Episode 17

                                    

                                          
            
                          
"Hey, Otis. How are those eyes-in-the-sky upgrades coming along?" Tinker yelled as soon as he rolled into the Workshop. He had a plastic bag with the logo of the corner noodle shop. I could already smell my curry udon as he unloaded the containers onto the work bench.
                          
"I think I finally got the feeds from the different cameras to synchronize. That should give a 360 degree image, if you can get the software to stich them correctly." I set the All Star MiniDrone ™ I had been working down on a side table and grabbed my cup of deliciousness and a pair of chopsticks. "How's the suit coming?"
                          
"Bah! Did you see the design that Barney sent down?" Barney Yamada was the current Air Jet's real name. Tinker was the original Air Jet from the 1970's. When he retired in 1987 he passed the battle suit to Kinugasa Tomoaki. 'Tomo' wore the suit until 2008, when Barney took over. Tinker still made periodic upgrades to the suit. So its tech was not only customized for the wearer's own powers, it was as bleeding edge as possible. "I've seen fewer stars and stripes at an American parade."
                          
Air Jet had sent down a design that was a cross between the Original Armstrong, All Might, and an American flag. Garish was the best I could say about it, and that just because I liked my job. And pushy boss aside, I was surprised to find I really did like working at the agency.  
                          
Tinker was great. I had a new role model who encouraged me to get into trouble in his fully-equipped super-tech lab. Geek heaven! And Crimson Riot? For some reason he was expecting any son of Captain Strongarm, as he called my paternal unit, to be ... well ... almost exactly like my brother and sister actually were. He turned out to be surprisingly cool once I convinced him I was not my brother. He still made me do his paper work, but mostly that was filling out blank timecards from his non-existent patrols. Took about ten minutes to catch up with his three month back log. Copy and paste is your friend. 
                          
"But if you remove the cape, change the colors to dark green and rust, close up the open chest super v-neck, and get rid of all the armor plating it is not a bad design. Just need to add my bandoleers and the reticle mask." I said, showing him my revised design. He looked it over and started clucking. 
                          
"Are you sure about losing the armor. Even bricks can use extra protection. And you're such a skinny punk. A little steel plating to bulk you up. Adds to the intimidation factor too."
                          
"You forget, I don't want anything between me and incoming impacts. I need to touch things to absorb their energy. Same reason I can't have gloves. I need the touch."
                          
"What about boots?" 
                          
"Build them with an impact transmitting material that still adds to my traction for acrobatics."
                          
"Could make armor plates out of the same substance."
                          
"Sort of defeats the purpose of them being armor then."
                          
"Not if the plate are insulated against electricity, heat, cold, and other energy types you can't absorb. Neh?" He quickly copied and revised my design sketch. After a moment he had a product that looked professional, yet had a certain something that just cried out hardcore.
                          
  "Ok...you win. That look's great. Far better than anything I could do. I bow to the master." And I did. He just waved me away and started transferring the design in to the fabricator.  I silently ate my yummy noodles and watched the master at work. 
                          
Later I was in the gym with Crimson Riot. "Regular, even constant, training is an essential part of every pro hero's existence. Most agencies of any size have a gym or a dojo. Some are built around that centerpiece." He punched a heavy bag, rocking it on its chain. Despite your strength you need a lot more work on your basic combat skills." He spun, kicking my feet out from under me, then grabbed me as I fell and tossed me across the room. I landed on a pile of futons with a dull thud. "And you're dead."