Toward the end of my self-imposed solitude, I heard the doorbell ring early one evening. I was sat in the TV room with a nearly empty bottle of scotch...in one hand and the TV remote in the other. I was not really watching some inane rubbish that was on the large monstrosity my dear wife had insisted we buy, as I drunkenly cursed her, her father and everyone else who fucking knew her. Hoping beyond hope that it was my wife returning to me so she could explain it had all been a mistake and she. For some reason, I really wanted a cigar.I reached down with my cigarette and rubbed it out in the driveway. I flicked it off between my thumb and fuck finger and went back in the house. The coffee smelled good, and I could hear Napoleon rustling about upstairs.I came to the door of my bedroom and peeked in as he was fastening the grippers of his chaps. “Did you shave?” I asked him.“Yeah. I can’t go home looking like some kind of bum- I’d get killed!” he said. With a single sniff, I knew. With my parents dragging me along we spent entire weekends in museums. We haunted art galleries and I had to listen to endless discussions on the differences in techniques used by Manet and Monet, the brush strokes of Villbert versus the daub and smear of Rachmann. We had season tickets to the opera and the symphony. Some of it took and some of it didn't, but the result was that by the end of high school my reputation as a nerd was well established.Also well established was my reputation as Mr.. "Besides giving us a wardrobe that we can change at will, it helps us fight against the Cybots." Amy says.Tamaya takes a sip of her coffee. It's flavored with a strange taste that makes it taste like chocolate mixed with caramel. It's not unpleasant, just not what Tamaya was expecting."How does it do that?" Tamaya asks."Increased speed and strength, not to mention it lets us short them out without the use of a projectile weapon." Amy says."So that's how you were beating them without weapons?".