Mob 5.17 (Unbeta-ed Final Draft) (Patreon)

 A thought preceded everything else. [Inventory.]

His mouth opened, lips forming the first letter as his pyrokinesis flared to life in the same palm he held at his side; blue fractals of light already beginning to appear on his fingertips.

His body shifted imperceptibly, leaning forward as he prepared to move.

Bakuda stared back at him, confusion fighting the manic glint in her eyes as she tried to parse 

the words just now leaving Greg’s mouth.

“[Burst].”

Greg Veder launched himself forward, sword appearing in his outstretched hand with the blade flaring with the same light as the rest of his body; the heat radiating from the weapon enough to raise the temperature from uncomfortably cold to uncomfortably hot within a single second.

He swung.

The hallway lit up in a flash of red as it made contact, sparing a great many eyes from the sight of the sword as it moved like a hot knife through melted butter, flesh immediately sealing over as super-heated metal passed through it with no resistance at all.

Jennifer Sato blinked as her back hit the ground, confused expression not fading as she blinked up at over a hundred shocked, terrified faces before finally meeting a set of smiling blue eyes staring directly down at her. 

A second passed.

Then the screams started.

                                                                  – o – o – o – o – o – o – o –​

April 21, 2011

3:54 AM

This was not what he expected.

Really… it wasn’t.

Handing his reappropriated smartphone to one of the older women that he knew wasn’t ABB, the instructions he gave her had been explicitly simple and remarkably clear: “Call the cops.”

Three words.

An identical amount of syllables.

No way to misconstrue any of that.

Or so he had thought.

What part of ‘call the cops’ was not understandable? Greg did his best to fight a frown, bright lights flaring in his face amid the noise of sirens and so much commotion around him. Vans of multiple types filled the streets in front of the storage facility; multiple red-and-white ambulances,armoured trucks of the Brockton Bay Police Department, the heavy-duty black tanks of the PRT, and the simple white vehicles that Greg knew belonged to the local news…

News… Greg found himself stifling a groan of infinite frustration as he cast a tired gaze over at the crowd of over-eager reporters clamoring for attention like a class full of kindergartners; each one of them armed with microphones, cameras and enough caffeine to give them the energy to be this wide-eyed at 2 AM in the goddamn morning. The idea of having to stand in front of cameras and answer questions in any coherent way when he felt like death warmed over – not to mention, the literal hole still in his neck… 

This just wasn’t the time for all this.

Multiple pairs of small arms wrapped themselves around Greg’s torso, embracing the teenage boy as tight as they could manage as they nestled their heads into his chest. There was a desperation to all of it, a simple unwillingness to let go that made the whole thing seem a lot less like a hug and more like a child’s desperate clinging to a safety blanket.

Sadly enough, that wasn’t an inaccurate description.

“... Please… please don’t make me go…” 

His eyes squeezed shut at the sound of that small voice, the stinging in his eyes forcing him to blink rapidly as several others chimed in with pleas along the same lines. The smell of chocolate stood out to him, Greg unconsciously inhaling as he remained in the embrace. Sticky hands hugged him even tighter as he allowed them the chance, likely leaving brown handprints all over his already stained armor. The chocolate had been a spur-of-the-moment idea while he tried to calm the frightened girls inside after they witnessed Bakuda’s fall, Greg having realized that of all the things he had in his inventory, a few dozen chocolate bars he had saved for himself might actually have a better purpose than his own greed. Honestly, giving away all his chocolate barely made a dent in his sweets stash anyway, considering he had enough confectionaries stored away to murder a diabetic pothead several times over.

He didn't have to think about it much after that. Better the kids got something sweet to make them feel a little bit better than for the sweets to simply remain in stasis. Watching them tear into the chocolate had actually done a lot to lighten the grim mood, for himself and even those who hadn’t wanted any. Their eyes had lit up brightly at the taste of sugar, a familiar sensation bringing life to bruised and dirty faces that had looked closer to animals than the children they were supposed to be. 

Even now, with Greg having taken the time to wipe their previously grimy faces with several bottles of water and a few fresh washcloths, – another pull from his [Inventory] – the youngest ones still seemed to act more like skittish animals, they stayed close to each other and didn’t trust the adults in uniform much even as they led them away. It seemed that they feared everything at the moment, even other humans. Letting out a low breath, Greg turned his gaze up at the few EMT’s waiting with blankets as well as the remaining horde of other girls behind them shooting him understanding looks as they were escorted away . He blinked away tears again and nodded at them, mouth silently forming the words, ‘I got it.’

It took him more effort than he expected to pull himself away, the young girls continuing to press up even closer to his torso the more he tried to ease away from them. Despite it, he was finally able to pull back enough to look all four of them in the face. “Okay… see… I...”

Greg held back a sigh as he was met with quiet whimpering, tiny hands still trying their best to maintain their grasps on the cloth parts of his armor. His hands reached out, hands grasping on to the shoulders of the little girl right in front of him, an elfin brunette named Alice.

“Look, these guys… these nice guys and gals…” He gestured haltilingy in the direction of the still-waiting EMT’s, forced to blink away a sudden frown as yet another camera flash went off in his eye,  “they’re gonna help all of you out. Get you all checked out and… uh… uh, Jesus… They’re gonna get you to your families.” He stretched his mouth out into a smile, quietly hoping that the expression didn’t look anywhere as strained and insincere as he felt it did. “You miss your mommies and daddies, right?”

He was met with nods from four crying faces.

“And you trust me… right?”

More nods, little heads moving even faster now.

“Good… ‘cause they’re are gonna take good care of you, okay?”

He let out a relieved sigh at the muted “okays” he received, not bothering to pull back again as the four girls came in for another hug. He ignored the flashing lights and general rabble from the media not too far from him; a wall of bodies threatening to break past the enclosure in their eagerness if not for the police maintaining the barrier. 

The sudden pop-up of [CHA + 1] was also treated with as much attention.

This wasn’t the time to worry about any of that.

A minute later, Greg Veder finally stood up, one arm in the air as he waved goodbye to the last of the rescued girls. He sighed again, exhalation almost turning into a full groan as the door finally closed behind her and the vehicle began to pull away.

He let out a sigh, shoulders slumping slightly as police officers made their way past him in and out of the building, the handcuffed forms in their arms not even putting up a semblance of a fight. Gazes turned to him as they passed – expressions flicking through curiosity, wariness and some actual fear – but on the whole, the boys in blue continued to ignore him as he stood like a statue against the wall of the building. Greg paid them as much attention to them as they did to him, thankful that the initial stand-off was long over.

Really, this whole thing could have gone much worse. The initial introduction certainly hadn’t done much to endear him to the police force of gathered PRT proper and Greg hadn’t felt much desire to try that hard in the first place.

After all… did walking out in grimy, blood-stained armor really make the best impression against armed men with the itchiest of trigger fingers? Of course not. 

Was it the best idea to have carried the legless body of a violently screaming college-age Japanese woman over his shoulder as he walked outside? No.

When asked (read: screamed at) about what happened to the girl’s legs by the heavily armored and armed police and PRT, should he have simply gestured with the weapon in his hand and responded, “Oh… yeah. That? Me,” instead of almost anything else? 

Then again, maybe the tension wouldn’t have been thicker than freshly-poured concrete if he hadn't have walked outside with a fiery, glowing sword still in his grip. Not the wisest choice, but the sheer aesthetic… 

All joking aside, he honestly hadn’t put much thought to actually holding the weapon other than he had no intention of being caught unaware again. Did that mean he planned on cutting off more legs if the situation arised?

...Maybe.

Despite all that, everything seemed to have turned out well enough. He had handed off Bakuda to the PRT – while staring into the face of multiple rifles with as dry an expression as he could manage – and after explaining exactly who she was and what she had in the building, the men in black armor had quickly switched their priorities from him to the actual bomb threat still on the ground, while multiple groups of Brockton Bay police swarmed in to deal with the ABB situation inside. There were still several who stuck around, though, ready to shoot him if he so much as twitched in their direction.

Most of the questions – and boy, were there questions – stopped there, the PRT accepting his explanations – as much as he was willing to give, anyway – with a shrug. He doubted the reason for that was actually because they were satisfied with what he told them. Odds were the PRT likely had standing orders not to antagonize any cape that wasn't a declared villain. Still, Greg found that it didn't matter why they stopped, so much as the fact that they did. 

The wary looks, though… not so much.

The armored cape took in a deep breath through his nose, idly watching the police haul yet another sullen ABB out of the storage facility. It was only within the last few minutes that they had begun making their way out, only moving much slower on the return trip as they dragged off the handcuffed criminals to their respective police vans.

Lights flashed from behind multiple roped-off enclosures, the media continuing to take pictures and video of each new criminal. From the moment Greg had walked out of the repurposed storage facility to even now, the cameras had continued to roll, viewfinders fixed on him as he stood his ground amid the dozens of former captives being gently escorted into a small fleet of awaiting ambulances and police vans. 

Between the police and PRT shouting orders and reading each ABB their rights, the reporters clamoring to be heard as they waved their microphones around in his direction and the news people facing cameramen as they spoke to their viewing public, Greg almost couldn’t decide who was really louder.

He stared blankly as someone approached him, a figure in a familiar set of black padded armor with the words ‘PRT’ stenciled across the chest in big white lettering. Greg simply watched in silence as he trotted over from the group that was currently deciding on the best way to restrain the parahuman paraplegic, his posture displaying more than a bit of…

Well, Greg wasn’t sure what but it didn’t look all that positive.

There had been some off looks tossed his way as the state of Bakuda's lower body became apparent to them, the sight and stench of burnt human flesh eliciting a few indistinct curses from those brave enough to near Greg. This was likely another set of questions along that line. The blond sighed loudly, bored expression tinted with a hint of annoyance as he turned his head to face the approaching PRT officer. Let's get this over with.

"I didn’t kill her," he found himself remarking preemptively, speaking quickly to stave off the question from the PRT. The man paused at the sudden start to the conversation, standing almost frozen in place as he seemed to focus on Greg from behind his black visor. “She wasn’t dead when I gave her to you. I know that.” 

The officer, likely the one in charge, only shook his head, seeming less perturbed with Bakuda's situation than he did Greg's handling of it. "But didya have t-"

"Yes." 

Again, he couldn’t see the officer’s face but judging from the way the man tensed up around his rifle, several other PRT doing the same, Greg’s hissed response didn’t do much to ease any tension.

“I mean…” The next few words out of his mouth were far less clipped and harsh, coming out much less like a hiss as Greg struggled with himself to police his tone. "Look… she had a detonator system set up in her boot. One twitch in the right direction and the whole city would go up. Killing her would have done the same.  I didn’t have a lot of options.” 

He paused to wince, unintentionally letting out a rattling breath through the nearly-healed hole in his neck. “So, yes. Yes, I did have to, officer."

The police officers close enough to catch Greg's words shared a look of confusion while the gathered PRT seemed to take it in stride, the one in charge giving Greg a hesitant nod before directing some of his men immediately after. The next few words out of the PRT commander’s mouth were barked orders, Greg blinking slightly in surprise as he caught the words, “bag up”, “Tinker tech” and “pair of legs”.

Greg’s own mouth opened instinctively as he found himself wrestling with the idea of telling the PRT that they weren’t gonna find said pair anywhere inside the building. Said struggle lasted about as long as it took him to blink, the blond sinking back against the wall as he decided to let them figure it out on their own. Another sigh left Greg’s lips, the armored cape regretting not taking off the very moment he caught sight of the cavalcade of cops. Not like they could have stopped me, anyway.

"...her boots?" 

Greg blinked as he was pulled from his thoughts by another voice, this one far less gruss than the PRT officer. He turned to the side, leveling a bored glance at the kevlar-vest wearing BBPD officer who still seemed unsure of the reasoning Greg gave. “What about ‘em?”

The officer shot him another confused glance, mouth turning down into a distinct frown as he stared at Greg. “How in the hell do you set off bombs with a pair of boots?”

The teenager found himself nodding along to the question – it was a good question – but the answer was simple enough. The blood-splattered cape shrugged as best he could without irritating his neck wound further and replied, "Tinkers."

Unfortunately, the officer didn’t find that satisfying enough. “That’s all you’re going to say?” He scoffed openly, clear signs of annoyance as he continued to stare. “Tinkers? Is that really what you’re going with?”

The blond tensed. “The boo-”

“I heard about the boots!” The cop interrupted sharply, voice tense as he openly scowled at the teenager in a dirty costume. “You couldn’t have removed them after you knocked her out or something?” Greg flicked his gaze around, the other BBPD officers nearest to them purposely turning their gazes away from his as the blond shot them questioning looks. “You had to just hack off her legs and burn her too? Don’t think I didn’t catch all those broken bones and smashed faces either. Almost half a dozen likely stuck in the ICU for weeks.”

Is this guy really… The frown on Greg’s face became a scowl to outdo most others, the officer only protected from the worst of Greg’s glare by the young cape’s helm.“And?” His hands tightened at his side as he turned his body fully to stare down the bearded police officer. “Why do you care?”

“I care because it’s my job,” the officer bit back, tapping the silver badge on his chest.

“You mean stopping the bad guys?” Greg took in a sharp breath through his nose, eyes narrowed into thin slits the more he spoke. “The same job I did for you? Where do you get off telling me what to do?”

The man fought for words, expression darkening as he shot Greg a look that crossed the line from distaste all the way over to visible contempt. “You think I can just go around breaking bones and mutilating people? I’m a cop. I take people in for stuff like this. I don’t leave them half-dead.”

Greg blinked, mouth forming a flat line. “Are you going to arrest me, officer?”

“Well, n-”

“Then why are we talking about this?” the blond growled despite himself, mouth open in a grimace. “And by the way… those weren’t people. They were criminals.”  The officer visibly tensed as Greg took an unintended step forward, blue eyes flashing unnaturally behind his helm. “Now, are we done with the questions or what?” 

The kevlar-wearing man flinched a second time and quietly hesitantly raised his hands in defeat, stepping aside to let Greg pass by. 

Teeth still set in an angry grimace, Greg spun on his heels towards the opposite direction of the cops and began to walk away, mood worsened by the unpleasant encounter and the increasing clamor of the press as they noticed his retreat from the scene. Talking to me about what I shouldn’t have done? Like he was there. Like any cops were there! Who the hell d-

His thoughts froze in place, Greg’s mind matching his body as his forward march came to a sudden halt, the sudden realization that someone was standing directly in his path drawing him out of his funk only to sour his mood further. He felt a sudden rush of annoyance, frustrated anger fueling him as he suddenly snapped out the words, “Okay, what do you want no-”

Just like his thoughts, his words froze where they are, dying quietly on his tongue as Greg stared up at the figures in front of him on the sidewalk. A cape stood barely a meter or two from where he was, an attention-grabbing male figure well over six feet tall clad like a Greek warrior. He sported heavy, golden armor with white accents and a hoplite-style helm that left a small portion of his face visible – but did almost nothing to hide the sight of his bright white teeth open in a smile – in addition to a skirt of a similar Grecian-inspired design. His powerful, muscular arms were bare and unprotected apart from a pair of golden vambraces and a small circular plate on his right arm, but Greg knew for a fact that didn’t mean anything to the cape in front of him.

The cape’s name jumped into his head the second Greg laid eyes on him, bright white smile just visible under his Greek-inspired helm. Dauntless… Blue eyes blinked, Greg tilting his head at the sight of a lanky figure in a skintight red suit with white racing stripes down the sides… and Velocity too.

The teenager felt his heart jump in his chest, his fan-boy impulses nearly taking over as he gawked at the cape in front of him – the same one that launched a thousand and one battle board arguments after some details of his powers had finally leaked onto the forums. The hero to replace Hero… that’s what they called him, they being every nerd online and Bagrat, the human rodent with a ‘nose for cape news’.

His mind came to a shuddering stop, brain-meat seemingly unable to conceptualize the fact that words were anything other than mouth-noises as his lips remained slightly parted in shock. Greg did nothing more than stare at the hero standing directly in front of him as they stood meters apart, eyes occasionally flickering over to the much less impressive form of Velocity, the red-suited cape basically as interesting as the walls he stood just a bit away from. 

“Hey there. Prodigy, right? Sorry… Sir Prodigy. I’m Dauntless,” he added, placing a palm on his chest as if anyone in Brockton Bay would ever need an introduction or be so brain-dead as to mistake him for another cape. “Velocity here, how’s it going, kid?” Velocity followed up from behind him, announcing himself in a somewhat-reedy voice that perfectly fit his lanky frame. 

Greg paid the speedster very little attention as the gold-armored hero stepped forward, voice hitting that perfect midpoint between impressively deep and approachably warm, one hand stretched out even further for a handshake. “It’s nice to finally meet you.” 

Greg blinked again, staring down at the open hand for a moment before glancing down at himself with a sudden feeling of disquiet. Filth, grime and blood looked back at him, his gauntleted hand a mess of stains embedded so deep that Greg knew he’d have to flood the suit with his energy to get out. He knew even without looking that his face was a visible mess even with the helm in the way, faded brown lines crusted around his mouth and down his chin from the wound to his neck. He was a mess, yes, because he had been busy…

He had been fighting but...

Greg raised his head back up and stared, eyes almost narrowing as he gave Dauntless a once-over. The cape was untouched from head to toe, not a single speck of dust, grime or debris on his person. His armor shined bright enough under the streetlight for Greg to make out every detail, the teen’s disquiet edging into angered frustration as he turned a suspicious eye on Velocity and notice the same. His hands tensed at his sides again, something dark worming its way up his throat. Where were these guys?

The blond was suddenly made aware of the media again as a mass of them scrambled out of their enclosure and made a beeline towards where Greg stood, the allure of three different capes too much for any one of them to resist. Dauntless, especially, had to be the main draw. For all that Greg was an unknown and a possible threat given some rumors, Dauntless was Brockton Bay’s rising star, his reputation shining brighter than his costume. Still, as Greg found himself face to face with that, he couldn’t help but notice how quickly his initial feelings  began to fade, leaving him largely… unimpressed. 

He blinked again, impatience and frustration edging into anger as he watched the cape’s lips move as the reporters began to crowd them, Greg unable to find it in him to listen or care to whatever the magazine cover of a cape happened to be saying.  I just had to come outside, huh? Couldn’t have just left out the back or through the roof like a smart person would have. He glanced up at Dauntless again, the cape still looking like he walked off the cover of ‘Hero Beat’ or ‘Power Week’ as he seemed to laugh at some personal joke he made to Velocity, the other cape nodding as his visor remained locked on Greg. Jesus Christ, the things I’d do for a sarcastic Tony the TIger sound effect button. The mileage I’d get out of that thing. 

“–ind catching us up on the whole thing?”

Greg shook his head again as he caught the last few words of whatever statement Dauntless had been directing towards him, thoughts going down another trail as both capes waited there. He waited a few seconds more simply to stretch the awkwardness of the mood, feeling a sense of slight trollish enjoyment as he watched the man’s smile begin to stray under the bright flash of camera lights from behind Greg. 

Finally, though, he decided to cut the moment short before Dauntless could take the chance to start up again. “Sorry, what was…” 

He paused to yawn out of honest exhaustion, the action entirely unintentional but still worth it for the downwards twitch visible in Dauntless’ already strained smile before the cape righted it – the more vindictive part of Greg hoping the cameras had caught that. ”Umm... yeah, what’d you say again?”

“No need to apologize to me. I can see you’ve had a long day.” The smile behind the golden helm brightened, Greg catching Dauntless’ eyes as the cape leaned in again with his hand still outstretched. “We’ve all been there.”

Greg didn’t need to look at the perfectly unblemished and expertly manicured hand before returning the handshake, wearing an expression just as insincere as the shining cape’s smile as he did so. “Yeah. Just doing my part, I guess.”

“Isn’t that the truth? Right, Velocity?” 

The cape in red gave the cameras a thumbs-up, other hand raised to his temple as he responded with a flatness in his tone that seemed almost-rehearsed. “Couldn’t have said it better myself, Dauntless. Teamwork and effort.”

Dauntless flashed another smile, staring above Greg and into another camera as he kept pumping the younger cape’s hand. “As heroes, we all have to do what we can to keep our city safe.”

“Indeed,” Greg pushed a bit of ham into his voice along with his best accent, doing his best to try and match Dauntless’ level as he turned to smile into one of the many cameras surrounding them. “All of us have to do at least that much, right? All of us. No matter how long, exhausting or dirty the job is, keeping the people safe comes first.” He shrugged his shoulders as he glanced back at Dauntless and Velocity before turning back to face yet another camera. “ I mean, could you imagine… what...” the younger cape leaned back, smile rising into a grin as he let out a laugh that was equal parts exhaustion and actual humor, “... what kind of heroes would just let somebody do all the work for them?”

CHA + 1

Please tell me that means what I think it means.

There was an odd tension in the air after Greg spoke, a smattering of mutters passing through the crowd as they caught the implication. Dauntless also seemed to change gears, the hero pausing a moment and tilting his head slightly as if listening to someone. Not even a full second later, his head seemed to bob in an almost imperceptible nod, Greg raising an eyebrow as the Grecian cape leaned in closer.

“An excellent point.” 

Letting go of his gauntleted hand, the other armored cape clapped him on the shoulder in – what Greg assumed was – a fatherly manner. “That’s exactly why the Protectorate would like to offer our thanks to you for the assist in bringing down certain elements of the ABB today.” Dauntless paused again, glancing to the side for a moment to stare at nothing before he continued speaking again, only with his voice slightly more stilted than before. “W-with the entire Protectorate mobilized and stretched thin across the city, there are situations where sometimes younger heroes – still just kids – get it in their heads to take on problems that are a bit out of their league. They have to be c-careful not to bite off more than they can chew.” 

The gathered media and even a few police officers who had drawn near, let out a little laugh as Dauntless unsubtly gestured in Greg’s direction, winking at the younger cape from behind his helmet. Greg simply stared back at him, expression on his face looking as if someone had put dog shit on a hotdog and called it chili. “Even then, it’s times like this that the Protectorate is appreciative of the next generation of heroes doing what they can.”

Assist? 

Pick up the slack? 

Do what they can!?

He felt like screaming the words in Dauntless’ face, letting his blood-flecked spit stain that perfect armor and face as much as it could. Yet, even as his anger burst to life… it also faded away just as quickly, Greg’s shoulders slumping as he let the words go. His fingers loosened, fists falling into open hands at his side as he did his best to bite down whatever imagined retort he knew would only hurt him more than it would either Dauntless, Velocity or anyone else. I’m supposed to just let him do this to me? Where was he when Lung was all over the place… when those girls were locked up for weeks…

Greg exhaled softly, simply nodding along into the camera as he watched Dauntless flap his lips again, imagining just how many times this guy had done something like this before. There had been rumors that Armsmaster wasn’t his biggest fan, for some reason, but Greg couldn’t really get why considering the guy seemed so cool online. 

Looking at him now, Greg could understand exactly why a straight-shooter like Armsmaster would hate his guts. What about me, though? I just have to grin and bear it?

WIS + 1

Yeah… I know. He shook his head yet again as he stared back at Dauntless, camera lights still focused on both of them. This is the city’s best. The next Hero? The amount of exhaustion Greg felt the longer he stood there, sandwiched between Dauntless and Velocity couldn’t be put into words. 

Another part of him couldn’t help but notice how both of them only seemed to show up after all the ABB had been corralled and all the girls he had rescued were out of sight. For the first time that night, Greg began to wonder if anyone outside of the Protectorate or PRT had even seen most of the fight between him and Lung after things had gotten truly out of control…

Could anyone of the Protectorate – or even Dauntless again – have stood over Lung’s mutilated body and claimed to have done most of the work after bailing out the kid who had ‘bitten off more than he could chew?’ He sighed again, watching Dauntless ham it up to the cameras like a superpowered game show host, before turning back to him with another question.

“So, Prodigy,” there was that annoying grin again, “anything you’d like to say?” Dauntless gestured to the three closest cameras in front of them, simply watching Greg now as he awaited his response.

The teenage cape blinked, looking up at the cape who had done his best to talk down everything he had done these last few minutes. He blinked again at this red-suited partner, the speedster having gone along with the situation like a trained parrot.

He blinked a third time, eyes narrowing as he turned to face the cameras themselves. Gathering his thoughts, Greg Veder opened his mouth.

                                                                – o – o – o – o – o – o – o –​

April 21, 2011

Greg Veder raised a hand over his face, turning his head aside as the sun began to peek over the horizon, announcing the beginning of a new day to a battered city. He squinted as rays of sunlight assaulted his unprepared eyes, the heavy frown on his face deepening even further as the natural light of the sun struck him.

Morning already… He thought to himself, shaking his head slightly. Why that thought was worth a scoff, Greg really wasn’t sure but he didn’t let that prevent him from letting out a sound of distinct exasperation. 

It may have been a new day for Brockton Bay, in more than one way, but it still felt all the same to Greg. The sight of thick smoke on the horizon stood out as the sun began to rise higher, exposing the heavy cloud of smog that choked a good portion of Downtown still. Sirens still rang out from place to place, the sound of them more and more distant as Greg continued his slow trek. Life was beginning to return to the Bay, from what the teenager could tell, as things seemed to settle down in the last three hours that came off as dramatically different to the four days preceding it.

Meandering through back alleys and side streets, backroads and rooftops as he made his way through the city had told him enough. Police, ambulances and those white shuttle buses were a constant sight, almost impossible to miss as they sped through nearly every major road through the city. Each one of them had plenty to do – all of them serving much the same purpose, really – picking up and dropping off people at varying locations, whether that was one of several police stations, multiple hospitals, or any one of dozens of neighborhoods.

The streets were awash with activity, yet still a fraction of what it would have been if today had been a normal morning. Firefighters were busy hosing down half-burned out wrecks and handling rescue work while police arrested looters attempting to capitalize on the chaos while they could as well as the remaining dregs of the ABB willing to put up a fight.

If he was still in costume, Greg knew that he would have been out there trying to see what he could do to assist but right now wasn’t the time for that. He was in casual clothes again, a dark blue shirt and a pair of jeans his disguise as another average teenager, so pulling off superhuman feats in the public eye dressed like this wouldn’t be the best idea. More than that, though, Greg simply couldn’t find it in himself to help because, well… he was tired.

Dead tired.

Not so much physically, but...

It said a great deal that the blond couldn’t find it in him to hold his head up, neck feeling weaker than a newborn baby’s as he simply trudged along through his seemingly empty neighborhood. Each limb felt like concrete, hundreds of pounds of weight dragging him down and slowing his movement, and above all else, Greg simply felt like collapsing face-first onto one of his neighbor’s lawns and sleeping for as long as he could.

That, or until someone poked him back into consciousness with a rake. 

He’d been like this since he had rocketed away from Dauntless, Velocity and the mob of reporters that had surrounded them, the last dregs of adrenaline fading from his body as he pressed himself up against the side of a filthy alley wall to catch his breath. That feeling of raw tiredness hadn’t faded since as over three hours had passed since then, long enough for Greg to trudge his way around the city on a meandering path toward home.

Staring up into the brightening sky again, Greg shook his head at just how quickly everything had gone by. The night had felt short… much too short for everything that had happened.Three supervillains in twelve hours; Something like that belonged in some stupid fantasy he would think up, one that Sparky would probably humor just to get him to shut up quicker. 

His mouth quirked up at one side before falling again as he let out a tired sigh, eyes continuing to narrow under the rising sun as he turned the corner onto an eerily familiar street. What difference did it make, anyway? Doing all that… 

It felt pointless, honestly. 

Like it didn’t ever matter.

Oni Lee… A stupid decision but at least he had softened up the guy enough for someone else to claim the takedown. Still, it really didn't change the fact that Lee was just an excuse to throw out everything he was feeling. All the anger and frustration he had at the moment and the near-mute was just an acceptable target for all of that. Beating him probably wouldn’t have made him feel any better than losing to him had, most likely. 

Lung… Another mess, that much was true. A bigger target, too, one that felt more like the reason behind all this than some ninja mute following orders. Even with that, though, Lung wasn’t the cause of all this. Lung was pretty much just another big punching bag, one that actually made him feel like he was getting somewhere.

Bakuda… Greg’s fist tightened at his side, his breathing hitching for a second. She had started all this, throwing away so many lives for no real reason. He just didn’t understand why she wanted to do any of this and he doubted Bakuda would ever have told him… no matter what he did. She was the villain here; the crazy mastermind responsible for ending so many lives…

And yet, when he had cut her off at the knees, he hadn’t felt a single thing.

The moment before felt almost exactly the same as the moment after, only now Greg was looking down at her. Getting all those girls out of there had been the only thing that left him with any real sense of accomplishment but even that faded far more quickly than he expected.

What was even the point of all this? Greg stopped where he stood, knuckles white as he squeezed his fist tight enough to almost hurt. He knew what he did was important but the question still stood out in his mind, ringing even louder as he stood in front of the white-painted walls of his family home.

It was extremely unnerving just how out of place Greg felt as he stood in front of the Colonial-style house that he’d lived in for longer than he could remember. He recalled everything about it; the paint, the windows, the pointlessly ornate wind chimes hanging from the porch…

A key appeared in his fingers, blue motes of light falling away from it as he slipped it into the doorknob and pulled open the door. It made no sense that everything still looked the same, a perfect representation of years of work and care and attention but…

It was missing something.

The person that made it feel exactly like it should.

Stepping into the foyer, Greg turned to stare at the mirror that hung in front of the coat closet. An almost-unrecognizable face stared back at him, a shock of blond hair atop a face stained with grime, dirt and blood several layers deep. For a moment, Greg simply stared at his reflection, feeling raw anger welling up in his chest with a scathing heat that made him want to scream, rage and yell. Instead of doing that, though, he shut his mouth tight, teeth clicking from the suddenness of his action, a current of exhaustion and embarrassment replacing all the anger he felt. 

Angry for what? He asked the filthy figure in the mirror. Angry at yourself, you fu-

“G-Greg?”

He jumped back, head slamming against the front door as his mouth hung open in sheer surprise. At the very same moment, he watched someone leap up from the living room almost as quickly, almost frozen in place as they stared back at him.

Hope flared to life, but with it came fear – a deeper type than one he could simply soldier past. Unwilling to believe it, Greg Veder crushed his eyelids as tightly as he could, keeping them closed as he let out several long, shuddering breaths, mouth forming silent words. He remained that way, struggling to breathe or form words, even as his ears still told him everything he knew to be a lie; his name repeated in that same voice over and over, each time getting louder and making it harder for him to ignore it. Please, please, please…

He didn’t move, though; unwilling to open his eyes or take so much as a single step as he tried to convince himself that he was still imagining all of this. The doorknob remained right behind him, yet his hands stayed ramrod still by his side. 

Greg Veder didn’t move an inch.

Not when he heard slow footsteps approach him, his name louder than ever.

Not when those footsteps became hurried and his name was shouted out loud in a voice that he could swear he knew better than even his own. 

Not when familiar arms wrapped themselves around him, deep sobs sounding off right next to his ears. 

“-s’ okay, sweetheart. It’s okay,” that familiar voice spoke again, Greg barely hearing anything amid shuddering sobs and the sounds of open bawling. “Mommy’s here. I’m never gonna leave you again. It’s okay.”

Against his will, he found himself holding tight to the figure that couldn’t be real, sinking into the embrace that he desperately wanted to be. A hand patted his back, rubbing the spot behind his shoulders as deep sobs continued to sound through the confines of the house. “It’s okay, Greggie.”

“M-” The word seemed stuck in his throat, mouth unable to get it out. Breathing heavy and stilted, Greg Veder opened his eyes again with a monumental force of will, equal halves of him warring for and against the idea. Cascading blonde hair, longer than he remembered but otherwise the same, pressed up against his face as he sunk into the hug. “M~mom.”