant to convey some sense of 'Can you believe this guy?'. Techno does believe Missa. Being tracked is probably a bad thing for The Crows.
"Did you-"
"I did." Wilbur grabs a handgun from the table and tosses it at Techno, who catches it in both hands while Missa flinches next to him.
"Fucking- Wilbur?!" Missa yelps.
"Oh, calm down, it's not even loaded." Wilbur chuckles. Missa flips him off before walking away, back towards the exit. Either to stand guard or continue with his other tasks.
Techno watches him go, almost wishing he'd stay so he doesn't feel trapped with a lunatic.
"If that one's too heavy for you, we could try a 9mm," Wilbur says. He picks up a similar gun himself.
"I'll manage," Techno answers, flipping the handle over into one hand. All his fidgeting in middle school is finally paying off. Wilbur nods, pleased.
"Do you know how to shoot a gun?"
Techno shrugs. "Only hunting rifles."
"Rifles?" Wilbur looks at him. "Don't tell Dad, he'll make you try out for the sniper position."
Techno remembers the red dot dancing across concrete, how loud the shattering of glass had been. "Like the guy that almost shot you?" he asks.
"Like the guy who missed by a mile because of you," Wilbur says.
The words are meant as a compliment but they make Techno feel a little apprehensive. Not in a million years is he going to wish he'd let Wilbur die, he's not that callous. But he does wish he'd known beforehand what consequences such a simple action would have.
"Thanks for that, by the way," Wilbur continues. "Though your bedside manner could improve some."
"My bedside manner?" Techno raises an eyebrow, watching as Wilbur starts loading his gun and following his example to do the same. It's not too different from a rifle yet.
"Yeah, you did tackle me quite roughly instead of simply pulling on my arm to get me out of the line of fire or something. Maybe we can work on that."
Techno can't tell if Wilbur is being serious or not. Probably not. But thinking back to the caviar thing, he can see where Wilbur inherited his weird sense of humor. "Next time I'll tap your shoulder and say 'excuse me' before saving your life. Oh, wait, then you'd just be dead."
Wilbur laughs again. It's similar to Phil's laugh also, a bit deeper and more melodic. Like a song. Unlike Phil, it has the peculiar ability to make Techno feel at ease. He thought this would be a lot more awkward but it actually feels pretty chill.
"Right, let's get down to it." Wilbur gets serious again, walking over to where the targets are set up behind a little counter almost. Techno has never been to a shooting range before but the movies are spot on in their depiction. Except that Wilbur ignores the ear protectors.
Wilbur braces his stance with his feet slightly asymmetrical, one more forward than the other and bending his knees an inch or so. His arms are outstretched but not rigid. Techno mimics the position.
"Don't get all nervous or you'll clench your muscles automatically. The gun won't shoot unless you pull the trigger, so you're the one in control." Wilbur holds the gun up. "Don't close one eye to stare down the barrel-"
Before he can finish the sentence, Techno shoots. Three shots in quick succession, then he has to stop because his wrists ache. It's been a while, he's not used to the kickback anymore. It's worse on a handgun than a rifle too, since the shock isn't spread over the same amount of metal.
But his aim is as good as ever, with three gaping holes left in the paper target over its head, heart, and spleen.
"Jesus Christ!" Wilbur shouts, loud enough that even the vague ringing in Techno's ears doesn't drown it out.
"I don't need all the explainin'" Techno says. "It's not that hard."
"I thought you said you'd only ever shot rifles?" Wilbur asks, flabbergasted.
"So?"
"Oh, Dad is going to flip," Wilbur says. At seeing Techno's mildly startled expression he waves his hand. "In a good way. He'll be so elated to have found a prodigy."
"I'm not a prodigy," Techno says quickly. Somehow, the word leaves a better taste in his mouth. Maybe because it reminds him of his mother.
"Well, you're definitely a natural when it comes to shooting. And that's a plus in this business." Wilbur aims again and shoots. It's a little low, ending up in the throat region rather than the headshot he was attempting to get.
"You're not bad at it either," Techno offers lamely. He's never had many friends but he feels like complimenting people is a secret small talk hack that neurotypical people always bring up.
"It's not as impressive if you've been trained since birth," Wilbur says, the air of casualness with which he says it betrays how he doesn't feel it's an odd thing.
Techno - on the other hand - can't imagine being born into a crime syndicate.
"Can I ask you a question?" he hears himself say without a second thought.
Wilbur hums, raising his arms to fire a couple more times. Techno waits until the chamber is empty.
"If you're Phil's son, why were you at that warehouse in the first place?"
Looking at him with mild surprise, Wilbur lowers the gun. "What do you mean?"
"It doesn't seem smart for the more important members of The Crows to go to high-stakes stuff like that. It's risky."
For a moment longer, Wilbur keeps that eye contact. In contrast to Phil's icy blue eyes that exude a potential for cruelty not mirrored in any other physical trait that man possesses, Wilbur's eyes are warm and brown. Yet they speak to the same kind of cunning consideration. Like Techno needs to keep looking over his shoulder forever. Wilbur's lips stretch into a wide grin. As if Techno did something he likes a lot.
"I enjoy a more hands-on approach to business than my father," Wilbur says. "At least for now, as I'm figuring some stuff out. And it's fine because Missa was there." It sounds like Phil's trust in his second in command is shared by his son.
"He did seem quite protective over you," Techno mutters, looking away. He impulsively raises the gun and pulls the trigger again. Yup, still a better shot than Wilbur.
"He's been around since I was a little kid, practically helped raise me. It's like having a second dad," Wilbur says. "Though, perhaps I should not complain. It's better than having no family at all."
Techno tenses his shoulders. It could not be a coincidence that Wilbur would bring that up.
"Are we done here?" he asks coldly.
He can feel Wilbur's gaze on him. Lingering, studying him. Techno does not move.
Then an exhale, the metallic click of Wilbur putting the gun down. "Missa will be at the exit to let you out."
When he's in the shower that night, Techno's phone gets multiple messages. He can hear each buzz that disturbs the playlist he has on in the background. He ignores it at first, finally checking who is so desperate to reach him when he's all done and trying to catch up to a tiny fraction of his college assignments that he's been neglecting.
It's Phil's number.
Worse, it's a dinner invite for the next day.
Techno tactfully declines, citing his classes as the reason. The 'promotion' has already been disrupting his personal life enough as it, making him behind on everything from grocery shopping to cram sessions. Sure, he has a lot of money now and won't need to worry about the rent for a while, but what use is it if he gets entangled more and more in The Crows' activities? He needs to make sure he can disconnect from the entire thing eventually, right?
Maybe some other time, Phil texts back.
Techno turns off his phone for the first time in years.
That lasts about a day.
He has his phone turned on again because, well, he can't keep it off forever just to dodge his boss. Is Phil his boss? Maybe Phil was always his boss but it feels more like he's Techno's boss now than it did before.
Man, this is giving Techno a headache.
He's tired because he feels like he hasn't slept through the night in a while. He used to get tasks from The Crows about once or twice a week. Now Missa is instructing Techno to come with him every other day at least. What he has to do might be more observational than physically strenuous, it isn't doing his already messy sleep schedule many favors.
"Mister Blade?" his professor's crisp voice cuts through the lecture hall like a hot knife through butter. With voice projection like that, she should really have become an opera singer or something.
"Huh?" Techno says. Because he is always so eloquent.
"You were yawning so widely, I assumed you were trying to answer my question about the first forms of democracy as seen in early prehistoric societies," she says. Techno clenches his fist, ignoring the few giggles from other students.
At that exact moment, Techno's phone goes off. When turning it back on, he'd forgotten to put it on 'do not disturb' again. The upside is that it saves him from needing to answer his professor. The downside, obviously, is that she's not very pleased with his phone going off in the middle of a lecture.
Techno pulls it out and declines the call. It's Missa. He also has several texts from the same number.
"Do you mind if I continue or would you like to keep us in suspense a bit longer?" his professor asks, though her already turning back to the laptop she has set up to show her slideshow implies it's a rhetorical question. Techno shakes his head slightly, feeling the cell phone continue to vibrate in his hand.
It's another text. A single word, from Phil this time.
Emergency.
Techno shoves his books into his bag and stands up, knowing there is zero chance he can escape the room unnoticed so he just takes the L and scoots from his seat, realizing this will come back to bite him when they mark attendance. Overall, his professors are rather lax when students don't show up to class, it's university after all. But coming to class, then disturbing said class with your phone and heading out in the middle of a lecture…
Yeah, Techno is screwed.
Not as screwed as he could be if he ignored Phil's urgent business though. He hurries down the halls, brushing past people in his haste. His hair is a mess, Techno didn't have time to comb or braid it this morning because he overslept so he just threw it into a bun and called it a day. It's almost completely undone from the hair tie by the time he's taking the stairs out front of the building, seeing the sleek black car Missa usually drives pull up almost instantly. Either his timing is impeccable, or the other man was waiting ominously around the corner. Whichever the case, Techno wastes no time getting inside.
Missa pulls into traffic, struggling to adjust the dial on the radio again. He's using the hand that's missing a finger. Techno reaches over to change the station, knowing by now what kinds of music Missa prefers to listen to.
"What's going on?" he asks eventually, voice strained from the rushing. Missa doesn't seem very pressed to elaborate.
"Oh, nothing," he says.
Techno opens his mouth and closes it again. The inside feels very dry, tongue sticking to his soft palette. "Nothing?"
"It was a test," Missa explains. "Congrats on passing it."
Something pretty darn close to anger flares alive in Techno's chest. Only for a second, before being extinguished by how hopelessly tired he feels. He sags into the fancy leather seat, rubbing some hair from his eyes. "Are you serious?"
"Dead serious." Missa grins at him. "But while you're here, I need to pick up some stuff. You'll come with me, right?"
It's not like Techno can go back to class after all that. He shrugs, resigned. He needs a nap.
"Oh, and Phil wanted me to extend an invitation," Missa continues gleefully. "Dinner tonight? He insists."
Techno needs to tell them.
He's staring at the marble columns that line the outside of Phil's house - Really? Marble? - and he's trying to hype himself up. He needs to do the worst thing imaginable for somebody like Techno: polite confrontation. Thank Phil for his help, make sure to express how grateful he is for the opportunity, and then gently let Phil down that maybe the whole promotion thing isn't for him. That he only has a year and a half of school left before he wants to stop the crime life forever, so he should start looking into things that might look better on his resume.
He watches Missa press down on the perfectly polished brass of the doorbell, then waits for the heavy oak door to open.
Techno knows where Phil lives now. He knows where the most wanted man in the city lives.
Wilbur ushers them inside, all smiles and kind words. Techno woke up with a headache and that debacle in class followed by an afternoon spent with Missa hasn't improved how he feels. He's exhausted, dizzy. Maybe he has a cold coming on. Maybe he's having some kind of weird, extended panic attack.
Wilbur's hand finds a place on his back and doesn't leave as they're led into a dining room more fit for a vampire novel than a modern mansion.
The table is set for five. Phil is already in his seat, at the head of the table as would be befitting of his role in the family. Wilbur gently (though without allowing any refusal) pulls Techno down in the chair next to his.
Phil has stood up to greet Missa. Techno catches the tail end of their conversation. "-if you want to stay. Kristin can't make it so we have an extra plate."
"No, I have some stuff to finish up. But I got your request taken care of."
"Great, thanks."
"You drink wine, right?" Wilbur doesn't wait for Techno to answer before starting to pour him a glass. Like father, like son, he supposes. Techno blinks at him. "What's wrong?" Wilbur asks.
Techno shakes his head. "Nothing."
"Are you overwhelmed?" Wilbur smiles. "I can imagine it's a lot for somebody of your background."
Techno almost bites his tongue, that same spark of annoyance quickly snuffed out because he's in the lion's den now so he should know better. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means I'm trying to make you comfortable," Wilbur says. Squinting a little, Techno picks up his wine glass and downs it in one go.
He hopes this bottle was extremely expensive, the sort of wine that costs thousands of dollars. He hopes it irks Wilbur that he doesn't savor it.
"You think implying you've been doing background checks on me is comforting?" he asks after a moment.
"We're not implying it," Wilbur corrects. "We don't hide things from you, do we?"
It sounds like a trick question. Techno notices Phil has left the room. So he feels comfortable speaking more freely as he puts the glass back down. "No, it just sounds like you look down on me."
Techno is not ashamed of the crap he had to endure, but he's too prideful to let others think lesser of him for it. Or worse: pity.
"No, definitely not." Wilbur's expression softens into this odd mixture of regret and tenderness that makes Techno clench his jaw. "I'm sorry," he says. "I didn't mean to offend you. I was trying to be welcoming."
"Why?"
Before Wilbur can answer Phil returns. Not only him, but he has a kid with him.
He looks like a teenager at best, maybe sixteen or so. He's too busy scrolling on his phone to really notice Techno, even as he takes the seat opposite him. The one empty chair between the boy and Phil is presumably for the woman Phil mentioned - Kristin - who couldn't make it tonight.
"Tommy," Phil says sharply. "Can you at least have the fucking decency to greet our guest?"
Techno is uncomfortably thrown back to a childhood of having his father yell at him for failing to uphold unspoken social norms that seem to come to other people easily. But Phil doesn't sound angry, closer to humor than anything. And the kid named Tommy kind of glares at Phil over the phone's screen before looking at Techno.
"What's up, big man?" He doesn't wait for a response before going back to doing his thing.
"You're terrible," Wilbur says.
"They're dropping the pre-order link for the collector's edition any moment now, I'm not missing out," Tommy bites back stubbornly.
Wilbur rolls his eyes. "And whose credit card will be paying for that, do you think?"
"Probably Phil's," Tommy says. "Because he gets all pissy when I steal yours."
"Yeah, cause you're a brat. And you don't even know how to make the purchase untraceable."
"I'm a brat because I don't want to talk to Phil's stuffy business partners?" Tommy asks. He gives Techno another look then. "No offense."
"None taken," Techno assures. Mostly because he can't take offense to anything when he has no clue what's going on.
"Tommy," Phil says, clearing his throat a bit. "This is Techno."
All at once the phone is dropped into Tommy's lap. The change in his attitude is so sudden and extreme Techno kind of feels like he stepped through a mirror into a parallel world. Tommy beams at him, eyes scanning Techno for something. Whatever he finds must be a good thing because he looks so happy. Techno swallows, regretting suddenly he downed his wine. He would sure love to hide behind his glass.
"What the fuck, you said he couldn't make it," Tommy complains, turning to Phil again. "Now I made a shit first impression."
"Is there any other kind of impression you can make?" Wilbur asks, getting a poisonous glare from the boy in return.
"Originally, Techno declined the invite. But we got lucky, Missa managed to impose on his time." Phil smiles pleasantly as if the entire thing wasn't orchestrated by him.
Techno is starting to think hypocrisy also runs in the family.
Speaking off, with all the bickering, Techno has to assume Tommy is Wilbur's brother or something. Adopted maybe, since they don't look anything alike and he called Phil by his first name.
"And a good thing it is. He's part of the family now, that's what we're celebrating today."
Wait, what did Phil just say?
"I don't think your schedule will be much of an issue going forward either," Phil goes on, heedless of Techno's confusion when he addresses him. "After a call with the university, it was no problem to arrange a better curriculum for you. Fewer classes so you don't have to waste your time."
"Isn't this just wonderful?" Wilbur reaches out and squeezes his shoulder. Techno barely feels it. It's like he's numb.
"Is it?" he asks, voice pinched.
"Yeah, we'll get to hang out all the time," Tommy says happily.
"I don't-" Techno swallows, the wine remaining bitter on his tongue. "Is this part of the promotion?"
"Of course!" Phil picks up his own glass. "I won't be young forever, Techno."
"You're already old," Tommy adds but goes ignored.
"Once I hand over the business to Wilbur, he'll need somebody to stand beside him. Like Missa does for me. Somebody that he can trust."
"Like a brother," Wilbur says, squeezing again.
Lightheaded, Techno is now certain it's a delayed internal panic attack. Oh.
"I'm not retiring quite yet," Phil adds quickly. "But it's nice that you get to learn the ropes already. Get familiar with how things work, all of that crap. Plus, with how much those two get in trouble," he indicates his two sons, "they'll treasure having you around."
"I need to-" Techno doesn't finish the sentence, pushing his chair back from the table to get up. His legs are unsteady as he stumbles to the door. He'd think they drugged the wine if his own hyperventilating wasn't proof enough this is his mind working against him, turning a swirl of thoughts into a bludgeon against his temple.
Techno makes it out the door and into the hallway, before Wilbur catches him.
Firm fingers clasping around his wrist at first and Techno has half an instinct to punch but Wilbur takes his other elbow too, pulling Techno against him. After a concerningly long three seconds, Techno realizes he's being forced into a hug.
He'd probably still fight against it if he wasn't disassociating so much he couldn't get his muscles to obey.
"It's okay to be scared," Wilbur says softly.
A bit of an understatement. Techno isn't scared, he's terrified. The one thing he's been working towards for the past three years, his whole life, is being flushed down the drain without him being able to put in any objections.
Especially as Wilbur then pulls back and looks down at him. "We know you never had a family before. We know about your parents."
Techno feels sick to his very stomach.
"But you'll see, you can get used to it. And you can be happy," Wilbur says. So full of conviction that's the issue. Not the fact that Techno's life is getting hijacked. "We can take care of you," Wilbur promises.
And with one hand on his back, he starts to lead Techno back to the dining room.