Within the week, the video had over two million views on YouTube and a similar number on TikTok. Everyone on the news was talking about it. Chuck had set up a Google Alert for "Jaybird," and even The New York Times had run a piece on the strange vigilante who had incapacitated three men in Pittsburgh. They didn't have much detail, of course; Chuck had made sure of that. By the time he'd turned ten, the boy genius already had backdoors built into the internal systems of half the major corporations in America. Compared to that, covering Meg's tracks was easy.

The mood was celebratory that afternoon as Meg climbed into his treehouse. She gave him a high five, a grin spread across her freckled face, and then went over to the milk carton where he kept his albums. “What are you thinking?” she said, as she rifled through them. “I’m inclined toward Future Islands, but I could swing toward Jamie xx or Kind of Blue. You know I’m always down for Kind of Blue.”

But Chuck wasn’t thinking about albums. He was thinking that maybe this was the coolest opportunity of his life. Without him, Meg wouldn't have reached the big time. He was the one who'd built her weapons and made her a social media sensation. With his continued help, Meg could become the voice of a generation. The voice of a century. Yale was cool, and becoming a scientist or a doctor or a businessman was cool, but this was beyond cool. This was exceptional.

Maybe he was giddy with the high of their video's success, but Chuck thought he could be more than tech and operations. “I want you to train me,” he said. He’d been considering the thought all week, and why not? It was the logical next step.

Meg was not as excited. She shook her head. “That's not a good idea."

“Why?”

“Because you’re not a killer, Chuck.” Meg let Elton John’s ‘Goodbye Yellow Brick Road’ slip back into the milk carton. “You have Elton John’s ‘Goodbye Yellow Brick Road’ in your record collection. The people we're fighting won't go easy on you because you can get good grades.”

But Chuck wasn’t going to be put off that easily. He wasn’t the baddest kid on the block, but he was still a fighter. At least, as much as a kid born into a relatively middle-class suburbia could be.

The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

“What about Fur Dog and Builder Buddy?” Chuck said. “For Monster and me?”

“You don’t need…” Meg shook her head. “That’s awful. I’m Jaybird. If you want a name, you’re Machina. Monster is Monster. But training is out of the question.”

“Machina,” Chuck said, rolling the name around his mouth. “I like it.” He had a point to make. He gestured toward the record carton. “Put on Public Enemy.”

Meg walked records under her fingers. “Public Enemy, Public Enemy…”

“You know, it occurs to me that I built you the Easy-A,” Chuck said as he leaned back in his chair. “And the Scorpion. And the Big Bang. Hooked you up with the whole color scheme. The social media presence.”

“I’m very much aware,” Meg said. “And I thank you for that. Ah, here’s the record.”

“The Dragline. Injektor tips. And now I have to stand to turn my records, because I put off building my auto-flip record player to focus on your gadgets.”

“I appreciate it.”

“Monster could be here with us. Right now. Chilling on the floor, loving life. But I put off the hydraulic dog lift because you wanted a mask. I burned my fingers trying to get all those feathers glued on there.”

“As I said, your work is appreciated.”

“You owe me. Train me.” Meg looked like she’d rather hug a venomous snake covered in feces. “I don’t want to come on missions. I just want to get stronger. I want an edge. We'll do the coin flip again. Let fate decide.”

Meg dropped the record and turned toward him. “Ugh,” she said. "No going on missions, then? If I train you, it's just for your personal edification?"

"That's it," Chuck said. "And I'm impressed you know that word. Have you been practicing your vocab?"

Meg sighed. "Fine," she said. "But tails never fails. I want tails this time. And I want to do the flip. You probably had some weird engineering trick worked out last time to get you the result you wanted."

Chuck faltered. That's actually a good idea, he thought. I should've thought of that.

But he hadn't, and so it would be up to fate. "Live by the coin; die by the coin," he said as he handed the coin to Meg. “Swear on it. Swear that if I win the coin flip, you’ll train me.”

"I swear," she said. "And if I win, you won't bring this up again for at least another year."

Chuck smiled. "Three hundred and sixty five days," he said. He extended his pinky. Meg wrapped her own around it and they each kissed their thumbs.

“All right,” she said. "Here we go."

Meg balanced the coin on her thumb. With a flick, she sent it spinning into the air. Chuck held his breath. Now, more than ever, he wished he could control metal with his mind. Like Magneto and Polaris, from X-Men. Joseph, the Magneto clone from Uncanny X-Men #338. The Metalbenders, from Avatar: The Last Airbender.

If only… Meg caught the coin in her right hand and slapped it onto the back of her left.

“Ready?” she said.

“Ready.”

Meg lifted her hand.