Lag 6.19c (Un-Betaed) (Patreon)

Lag 6.19c

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

Theo stood rooted by the side of an empty table, a silent statue in a sea of rich party-people, as his godbrother nonchalantly sipped from a flute of apple cider. They had chosen this table together…

Well, Greg had chosen it, and Theo had simply… said nothing. His father's instructions echoed in his head, an insistent whisper, commanding him to 'stick by Greg’s side and make friends'. It was an awkward pairing, with Greg at least half a head taller than Theo, and while Theo was well aware of it, Greg didn’t seem to know or care in the slightest. Instead, he stood tall and aloof, bright blue eyes scanning the bustling room with an air of bored indifference.

Following Greg's lead, Theo elected to stay standing, mirroring his godbrother's stance, and doing his best to mimic his detached demeanor. Compared to his familiar defense mechanism of sinking into a chair and trying his best to go unseen, it wasn’t one of his favorites.

I get that it’s been three years, Theo thought, his grey eyes discretely sizing up the boy next to him. But still… Greg, seemingly oblivious to the scrutiny, didn't flinch, didn't even glance his way. If he was at all aware, he certainly didn’t say a word about it. He just looks so different.

That wasn’t even an exaggeration.

He had seen pictures of Greg just a year ago and the two of them could have been brothers, only accounting for a noticeable difference in weight. Both awkward, blond, and with uncool interests, they had managed to keep each other occupied when no one else would be their friend. They even had the same near bowl-cut of a hairstyle for years, something they did out of solidarity more than any real fashion sense.

But now…

Suppressing a frown, Theo studied Greg further. This version of Greg was like a stranger, and Theo wasn't sure how to feel about that. Honestly, he wouldn’t have guessed this was Greg at all if his dad hadn’t said as much when he brought him and his mom over to their assigned table. The Greg he remembered might have been a few years out of date, but that one felt like someone he could relate to.

Someone he did relate to.

They shared more than awkwardness and uncool hobbies.

Both boys had fathers who were far from happy with who they were, men who constantly pushed and prodded them to be different. Greg's father was a louder, happier, more muscular (but not quite as wealthy) mirror of his own. Their disparities seemed minor compared to the glaring similarity - the palpable disappointment their fathers held for them, made apparent at every turn.

But that was then, and now…

Now was different.

Is this what not having a dickhead dad around does to you? Theo allowed himself to wonder what life would be like away from his dad’s expectations. If I could only be so l-

His mental musings were abruptly disrupted by a flutter of pink near their table. A girl — delicate, pretty, and with long brown hair — was sneaking furtive glances at Greg as she slowed her approach toward them, her cheeks reddening under Theo's bewildered gaze. Heat rose on his face as he spotted the girl, and he had no doubt that his cheeks were at least as pink as her dress — if not outright red by now —  as she took several quick steps toward their table, the sudden movement making her bounce.

"Hey, I—"

“We’re busy.”

Theo’s gaze slowly shifted toward Greg as the words left his godbrother’s lips, his mouth nearly falling open at the audacity. Just like that? Not even a hello?

“Personal conversation. You understand.” Greg didn’t even so much as flinch, literally shooting her a bored look as the girl stuttered in response blinked in surprise. A small part of Theo felt his heart shrivel up as the girl scurried away in a pink blur and went back to wherever she was going, wearing a newly insecure look on her face.

“What the hell?”

Greg's bored facade cracked, making way for an unexpected grin that sprawled across his face. His eyes, bright and piercing, bore into Theo's, the intensity of his gaze a stark contrast to his bored detachment from a moment ago. "Finally, I was wondering if there was a real person under all that fake bullshit quietness. How you doing, Theo?"

Taken aback, Theo fumbled with his words, Greg's blunt honesty throwing him off balance. He turned his gaze back to the fleeing girl, using her retreat as an excuse to hide his unease. "Wh-what the hell?" He repeated, this time less forceful, more bewildered. Why would he do that? She was just trying to—

“You’re gonna have to be more specific,” Greg interrupted his train of thought, his snorting laughter punctuating the end of his sentence. He took another swig from his flute, the cider fizzing at the edge of the glass. "You talking about her dress? Cause I couldn't believe it either. That shade of pink with her skin tone? She must be insane, right?"

Theo simply stared, his mind a whirlwind of confusion. “Y-yeah,” he blinked, dazed by the sudden shift before shaking his head and shooting Greg a strange look. “What? No! What?”

Greg responded with a nonchalant sigh, an amused snort passing his lips as he took another sip of his cider. His brows arched in a silent challenge, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "I don’t know, man, I’m just saying shit. I’m bored. You’ve been giving me nothing to bounce off of this whole night.”

“I’m…” Theo started, but his voice tapered off into an uncertain whisper. He could feel the walls of his self-assuredness crumbling again, his stoic expression giving way to a faint hint of insecurity. “I’m sorr-”

“Wow, boring and a liar,” Greg interrupted, the words slicing through the silence between them. “Great combo there, Theo. Girls love that.”

“I’m not ly-” Theo’s protest got lodged in his throat, strangled by the intensity of the look Greg was shooting at him. It was a look that made his father's stern gaze seem mild in comparison. Under the glittering light of the chandelier, Greg's eyes sparkled with an unfathomable depth, his stare probing into Theo's very being.

“Really? We both know you don’t like talking to people,” Greg stated matter-of-factly, as though he was discussing the weather, and not unearthing Theo's deepest insecurities. He chuckled, a sound that carried a hint of amusement. His eyes, half-lidded and playfully challenging, met Theo's. “Come on, you don’t even like me right now, forget about talking to me.”

In the face of such brutal honesty, Theo was rendered speechless. The cold truth echoed in his ears. He's right. Gathering his thoughts, Theo muttered, “Well, you’ve been kind of harsh all night. When you haven’t been mean, you’ve been talking over me or for me. Can you blame me?”

Greg's response was a hearty laugh, a row of teeth — unnaturally bright — gleaming in response to Theo's confession. “No, I really can’t. No hard feelings, but I like that you have good reasons for it. I know it, you’re a real thinker.”

Theo blinked, taken aback by Greg's acknowledgement. “Do you?”

“I do. I also know I’m being a dick but it’s really hard for me to stop sometimes. Especially when I’m bored.” Greg confessed, his words hung in the air between them, a tacit admission of his flaws (albeit a tremendous understatement of one). He ran a hand through his hair, a sigh escaping his lips before he fixed Theo with another intense stare.

His voice dropped to a low whisper, loud enough for only Theo to hear. “I’m really bored, Theo.”

His confession fell heavily in the silence that ensued, creating ripples that slowly diffused into the awkward tension hovering between them. The admission was startling, not for its content but for its candidness. For the first time that evening, Greg wasn’t trying to play any games or hide behind a mask of bravado; he was simply being himself — bored, disgruntled, and surprisingly human. The realization stirred a sense of sympathy within Theo.

"...We're at an art gallery," the pudgy blond retorted, his tone laced with a note of disbelief. He deliberately swept his gaze around the space, taking in the high ceilings, the serene colors and the art pieces adorning the walls. "I don’t know what you expected."

A genuine laugh bubbled out of Greg, a sound that was more heartfelt and authentic than the previous ones. For a moment, Theo saw a hint of the old Greg in that laugh.

The taller blond swiftly drained the rest of his cider and Greg lowered the now empty glass to the table before swiveling back to face Theo. “See, that’s what I’m talking about. This is the Theo I missed.”

Theo’s gaze hardened behind the lenses of his glasses, scrutinizing Greg for any signs of deceit. “You didn’t miss me. You barely even thought about me.”

“Guilty,” Greg confessed unabashedly, his tone devoid of any remorse.

“Mean.”

“Sue me.”

Theo couldn't suppress a snort of laughter, despite the seriousness of their exchange. “My dad has the best lawyers in town.”

Greg mirrored Theo's action, his own snort a mockery of Theo's threat. “Your dad’s not like mine. He doesn’t even give you an allowance, you’re not touching his lawyers.”

“...True,” Theo admitted after a moment's hesitation. He could feel a lump forming in his throat, the reality of his situation hitting him anew. "At least I see my dad, though." He realized what he had just said and the sharpness of the words hung in the air between them. His heart hammered in his chest as he clamped his mouth shut, trying to conjure up an appropriate apology. That was crossing a line, he had gone too far-

“There’s the Theo I missed!” Greg's laughter echoed through the gallery, his hand landing on Theo's shoulder in a light clap.

The impact jolted Theo forward, a sudden sting blossoming on his back from the unexpected blow. Holy hell. He regained his balance and lifted his gaze to meet Greg's eyes, relief washing over him as he noted the other boy was still laughing. Maybe he hadn't messed up after all?

“God, I’ve been waiting for you to say something like that,” Greg retorted, his smile so bright it seemed to illuminate the gallery. There was no hint of annoyance or anger in his demeanor, despite Theo's previous comment. Instead, he looked genuinely amused, as if Theo hadn’t just left an emotional jab hanging in the air between them. “Can’t believe a dad joke did it.”

Theo blinked, stunned by Greg's reaction. His heart rate slowed down, his clenched hands relaxing at his sides. Maybe this wasn't a total disaster after all. The thought brought a faint smile to Theo's lips.

Wait a second… The cogs in Theo's mind began to turn as he caught onto Greg’s last words, his brows knitting together in a contemplative frown as he put two and two together. “So… let me get this straight. This whole night… the Wards, the girl, making fun of my weight, it was all just to make me insult you back?”

“Well…” Greg hissed slightly, teetering his hand side to side. “In the spirit of honesty, that was just me being me. But you were like five percent of it.”

“...only five?”

“So conceited, Theo. It’s been three years. My life doesn’t revolve around you,” Greg replied with a scoff for emphasis. “Get over yourself.”

I don’t know whether I like him a lot or I dislike him a lot right now. Another question on his mind spurred Theo forward. “But why were you so mean to the girl?”

“Oh…” Greg’s smile faded for a moment. “Well, three reasons. One, I’ve decided that I no longer like brunettes. Two, that was actually way too much pink for me to deal with. No idea what she was thinking. And three…”

Theo blinked, watching Greg fall quiet all of a sudden. The other boy lowered his head, his smile vanishing completely. For a moment, they sat there in silence, Greg's piercing gaze threatening to bore a hole through the white tablecloth.

Finally, Theo mustered the courage to probe further. “And three?”

Greg raised his head, blinking slightly. “What? Oh. Three… I have a girlfriend.”

The words left his mouth in a matter-of-fact tone. A trace of a smile formed on his face, but Theo couldn’t help but feel that it didn’t quite reach Greg's eyes.

“That’s great,” Theo offered, attempting to lighten the mood again.

“She’s a model,” Greg added, his tone nonchalant.

“...Lucky,” Theo replied, suddenly feeling his own mood falling.

“She’s also in a coma.”

“...” Theo blinked. “I… I’m sorry?”

“Don’t be,” Greg continued to smile at him in that same empty way. “It was my fault, anyway.”

Say something. Say something. Say something.

“...I have to use the bathroom.”

Not that.

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

Maybe I shouldn’t have said that last bit, Greg remarked to himself blandly, head tilted to the side as he watched his godbrother scurry away. Ah, well.

Theo's hasty retreat was almost comical to Greg, the way he darted through the crowd, looking like a fat little blue mouse running from a cat. He could almost picture a tail poking its way out of the back of his suit, even. As Theo disappeared into the sea of people, Greg felt the pull of the conversations around him, especially the animated talk his mom was engaged in.

Yeah, of course she’s still laughing it up with Uncle Max, he mused, noting his mother's smile and the flirtatious vibes emanating from his godfather. The sight annoyed him. Do they think I can't see?

Normally, he wouldn’t have to strain his ears too much to pick up on their conversation, even as far away as they were, even with the din of so many other voices and the music being played. But words remained just out of his reach, their back-and-forth overshadowed by the fierce rhythm of blood pulsing in his ears, like a drumbeat drowning out a whisper.

Alright, enough with Mom and Uncle Max. Time for some distraction, Greg thought, as he took a deep breath to center himself.

The blond shifted his gaze, his focus extending outwards like a net across the room. At first, it was the usual – glints of diamond necklaces, the shimmer of silken gowns, the sparkle of polished cufflinks. But then he started to catch some intriguing details, the kind that most would never notice.

Two tables away, an older woman carefully tried to wipe a wine stain from her pristine white gown with a napkin. Her futile attempt only made the stain spread more, creating an unintentional piece of abstract art, one she didn’t enjoy by the look on her face.

A couple was engaged in a hushed argument near the balcony doors. Despite their whispered tones, Greg's heightened hearing picked up the man's mumbled apology about forgetting their anniversary and the woman's sharp glare and immediate harsh insult.

Further away, by the grand staircase, a pimply teenager — seventeen? eighteen? — in an ill-fitting suit covertly fiddled with a flask. The guy’s sneaky glances and the amateur hour attempt at stealth was enough to put a smirk on Greg’s face.

Near the entrance, a waiter precariously balanced a tray of champagne glasses, one teetering on the edge. Greg almost willed the glass to fall, just for the minor chaos it would create.

And just like that…

“Oh n-!”

Perfection. For a moment his smirk grew into an outright smile, but then-

“Max, you’re too much, I swear.”

The sound of his mother's giggle, distinct and vivid, pierced his concentration. Like a magnet, his gaze was forcibly drawn back to her and his expression twisted back down.

He wanted to pull up a seat right between the two of them, really he did. To disrupt their conversation, slide in between them, and maybe throw a few sarcastic remarks. But, there was that lingering fear - what if I lose my cool? What if, instead of a frown or a regular glare, his eyes flashed back to dragon mode for everyone to see?

A frown’s one thing, but dragon eyes aren’t so easy to ignore.

His lips twisted in distaste as his mom giggled again and Max leaned in closer. Maybe Dad wasn’t entirely full of shit. Uncle Max can be such an assho-

But mid-thought, a sensation drove everything else to the back of his mind – a tingling, an alarming pulse crawling up his neck that screamed danger. He was familiar with this, all too familiar, and it never promised anything good.

Oh, come on, what the fuck n-

The posh atmosphere shattered faster than a lightning bolt, and speaking of which, ZAP, ZAP!

Twin bolts flashed through the air, transforming the luxurious windows of the twenty-sixth floor into shards that glittered like diamonds and sending the shining ceiling-perched centerpiece of the room shattering to the floor.

Honestly, that chandelier was overrated anyway.

As the echoing screams of the once-relaxed guests punctured the silence, two monstrous, spike-studded dogs bounded through the shattered windows, their thudding steps and rumbling growls vying for attention against the rising screams of the audience. And as if on cue, Greg's gaze rose, recognizing the unmistakable figures perched atop these living tanks:

Bitch Lvl 22

Villain: Undersiders(?)

Title: Alpha Bitch

HP: 250/250

Power: Canine Morphogenic Augmentation

Think your chihuahua's a handful? This bitch turns them into demons from hell. Word of advice: Don't ask her for dog training tips unless you want your pet to eat your car. The only thing nice about her? She really likes dogs.

Regent Lvl 18

Villain: Undersiders(?)

Title: Heartless Prince

HP: 175/175

Power: Neuromotor Hijacking

Making people trip over their own feet, Regent's the kid who turned twitching into an art form. Just like you, he has daddy issues out the ass, but his are more justified. He’s a terrible cheater in video games, though.

You two? He hadn’t seen the two in well over a month, not since the first time he had fought Lung, and the Undersiders had decided to finish the job the dragon man had started. Last he heard from PHO, the team had gone to ground after the Protectorate had arrested the other two members of the team, the supposed leader and his Thinker. What are these assholes d-

For the third time in three times as many seconds, another interruption stopped Greg short, this time in the form of a third intrusion into the Forsberg when, as usual, the universe decided to up the stakes. To the right of the dynamic duo, another colossal figure burst through yet another window, looking even more menacing and at least half again as big. A giant beast slammed into the gala, the monster tables flying as its weight made the ground rumble and the floor noticeably creak.

Greg's inner commentary, never one to be silenced for long, leapt to the forefront. Huh, was his first thought. That’s a big bastard, came the second, right on cue.

And a big bastard, it was.

The creature was like something out of a fantasy novel's fever dream. With a tortoise's black shell, red-scaled muscular legs that whispered of a dragon's might, wings flaunting feathers that seemed to flicker between red and black, and a head like a giant lion, it was a chimera in every sense. To top off this bizarre ensemble, a line of electrically charged, knife-like teeth as black as the monster’s shell gleamed menacingly. On top of that, its back was hollowed slightly, shaped perfectly like a massive saddle, a perfect platform for riders to sit.

And sit, they did.

An long-haired caramel-skinned teen in a magician’s suit, complete with top hat and red vest rose to his feet atop the lion-turtle-dragon’s back, followed by his two companions; a short female figure fully enclosed in a suit of black armor emblazoned with red suns with a helmet and visor as well, and a square-masked, black armored male, costume filled with padding and pockets, looking something like a college football player in the wrong setting.

Trickster Lvl 24

Villain: Travelers

Title: Prestidigi-Dickhead

Power: Spatial Displacement Equivalency

HP: 205/205

The ultimate bait-and-switch conman. Misplaced your keys? Maybe Trickster. Misplaced your wallet? Probably Trickster. Misplaced your grandma? Definitely Trickster.

Sundancer Lvl 45

Villain: Travelers

Title: Searing Hot

Power: Solar Sphere Generation

HP: 160/160

Sundancer. Because who needs a beach day when you can get a third-degree burn just by saying hello? Don't forget your sunscreen—or your flame-retardant suit. Ehhh, you’ll be fine… probably.

Ballistic Lvl 32

Villain: Travelers

Title: Gunslinger?

HP: 315/315

Power: Kinetic Propulsion Imbuement

Who throws a car, honestly? Ballistic, that's who. If it's not nailed down, it's ammo. If it is nailed down... it's probably still ammo.

Fucking great. Just another day in the life, Greg thought sarcastically, his instincts kicking into high gear. Quickly sliding into the shifting, nervous, chaotic crowd as the one in the tophat - Trickster - began to speak, Greg snapped his head from side to side, his eyes quickly noting his mom secure and behind several PRT troopers with his uncle Max and the two blondes that usually hung around next to him. Okay, mom’s safe... for now. A moment later, his eyes narrowed as his head continued snapping side to side, looking for a place to do what needed to be done. Change. Need to change now.

His keen eyes began a rapid scan, darting across the vast hall, mapping escape routes through the shifting maze of panicked guests. Every second mattered.

Finally…

Hallway! His eyes widened as he spotted the side hallway, seemingly unnoticed by others as the rich people of the Bay stared like frozen deer as the youth members of New Wave and the Wards stood side by side with the few Protectorate members that had chosen to attend, all of them in a standoff with the intruding villains. Quick change time!

Determined, the teen began his careful navigation through the crowd. People stumbled, tripped over each other, or stood rooted, their facial expressions ranging from shock to horror. Greg ducked under an outstretched arm here, uprighted a falling woman there, his every move as instinctive as it was careful.

As the distance to the hallway dwindled, snippets of panicked conversations reached his ears, a surreal backdrop to the unfolding scene. "Is that... are those villains?"

"What do they want?"

“I paid $800 to be held hostage!?”

"I knew I should've stayed home!"

Honestly, same, Greg mused.

And then he was there, the hallway just a leap away. But before diving in, he threw one last glance back at the scene. Heroes and villains, poised in a tense standoff, neither having made a move yet as Trickster continued to speak.

Okay, Greggy-boy, let's not keep the audience waiting.

Diving into the hallway, Greg could feel the pressing weight of time on his shoulders, coupled with the muffled sounds of commotion seeping in from the gala. But in the relative dimness of the corridor, he spotted the bathroom sign at the very end. Less chance of getting caught in there, right?

The low hum of his danger sense thrummed in the background as he paused to consider the bathroom, like a distant warning bell. So useful sometimes. What would I do without you, Danger Sense? He thought with a bitter laugh.

With a quick blurring sprint, he approached the bathroom and, without ceremony, he flung the door open. "Anyone in here?! Anyone?" His voice was deeper, rougher — booming even — his best attempt to sound possibly scary and full of authority.

The bathroom, far more polished than he'd expected — Must be all those rich people's donations put to work — echoed back his query. But silence was all he received in response. It was an arena of sparkling tiles, chrome fittings, and pristine stalls.

Hesitating only for a moment, Greg stooped, peering under the partitions in search of any sign of life.

No feet. No movement. Nothing. Empty. Jackpot.

"Alright, the coast is clear." His normal voice sounded almost foreign in the reverberating stillness. Straightening up, he faced the mirror and met his own blue-eyed gaze. You've got this, Greg. Just another fight. This time, your mom is watching. No big.

Greg took a quick breath, a simple moment of quiet in the echoing silence of the restroom. A second later, he spoke with a practiced ease, "Inventory: Hardkour."

There was no grand gesture, no long-drawn ceremonial process. Instead, his suit vanished in a visual burst, a pixelated cavalcade of blue light. What it left behind was the menacing white-eyed sight of Hardkour, the notorious ninja-esque cape that many in the city had grown to recognize. He leaned into the mirror, absorbing the familiar image. Red mask-helmet combo; a scarf that fluttered invisibly in the still air; gloves in the same deep red; the protective allure of a black motorcycle jacket and jeans that seemed just tight enough to look good but not hinder his movement.

Looking sharp, Greg, he thought, mental voice smug. But then the mental alarms started sounding. An internal chime of rational thought that seemed to scream, The fuck are you doing? He groaned, voicing his frustration with a breath as his gloved palm met his face, the slap echoing slightly. "Shit, I can't go out there with this on," he hissed, eyes darting to his own reflection. "There’s Protectorate and PRT everywhere. They’re going to pounce on me faster than cats on a laser pointer. I’m wanted for like a dozen counts of homicide or whatever that bitch Battery said.”

He blinked, a memory flashing through his head — a chaotic night that hadn’t yet hit the news. “Make that a couple dozen.”

Without a second thought, a wave of his hand and a clear command: "Inventory: White Knight."

Another vivid blue burst.

The transition to knight was rapid, a flare of light and a new avatar stood where the ninja once stood. A resplendent armor of blue, white, and gold shimmered around him. Now, Greg was enrobed in gleaming armor — a blend of blues, whites, and golds. A radiant blade materialized in his hand, the centerpiece casting an otherworldly glow that shifted the atmosphere, casting the room in its own ethereal glow.

Cool as hell, he thought, momentarily distracted by its magnificence. But reality, as it often did, nudged him back.

Holding the blade and swinging it around with an ease that belied its lethal capability, a thought gnawed at his brain. "I can't go out there with this," he muttered, wiggling the blade playfully, its sharp edge catching the overhead lights. “My baby Gram cuts through metal like butter and Lung like he’s made of cheese. The idiots out there...” he trailed off, his thoughts unraveling. "They’re kids like me. Maybe I'd maim ‘em a little," he admitted, only half-joking, "but I don’t want to end them."

Think, Greg. Think.

In a split-second decision, Greg decreed, "Inventory: ... New Suit."

As if pulled from the void, a costume seamlessly tailored itself to his form. The blue light performed its routine, pixels skimming across every curve and muscle; up, down and sideways, simultaneously, cascading, shaping, and then disappearing to reveal the newest ensemble.

He took another moment, one last self-assessment in the mirror. He let his eyes slide up and down the reflection before him, an appreciative grin slowly spreading across his lips till it was as wide as any other. Damn. Not bad for a last minute dye job, not bad at all.

With a confident wink to his mirror counterpart, he quipped, "Well, aren’t you looking damn fine?"

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

As the door to the bathroom swung shut, a raspy inhale of breath could be heard from the middle stall. Hands clambered for the door handle and the stall swung out, the chubby figure of one Theo Anders stumbling out red-faced and gasping.

He glanced around, clear surprise and shock written on his face before glancing back at the bathroom door that just finally closed behind.

“What the fuck?”