Lag 6.12 (Preview Draft) (Patreon)

Lag 6.12

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –​

None of them answered the question.

Not that he expected them to.

Their responses really weren’t necessary.

Not yet, at least.

C’mon, ease up, he told himself, doing his best to push his angry thoughts aside as he pulled on the calming mental balm he had grown used to. Calm it down. You need them to talk, okay? Dead people can’t talk to you.

“SooOoooo…” Hardkour began again, voice beginning to ease it's grating tone as the teen felt his mind and body retreating back to something more normal. “Considering I wasn’t raised in a barn and I don’t just attack people out of frickin’ nowhere without so much as a hello…”

He paused his words as his tongue darted around his mouth, gloved fingers curling up to his palms, and noted with some annoyance that the changes were taking longer to retreat than he liked.  “I’m gonna do the polite thing and introduce myself. Hey there, you can call me Hardkour. The group-formerly-known-as-the-ABB is under my protection.”

None of the capes spoke, but both the tension in the air and their bodies spoke volumes for them. One of them, the shorter woman in the green-white costume and sculpted face mask with similar coloring, seemed to be clearly edging closer to Stormtiger. Hardkour’s keen eyes narrowed as he caught sight of her, unable to avoid noticing how her fingers were splayed out in the shirtless cape’s direction even as she stood several feet away from the man.

Trying to stall for a few more moments as Gamer’s Mind worked it’s magic, the teenage hero directed his gaze towards the two capes nearest him with a slight tilt of his head. Both of them males and a good bit older than the two women standing between and behind them, they were also the only parahumans that weren’t complete unknowns to him.

“Krieg, I’d say it’s nice to finally meet you but it’s... really not.”

Hardkour made eye contact, or something close to that, with the Neo-Nazi cape wearing an entire Schutzstaffel uniform — down to the medals, trenchcoat, cap, knife and even an Iron Cross necklace — that was jet black from top to bottom. The only spot of color in the man’s costume were the red lenses in his tight-fitting full-face gas mask, the enclosing helmet itself as black and soulless as the rest of Krieg’s getup. All in all, the cape came off as rather frightening, or at least he would have, if Greg could find it in him to be scared of anything other than his mother in a bad mood. “Before we fight, I gotta tell you that you pretty much look like a Goth C-3PO. You know, the one from Star Wars?”

That was a lie. He looked more like a Nazi C-3PO but Greg doubted the man would consider that as much of insult.

It didn't matter either way as the man didn’t visibly respond to Greg’s joke, and from what the teenager could feel on his own end, he didn’t particularly react internally, his targeted Taunt basically sliding off the man’s composure. His smile not wavering an inch despite his disappointment, Hardkour turned his attention over to Stormtiger, gaze not actually shifting much as he made sure to keep all four capes within his line of sight.

“Been a while, huh, Stormy?

(Krieg doesn't have a costume or even a canonical appearance description, so I gave him the look of Kroenen from Hellboy. Especially, considering that he's a public figure so he has to keep his appearance locked down tight.