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It was his second week of working at GeekSquad, and Parker already felt like a complete and utter sell-out to technophiles everywhere. The freshly starched black pants and stiff white collar of his uniform didn't help either. The only glimmer of hope seemed to be his manager: a portly man with squinting eyes and the unusual habit of announcing his vocal pauses louder than the words of importance. ("UM... could you UM check for some MacBook batteries AHEM in back, Parker?") It took a little getting used to, but to his own surprise, Parker actually didn't hate the new job, shamed as he might feel.

The paycheck helped a lot with that.

After telling a dozen weepy DCU students that their computers had to be wiped and restored that afternoon, Parker finally made it to his break. Thank God. He hopped out from behind the royal blue counter of the GeekSquad corner of Best Buy and made a beeline for the camera section. His employee discount officially made shopping at Best Buy a hell of a lot more attractive.

Parker hadn't moved any of his stuff into the apartment he and Tate signed a lease for in East Heights. He'd wanted to a dozen times, but he couldn't do it until he photographed the entire place to prove preexisting damage for the future move-out date. It was hard to take pictures with a broken camera. He could blame his ill-fated "discover senshi identities" for that one. Now it just seemed ironic, given his own freshly-discovered magical alter ego.

A lot had changed for Parker recently, and for once, he actually thought it might be for the better.

Slipping past a pair of junior high students stuffing DVDs into their oversized pants, Parker peeked his head down the camera aisle, determined to find the perfect camera. Well. At least the most perfect one he could find in his thirty minutes of free time.

When it came to Dylan Rasmussen, Parker felt indifference teetering toward positivity. The blond boy had a familiar face, and not for the reasons he knew most faces at Hillworth -- not from the moments before the locker door slammed shut, or pressed nose-to-nose before a fight, or barking for him to stop being so ******** weird.

Dylan was just another buzzing fly in the computer lab, and during school hours, so was Parker. Dylan was rumored to be just as unstable as Franz St. Germaine and twice as medicated, but Parker had only seen a guy enthusiastic about design and weird movies. What was so bad about that? The rumors about Parker weren't much better. At least they could pronounce Rasmussen. Parker got to hear -- GODAMMIT, DAMMIT! PICK UP THE PACE! -- screamed from across the football field mid-run. Dylan might not be a friend, but he wasn't an enemy either.

His excellent fashion sense did not hurt. Parker examined the unicorns only briefly, tugging at the straight black tie that cut his torso in half like a domino. If given the option, he'd switch. It might help him feel like less of a tool. Or at least a different kind of tool. Maybe a better tool. Like a hack saw.

Parker raised his eyebrows and let out a half-hearted sigh. "I sold my soul for a paycheck," he said, tapping the edge of a Samsung camcorder. It sat on a display rack next to a handful of others. Bright monitors stared back at the two boys, projecting wherever the lens pointed. He flipped the cap off of the nearest camcorder with a finger. "I couldn't resist the uniform. I've always wanted to look like a mortician's assistant." Derision seeped into the words, not the light-hearted bounce of the silver-tongued.

The camcorder beamed at the wall directly in front of the lens and projected the words "SUKK MY a**!!!" in blue pen on the monitor. Apparently someone had been feeling artistic in the camera aisle. Parker smirked, but didn't shut it off. "What brings you to the big blue and yellow castle, Dylan? I thought Killingworth would have you running laps until your toes bled for the afternoon." Parker moved over a step, eying the smattering of square boxes covered in images of identical-looking cameras.

Dylan had an ease about him that Parker could never hope to carry, even if he had a bucket and seventeen hands. Parker was as socially graceful as Dylan was the next Frank Sinatra. It just wasn't happening.

Parker smiled as amicably as he was capable of smiling and focused on following Dylan's flitting train of thought, eyes still searching the camera boxes. He was in the aisle for a reason, after all, conversation or not. "Destiny City's weird s**t would march into a church tea party," he said, lifting up a Nokia box and reading over the label. "I think that happened. I think that was a headline." Two weeks ago, Parker would have bitched about the many attempts on his life by nega and youma alike, but today, he was also Sailor Taranis, Senshi of Sand. A low profile seemed like a better idea.

"Could be real. But what would it matter? Hearing a voice won't change anything." There had been plenty of impersonation videos of senshi fighting, senshi killing citizens, senshi ********, senshi dancing on the roof of Forever 18. It was impossible to know what was real, and just as impossible to know what was fake. Now Parker had a better idea of what the senshi's goals were. He could eliminate "killing citizens" from that list, at the very least.

Parker put the Nokia back. The resolution wasn't good enough for the price. He turned to Dylan. "I'd have to see the video to make a decision, and this is the first I'm hearing of it." Parker hadn't been as diligent about his computer use. He was putting more of his diligence into that whole secret-crime-fighter thing he had going on. Sort of important. "I'm in the same boat. I lost my camera. In a subway evacuation." A lie. Parker dropped it out of a tree while attempting to capture a photograph of a hulking negaverse agent. It turned out to be a trashcan silhouetted by streetlights.

No way in hell would he share that with Dylan.

Parker watched Dylan pick up the camera. He tried to spy on the contents of the yellow tag, but couldn't from where he was standing. Of what little he knew of his blond peer, Parker had seen Dylan work with photo manipulation and graphic design in the computer lab. He'd caught him coming out of the dark room in the photo lab, eyes squinted against the bright fluorescents. In short, Parker knew that Dylan knew a thing or two when it came to cameras, or at least photography. Those things had to go hand in hand, didn't they? If he could glean any tips without directly asking, then this afternoon would get even better.

Parker couldn't afford a car either. There weren't many at Hillworth who could, and those that did own their own won instant popularity. A part of Parker wanted to struggle to buy one just so he could watch the piranhas gather to feed. He wouldn't be as quick to forgive their past indiscretions against him. It was nice to imagine their disappointed faces. "I've always ridden the subway," he said, moving closer to where Dylan inspected the cameras on display. "I don't think driving would make DC any safer. In a car you're alone, an easier target." Parker picked up a small dark blue digital and turned it over in his hand.

He completely avoided the subject of parents. On that end, Parker had nothing to offer. It only got worse when Dylan used the same nickname his dearly incarcerated dad used on him. "Don't call me Parks," he said stiffly. Dylan hadn't meant anything by it, and it was a strange reaction, strange enough for even Parker to realize. So he vomited out someone else's words in an attempt to ease the situation: "The surest way to corrupt a youth is to instruct him to hold in higher esteem those who think alike than those who think differently." It was Nietzsche. It didn't precisely apply to the conversation. It was an awkward thing to say. Parker could feel himself digging the kind of hole that prematurely ended the majority of his potential friendships.

Typical.

A pregnant pause followed his quote outburst, a familiar pause for Parker following a familiar defense mechanism. Parker really wasn't making this any better. But then again, being free and easy was really Dylan's job, not his. He cleared his throat, glancing back down to the camera in his hands. "You have any tips for someone shopping for a new camera? You're into photography..." Smooth operator. That was Parker...?

Quoting Nietzsche to Parker was like rolling to Dylan. This was Parker's drug: self-importance and philosophy. And Dylan was helping him indulge. How... unexpected?

For an instant, Parker felt compelled to puff his chest out and engage in a quote-slinging duel to determine who was the most knowledgeable in all the land. Then Dylan popped a Tic-Tac in his mouth, and Parker had a flash of memory of the time when Dani held him down and forced him to try orange-flavored Tic-Tacs (which were, as expected, disgusting no matter how much Michael Cera loved them in Juno) on a park bench in full view of onlookers. By the time he remembered his momentary hubris, the appropriate window to engage in a brain duel had ended.

So Parker decided to be pleasantly surprised, happy even, that there was more in Dylan's head than snappy quips and gaping holes from drug use. That didn't mean he would be asking for a could-be-drugs-could-be-candy Tic-Tac. He would leave the risk-taking to Dylan and others with more of a taste for adventure. Parker was happy to fuku up and sprint across rooftops at night. Like Batman.

The conversation moved along smoothly, totally thanks to Dylan and not at all because of the stumbling of Parker's attempts at bonding, to cameras. Excellent. "Durability," he said immediately. "Size and transportability are important too, I guess. I don't care much about shutter speed or zoom. And I have plenty of chips for memory." Parker lifted another camera, this one bulky and covered in decorative glossy stickers that made it look like the camera was littered with bulletholes. "Who would want a camera that looks like it has been shot?" he muttered, vaguely lifting the piece for Dylan to see.

Parker set the camera down with a hint of disgust. "No, not art. I'm not artistic, or really... visual. I stick with words. I need it to take pictures of my new apartment in East Heights for insurance." This was not the only reason. If it was, he would just borrow a camera from his future roommate, Tate. The camera was another accoutrement of his budding relationship with Dani. She was always snapping pictures on her cellphone, and Parker had begun to want to record some memories of his own. Good things could be fleeting; Parker wanted to remember Dani, no matter what.

It would have been easy to tell Dylan that, but Parker liked to think that his girlfriend was a secret and private thing. It didn't seem to cross his mind that the bouncing girl with icy blue hair who frequently lounged outside of Hillworth waiting for him might have been noticed by anyone else. Parker fancied himself a master of concealment, like Dani was some inner piece of him locked in his chest for no one else to see.

Parker picked up the Canon PowerShot and fiddled with the buttons. There were settings for outdoor shots, low light, and one with an icon of a beach on it. He wasn't much for the beach, but given his new sparkly power, Parker had begun to appreciate the massive expanse of grainy sand considerably more. "I don't mind paying more if it's worth it," he said, flicking the camera over to its video setting and aiming it at his feet. "Employee discount helps make my decision easier. Definitely makes up for the uniform." He glanced down. "Mostly." Truth be told, Parker didn't mind the uniform. It was pretty close to his Hillworth uniform, minus the ugly pants and the sweater vest. It could be worse. He could be working at Senor Taco and sporting a sombrero as big as a hula hoop.

Even though he wasn't one for gossip, Parker knew of the girl who saw Dylan. Her name was Cora? Useless fact, but he filed it away. Parker stared at the price on the PowerShot, did some quick math. He'd looked at this model earlier. With Dylan approving it too, he felt good about buying it.

Another expense, like the apartment. Good thing the camera was cheaper. "Yeah, a two-bedroom with Tate Konstantin. You know her? She goes to Meadowview, kind of abrasive. Shortish hair. Plays enough video games to go blind." It never occurred to Parker how that might sound, him living with a girl. In his mind, Tate was asexual, and pretty much his only guy friend. She would punch him for saying it. It didn't stop him from thinking it. "I'll move in there as soon as I break free from Hillworth. I've done my time, all four years of it." Parker set the camera back down with a hollow thud. "I just want to get the ******** out and never look back."

Parker stared at the box of Tic-Tacs like Dylan had just offered him a mystery meat sandwich from the Hillworth cafeteria. "No," he said, without the polite thanks included. Parker wasn't precisely a thank-you kind of person, or really polite at all. Being polite was just a way of appeasing the masses by conforming to a behavior standard set forth by the ruling majority -- rich white people, if you asked Parker -- and he had no intention of following in their practices. Even if the logic made sense to no one else, it made sense to Parker and he held to it like a demonstrator chained to the White House fence.

When it came to the apartment, Parker was happy to talk shop. Much better than talking about his girlfriend or the rest of his life situation with a relative stranger, relative in the sense that this was one of the longer conversations they'd had in the year that Dylan attended Hillworth. "Two bedroom, one bathroom. No washer and dryer in unit, but there are a hundred laundromats sprinkled around us. It's in East Heights by DCU, near the Chinatown side of it," he explained, testing the zoom on the camera to occupy his hands. Dylan might be a pacer, but Parker was a fidgeter. "Normally a place like that would be pricier, but the landlord was pretty desperate to sell. He cut the price in front of us. 1000 a month, 500 each when we split it. Doesn't include all the utilities, but two years ago, that place would've been 1500, 1600 easy." Parker set the camera back down on the display and moved back toward the boxes to select the packaged model.

His fingers drummed over the boxes, eyes fixed straight ahead. "They had a few people die in the area right by it, had a bunch of sudden vacancies. They'd sighted a few of the media-dubbed terrorists there too, which helped." Parker had to remind himself to say terrorists. Before, he might have used the term senshi, but now that he was one, he thought it was better to be more covert about his knowledge on the topic. "It's cheap enough for Tate and I to afford. I'm going full-time here once I break free from Hillworth, and she is doing some freelance graphic design and working at TGI Thaiday's. I think. Either way, we can swing it." He scratched at his chin with his thumb. GeekSquad asked that its employees shave daily to keep up the fresh, young, hip look. Parker complied, but should probably invest in better shaving cream.

Finding the camera he was looking for, Parker plucked the box from the shelf. "I guess that's one good thing about the bullshit going on in DC." He quirked an eyebrow. "It is definitely a buyer's market. Or renter's... as it were. You looking to rent?" Dylan was only a junior, if Parker remembered correctly, but that wasn't to say he might not be looking for an alternative living arrangement.

Conviction aside, Parker considered Dylan lucky. He landed in Hillworth Asylum because of his own actions, and he had the option of a reprieve. Parker was stuck wearing plaid pants for his secondary education because of his dad. There were no parents to scamper off to if he ever chose to leave Hillworth. A shadow crossed his eyes, a familiar one. It wasn't difficult to make Parker feel woefully underprivileged.

But hey! Now he was a senshi. So there was that. And he had a girlfriend who actually gave a damn about him, which was so amazing he had to remind himself to not think about it all the time. These were glimmers of silver in a pool of muck, and for the first time in a long time, Parker was consciously looking for the good in his life situation, not the bad.

Parker flipped the camera box over and read it casually. He knew he was buying it. It was just a way to fidget. "I think TGI Thaiday's is hiring. Tate just got hired, and she's never waited tables before. The uniform is only mildly disturbing." He raised his eyebrows, self-consciously evaluating his own black-and-white corporate garb. Ah, conformity in the name of a paycheck. Parker could except it, if begrudgingly.

A smile ghosted across Parker's lips when Dylan spit out two familiar names. The blond boy took two steps over the line that divided "indifference" and "approval" in Parker's head. Quite a feat. "Descartes," Parker parroted, grinning. If lots were to be thrown, Parker would cast his ballot in the corner of the father of modern philosophy. "They will be locked in a metaphysical slapfight forever." He snorted.

The philosophy talk cracked a window in Parker, and he let a little air in. "I've been all right. College is not happening right now, which is more than disappointing." He frowned. "Hillworth is intent on ******** me over to the end. I'm technically a ward of the state so they had to send a report on me over in lieu of parental background. I imagine the report was not glowing." Parker leaned against the shelf and fiddled with one of the tags.

"It appears that Hillworth prepared me for an hourly wage, not a career. Surprise, surprise." He flicked the tag with a finger, and it gave a sharp report. At least he worked for GeekSquad and not retail. It meant he got paid more, had better benefit options, and didn't have to deal with anything in the store outside of the little black and orange corner dedicated to him and his fellow nerds. "You've been good? I haven't seen you in the computer lab as much." Part of this perception was probably because Parker wasn't there as much either.