Greg Veder vs The World

Grief 7.5

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –​

Evening settled over Brockton Bay, the setting of the sun on an already hectic Saturday bringing with it the usual mix of distant city noise. The low thrum of activity from the Docks nearby barely penetrated the thick concrete walls of Greg's progressively-refurbished warehouse hideout. Home away from home, he mused, taking in the large open interior filled with brand new showroom-worthy furniture — including the living area centered around a comfy pull-out couch.

All of it, the couch especially, was provided by one specific furniture showroom in ABB — no, Ronin — territory; paid for, of course. All in all, the blond was beginning to consider it a second home, or maybe a first-and-a-half.

Greg's eyes darted around the room, taking in the mismatched furniture with a mix of pride and mild embarrassment. It wasn't exactly Better Homes and Gardens material, but it was his. Well, technically the Ronin, but potato, po-tah-to. He'd have to remember to ask Seo about interior decorators or something, but whatever.

Sparky was sprawled on the couch, his lanky frame almost swallowed by its cushions. The sight of his best friend looking so at ease in what was essentially Greg's superhero lair brought a small, genuine smile to his face. In front of Sparky, several large bags of Chinese takeout stood on the coffee table, the smell of greasy, delicious MSG-laden goodness filling the air. Greg's stomach grumbled, reminding him he hadn't eaten since... when was it? Lunch?

Yesterday?

He grimaced. Fuck.

Shaking off the thought, Greg focused on the task at hand. He wheeled in a large whiteboard covered with a tarp, the wheels squeaking slightly on the concrete floor. The sound seemed to echo in the vast space, making Greg wince. Note to self: get some sound absorption in here.

Finally, he came to a stop with the thing in the usual place, settling in the very center of the room, both him and it just a few meters away from the couch. Greg stood beside it, still as a statue despite brimming with barely contained energy. His hand lingered on the tarp a moment longer than necessary, his knuckles whitening as he fought the urge to check his phone again.

Sparky raised an eyebrow, somehow managing to look judgy even with his mouth full of chicken. "So, these the Boston guys?" His voice was dry, brow rising high as he looked over the covered board. He tossed a large chunk of orange chicken into his mouth with a flick of his wrist, chewing slowly and carefully.

With a dramatic flick of his own wrist that even he had to admit felt a bit over-the-top, Greg yanked the tarp off the whiteboard. Gotta work on my reveal flourish. The board wobbled slightly before settling, revealing a complex web of photos, scribbled notes, and colored strings connecting different locations and faces.

"Them's the Boston guys," Greg confirmed, his expression terse, a half-smile that he couldn't quite keep on his face.

Sparky's eyebrows somehow climbed even higher, the judgment practically radiating off him now. "You skipped school yesterday to set up for something that coulda been an email? Brah..."

A flash of annoyance crossed Greg's face, quicker than a shutter click, but he masked it with a laugh that sounded a bit too forced. The comment stung more than Greg wanted to admit, poking at something he wasn't in the mood to examine too closely. He pushed it down, plastering on an even brighter grin that didn't reach his eyes. "Yep! Didn't feel like going, so I just... didn't." He punctuated the statement with an exaggerated shrug, the words more defensive than he intended.

"...Brah, that's like, a mad unhealthy 'tude to have. You know that, yeah?" Sparky's tone carried a hint of genuine concern beneath the snark, the forgotten orange chicken dangling precariously from his chopsticks.

Ugh, not this again. Greg rolled his eyes heavenward before glancing back at his friend. "Well, well, well... Hola Señor Pot, my old amigo. Fancy meeting you here." Greg's retort came a little sharper than he intended, the humor not quite reaching his eyes.

Sparky's lips twitched, a reluctant half-grin spreading across his face as he conceded the point with a slight nod. "Touché, mi hermano. Touché."

Satisfied, Greg rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to the chaotic collage of intel decorating the whiteboard. Gotta check in with Seo, see how the big guy's handling that power boost from yesterday morning. Well, more Joon and Wesley than Seo. Jonouchi… Jonouchi'll probably be fine, though. His brow furrowed as he considered the potential issues. It wasn't just about watching for side effects, though those were definitely a concern. He doubted they were gonna have it as hard as Sparky or Theo, given they were still going through puberty and they got a much bigger boost; it was about keeping the men from getting too cocky, too high off the power. Gotta make sure this doesn't go to their head, make him think they're invincible or some shit.

Greg's frown deepened at the thought. Can't let any of 'em start thinking they're bulletproof.

"So..." Sparky's voice cut through Greg's darkening thoughts, "we gonna get this party started or what, boss man? What's the holdup?"

Crap, spacing out again. Greg blinked, shaking off the memory before jabbing a thumb casually towards the warehouse entrance, eyes never leaving the whiteboard. "Him."

Sparky followed the motion, freaky new hearing probably picking up the approaching footsteps that were audible enough for Greg to make out, at the very least. Curiosity flickered across his friend's face as he watched the oversized metal doors expectantly.

Instead of the big doors, the maintenance entrance to the side creaked open, revealing a pale, chubby face peeking in, blond hair barely hidden by a gray hoodie. "Uh... Hello?" Theo's tentative greeting echoed in the cavernous space.

"...el Diablo," Sparky muttered under his breath, clearly still not over the kid's unintentional reenactment of a scene straight out of the Exorcist last week.

Yeah, the whole 'black blood pouring out of every hole in his face' thing? Mad unsettling. Greg huffed out a chuckle, the sound coming out more amused than he actually felt. Shaking it off, he waved the younger boy in with a grin that was only slightly forced. "Hey, Theo, come on in."

The other boy walked in, pulling his hood down in one smooth motion.

Huh, something's different. Greg raised an eyebrow, lips pursing as his smile became a touch more genuine. "Did you... get a haircut?"

Theo gave him a small smile in return, tilting his head slightly as he approached, giving Greg a better view of his godbrother's new undercut. The shorter sides and back contrasted sharply with the longer top, the blond strands falling across his forehead in a stylish fringe. "I did."

"And you kept the bangs?" Sparky chimed in, dropping his chopsticks into the carton of Chinese food with a clatter. He turned to face Theo, eyebrows climbing as he took in the new look. "I mean… definitely a choice. Bold, I guess. I'm all for emo, but it does not work with the blond curtains, chief."

Theo glanced over at Sparky, burnished silver eyes meeting bright gold. His smile shifted subtly, a hint of something creeping in, but didn't fade. "Hello, Axel."

Sparky's expression darkened, smirk morphing into a scowl. "It's Sparky," he ground out, annoyance clear in his tone.

Theo walked over to the couch and sat down, his placid smile still firmly in place. "Axel."

Oh boy, here we go again. Before Sparky could fire back, Greg cut in with an exaggerated clap of his hands, drawing out the word, "Anywaaaaaay..."

Both his best friend and godbrother turned their attention to him. Greg clapped again, nodding slowly as he surveyed them both. "So... you might be wondering why I gathered you here today..."

"Nah," Sparky said, raising an eyebrow as he leaned back into the couch cushions. "Figured it was same old, same old."

Theo shook his head, a slight furrow appearing between his brows. "I'm not aware of any 'same old.' You were frustratingly vague on the phone, Greg."

"Was I?" Greg snapped his arm out, pointing a finger at Theo accusingly. "Or do you just lack the insight to parse my words, young padawan? Maybe the student has much to learn, hmm?"

Theo blinked, silver eyes unperturbed by Greg's theatrics. "No. You were deliberately obtuse. Almost infuriatingly so."

Heh, it was fun though. Greg lowered his arm with a shrug and a noncommittal "meh" sound.

"Also," Theo continued, raising a finger as his gaze roamed the warehouse interior, taking in the eclectic mix of training equipment, computer setups, and random detritus that littered the space, "whose building is this, exactly?"

Greg quirked an eyebrow, folding his arms across his chest. "Mine."

Theo blinked again, a hint of surprise flickering across his stoic rounded features. "Yours?"

Sparky shot him a look, chopsticks pausing halfway to his mouth. "Try to keep up, 'T-Dog', he shot at Theo, mockingly using Greg's nickname. "He just said it's his. What, you need it in writing or something?"

Theo side-eyed the olive-skinned boy to his left on the couch, but remained silent.

Greg grinned, the expression feeling a bit brittle on his face as he spread his arms wide. "C'mon, man. You're on PHO. You saw the mask in the bathroom. You know my whole deal by now. I'm not exactly subtle about it."

Theo nodded slowly, understanding dawning in his eyes. "It belongs to the ABB."

Greg's fake smile slipped for a moment before returning, a shade darker. His blue irises narrowed slightly, the sensation something Greg had gotten used to feeling even as he tried to dial it back. "No. There is no more ABB," he said the words with a hint of steel. "There's a group called the Ronin now, and it belongs to me. Along with everyone and everything in it, including this building."

Sparky glanced over at Greg, shoveling more orange chicken into his mouth. "Oh, you finally changed the name, huh?" he asked around a mouthful of food, seemingly unfazed by the sudden shift in atmosphere. "Bout time, brah. ABB was getting a little stale, don't you think?"

"Yeah, we're the Ronin now," Greg confirmed, a hint of pride creeping into his voice. "New name, new era, new management."

"Cool," Sparky said around a mouthful of food. "Just FYI, you got mad creepy for a sec there."

"Thanks, S-Money," Greg answered back, tone dry.

"Anytime, G-Man." Sparky gave him a lazy salute with his chopsticks before diving back into his food.

Greg turned back to Theo. "But yeah, I'm a hero. I'm also a gang lord. And a gamer. I have layers, y'know."

Theo's voice was laced with subtle sarcasm, one eyebrow lifting. "My mistake. You're right, I must lack insight. Please, enlighten me with your wisdom, o great one."

Greg laughed, the sound bright and genuine. "Growth! I love to see it. Stick with me, young grasshopper, and you too shall learn the ways of the Greg."

He spun to face the whiteboard, eyes locking onto the three images at the top, all humor fading from his expression. "Anyway, I called you here because I got word that the Boston group officially made landfall in the Bay last night. And that, my friends, is a problem."

Theo chimed in again, a hint of confusion in his tone. "Boston group?"

Greg gestured lazily with two fingers, not turning around. "Sparky, give him the rundown."

"The SparkNotes?" his friend asked.

" The SparkNotes."

Greg heard Sparky shift on the couch, speaking between bites of Chinese food. "Right, so, there's these gangs trying to muscle in on the Bay 'cause they think the ABB's weak now that Greg murdered Lung."

"Not. Dead," Greg corrected, still not looking back.

"Yeah, whatever. Since Greg beat Lung. Anyway, you got the Sky Dragons—"

"Flying Dragons," Greg interjected.

Sparky swallowed audibly. "Flying Dragons, right. They rolled in from New York. Got a bunch of freaky monster capes on their roster, and they roll almost as deep as the Empire. Same deal with the Boston crew. What're they called again, G-Man?"

Greg's eyes flicked up to the words scrawled in red marker on a strip of black tape above the three photos. "The Sky Triad."

"Yeah, them," Sparky continued, waving a hand dismissively. "Greg wants us to get the 411 on these guys, so if they start stirring up trouble, we know who's who and what's what."

Theo raised an eyebrow. "Succinct."

Sparky grinned, a hint of smugness tugging at his lips. "I try."

"Anyyywaaaaaayyyy," Greg drawled for the third time, still facing the whiteboard. He tried to focus on the task at hand, but his mind kept drifting, thoughts pulled towards things he'd rather not dwell on. Not now, not ever. "Sky Triad... some crazy fucks in our city, potentially about to raise hell a-"

"Hold up," Sparky cut in, frowning. "Potentially about to? That don't sound right, brah."

Greg blinked, raking his fingers through his hair. "What?"

"Potentially about to…" the olive-skinned boy repeated. "You're off somewhere. It's like saying irregardless or some shit."

Theo nodded, a rare show of agreement. "He's right."

"I am?" Sparky glanced to his right, eyebrows climbing.

The chubby blond boy nodded again, a hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth. "Potentially already suggests something may happen, so adding 'about to' doubles down on that uncertainty for no reason. It's not technically wrong, or bad grammar… just redundant."

Greg stared at them both, a muscle jumping in his jaw. Are they seriously ganging up on me over grammar right now? "...we done with the English lesson?"

"My bad, bro," Sparky said, holding his hands up in a placating gesture.

"Apologies," Theo offered, ducking his head slightly.

Greg rolled his eyes, letting out a soft sigh through his nose. Focus, Veder. Head in the game. He turned back to the board, trying to shake off the lingering sense of... something that kept trying to pull his mouth into a frown.

"As I was saying," he started again, "Sky Triad. Crazy fucks, about to raise hell in our city. Like the Dragons, they keep a tight crew. No more than a couple hundred guys, and they've been around for about the same amount of time."

The blond spun around to face Sparky and Theo, blue eyes narrowing. "But unlike the Dragons, these guys aren't about flash and spectacle. They're more like psycho mercs. They do whatever the fuck they want, as long as it lines their pockets. That includes taking jobs, but never on their home turf. They always keep their heads down in Boston, and they sure as shit stayed out of Lung's way whenever he poked his snout in their direction. Where the Dragons were Chinese, mostly, these guys… Well, they're Japanese. Which makes their name incredibly dumb because the triads originated from Chinese secret societies, and as far as Seo can tell, these 'Sky Triad' assholes are Japanese, most of them former juvie kids that were born in the U.S." Greg frowned. "Probably some sort of weird statement, or whatever…"

Greg turned back to the board, red marker in hand. He popped the cap off with his thumb, circling the three pictures at the top with quick, almost aggressive strokes. "And this," he said, stepping back and gesturing with the capped marker, "is the big boss man himself."

All of them showed off the figure of a well-built man who was clearly Asian by his eyes, even if the lower part of his face was covered by a black mask. "Meet Inazuma. Early twenties… suspected former juvenile delinquent."

Sparky let out a low whistle, clicking his tongue appreciatively. "Damn, bro is fucking built. Like, anime protagonist levels of jacked."

Greg clicked his tongue and nodded, glancing at the pics. Inazuma was a big guy, standing at least six feet tall, and just yoked in a way that spoke of regular hours at the gym or straight-up power influence. His long black hair was pulled back in a ponytail that reached down almost to his waist, and his black urban tactical gear looked like something straight out of a Japanese streetwear catalog. Dude definitely has style, I'll give him that.

"Villain View tags him as a Hi-Blast, Lo-Brute, and a Mid-Swift," Greg said, tapping the first image. It showed Inazuma leaning casually against an alley wall, looking relaxed despite the chaos around him. "PRT officially classifies him as a Breaker with two states."

Greg tapped the first image of the man, seemingly relaxed in an alley against a wall, "his normal state where he's a high-level Blaster and a decent Brute who can spam explosive lightning bolts all day, and his second state," the marker in Greg's hand shifted to the second picture, which showed Inazuma wreathed in crackling electricity, looking more like a god of lightning than a mere man, "where he gets a Striker power in the form of an explosive lightning rod — a rod made of lighting that explodes — that he can extend fuck knows how far and also, just walks on air and flash steps around."

"Bullshit," Sparky breathed, eyes wide. "That's so fucking broken, I can't even. I want it."

Greg snorted. "Of course you want that, Sparky," he added, holding up a finger, "It's fuckin' sick. Thing is though, he doesn't seem to be able to stay in it for long. It seems to hurt him and fuck with his head. It makes his scars raw or something, I dunno."

Theo tilted his head to the side, brow furrowing. "Psychological scars?"

"No…" Greg paused for a moment, clicking his tongue. "I mean, maybe? Dude did get struck by lightning, so he's probably got some trauma there, definite hang-ups. But I'm talking physical scars. Lichtenberg figures, y'know? He just covered 'em up with ink."

"Man's a fucking anime character," Sparky muttered, shaking his head. "So goddamn cool."

"Yeah, yeah, OP plz nerf," Greg rolled his eyes, but he couldn't quite suppress a grin. He turned his attention to the next set of polaroids, his smile fading. "Anyway, Inazuma's left hand goes by the name Akuma. Tyler Smith, open cape…"

His gaze roamed over the altered orange jumpsuit the guy wore, taking in the scorched and tattered edges. Juvie chic. "Triggered during a fire in his juvie. A fire he started, by the way, while trying to break out after causing a fucking riot. Because of course he did."

Greg tapped the photo with the marker, his expression grim. "Powers-wise, we're looking at a Breaker who sets himself on fire every time he hits something. Burns or disintegrates shit on contact. Real nasty fuckin' psycho."

Sparky frowned, leaning forward with a serious expression. "He got a body count?"

"'Bout a dozen deep on record," Greg answered, his own brow furrowing as he studied Akuma's pierced face and tattooed body, the inked skin seeming to flicker and peel as flames licked up the cape's arms. Can I absorb that fire? Is it even normal fire? He grimaced, mind racing with possibilities. "And that's just what they can definitively trace back to him."

Shifting his gaze to the images directly across from Akuma, Greg underlined the next name with a quick slash of his marker. "This here is Inazuma's right hand. Goes by Abunai. It's Japanese for 'dangerous', and trust me, she lives up to the name." He drew several arrows around the pictures of an extremely attractive woman in a backless white-and-purple jumpsuit, white cloth wrappings around her chest, candy-bright purple hair, and a distinctive red fox-themed gas mask. "Breaker 4 with a decent Shaker rating and a low but tricky Mover rating. Long story short, she's a gas girl. Turns into the stuff, two types specifically. Knockout gas and acid gas."

Sparky nodded sagely. "So she's like a Japanese Shadow Stalker, but also a human fart."

Greg opened his mouth to argue, only to pause, head tilting thoughtfully. After a moment, he snapped his fingers and pointed at Sparky. "Y'know what? Yeah, actually."

Theo leaned forward, silver eyes intent. "How acidic is the gas? The gas she becomes, I mean."

Greg shrugged, a slight frown tugging at his lips. "Good question. It depends, apparently. The more acidic it gets, the slower she moves. If all she's doing is making your eyes water, you might never even see her. Crazy hot, though."

"Like, damn," Sparky agreed, gaze lingering on Abunai's photos appreciatively.

Greg tapped the next image on the board, positioned below the previous two. It showed a young man with a lean, wiry build wearing a white porcelain dog mask and baggy black jogger pants, a tanto gripped in his hand. "Next up, this guy. Goes by Ansatsu, another enforcer for the Triad. Mover 5, Brute 1, and his powers are some kind of teleporting or... maybe super speed? Honestly, it's hard to tell."

Theo raised an eyebrow. "You don't know?"

Greg shrugged again, frustration flickering across his face. "I don't think anyone knows for sure. I've seen some online clips, and the dude just... flickers in place, and then — blink — he's already across the street. He blurs from point to point and leaves this weird ripple effect behind him. But that's pretty much all we've got on him."

He paused, finger hovering over the next picture, a grey-skinned woman with sharp teeth. "Next enforcer is Mako..."

The blond trailed off, frowning as he stared at the board. A creeping sense of disinterest settled over him, his earlier enthusiasm draining away. What's the point of all this, anyway? He shook his head, letting his hand drop to his side. "Actually, can we talk about something else for a bit?

Sparky raised an eyebrow, setting down his carton of orange chicken. "Uh, brah, this is your whole thing. Like, you're the one running the show here."

Greg sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah, I know. I just..."

Sparky's expression shifted, concern replacing confusion. "What's wrong, man?"

Greg didn't answer, his frown deepening as he stared at the floor. I can't... I don't want to think about it. About her.

Theo stayed silent, watching the exchange with a carefully blank face.

"Bro..." Sparky prompted, leaning forward intently.

"Emma's awake." Greg finally raised his head, blue eyes clouded. "She woke up yesterday."

"What..."

Greg sighed. "Yeah... my mom's friend, she's a nurse there. She called and told me."

He watched as a kaleidoscope of emotions flickered across Sparky's face — surprise, irritation, disgust, acceptance — before his friend schooled his features into a neutral mask, a forced smile appearing a beat later. "That's... that's amazing, dude."

"Uh, who's Emma?" Theo asked, a little confused.

"My girlfriend. She's been in a coma since the mess with Bakuda. She's awake now, finally," Greg huffed out a bitter laugh. "Except her dad says she doesn't want to talk to me."

"Greg..." Sparky started, but Greg cut him off.

"And her mom says she doesn't want to talk to me."

"G…"

Greg shook his head. "And her sister said the same fucking thing."

His fingers clenched into fists at his sides, knuckles white. "I just don't get it. I saved her. I fucking saved her life, I figured out how to wake her up, I spent so much time and energy and... she doesn't want to see me." His voice cracked on the last word, raw pain leaking through. "I just... I don't understand."

Theo suddenly interrupted, speaking rapidly with an oddly stilted cadence, as if unsure of his own words. "Do you know we literally have magic?"

Sparky blinked. "Huh?"

What? Greg sighed, shaking his head. "Yeah, I mean... duh, c'mon, man..."

Theo pressed on, his tone slightly forced. "No, I mean, I have magic."

"Double duh," Greg said, waving a hand dismissively. "You showed me the metal thing, remember?"

Theo nodded, relaxing slightly as he found his rhythm. "But that metal thing, I can do it with fire, water, air. I think I even figured out telekinesis." He gestured towards Sparky's chopsticks, a faint translucent ripple surrounding them as they floated into the air.

Despite himself, Greg felt a slight smile tugging at his lips. "Cool, mage hand!"

"Yeah, metal and earth are just easier for me," Theo explained. "And way less... expensive, I guess? I can control the elements, but not create them. Even though I feel like I should be able to. I tried, but it almost made me pass out. I think I can figure out a workaround, though. Like a cheat code, or a macro..."

"Like spells?" Greg suggested, his smile widening a fraction.

Theo blinked. "What?"

"You called it magic, but you're really just talking about dynakinesis right now. Have you tried making actual 'spells'?"

Theo fell silent, staring at his palm as Greg and Sparky watched him intently. The chunky third teenager kept focusing, his attention seemingly zeroed in on his hand and nothing else, eyes somehow distant but focused, the silver flashing noticeably at irregular intervals.

Sparky looked over at a suddenly frowning Greg, the boy's arms crossed as Theo's hasty attempt to distract him and change the subject went by the wayside, Greg's own question a more effective tool for that.

The long-haired boy shook his head. "Look, Greg, there's other fish in the sea…"

Greg snorted, a slight laugh escaping his lips as he gave Sparky a look that wasn't very humorous. "Yeah, and the sun will rise tomorrow. Anything else?"

Sparky shrugged. "What about Locker Girl?"

The blond let out a burst of laughter. "What?" What? Greg couldn't help how funny he found that, Sparky's irritation with Taylor Hebert something he made clear before.

"Y'know," The other boy shrugged listlessly. "Her… Tara or whatever."

Greg kept laughing, the sound echoing through the warehouse's cavernous space. He barely managed to rein it in, even as Sparky slowly stood up from the couch, lips pursed and brow furrowed.

Theo watched him with calm, slightly narrowed eyes, as he focused on Greg's unexpected outburst.

What the fuck is wrong with me? Greg wasn't sure what was so funny. In fact, he was pretty damn certain that nothing about this situation was amusing at all. He just... needed to get the sound out. Needed to fill the silence with something, even if it was borderline hysterical laughter.

"Greg." Sparky's voice cut through the noise, his golden gaze a little worried.

Greg tamped down on the laughter, forcing it away with a cough that sounded more like a choke. "I-I'm sorry, I... I don't know why, I'm just not having a good week." Understatement of the fucking century, Veder.

Sparky took a step forward, concern etched across his face. "I can tell, bro. But c'mon, where's that classic G-Man smile at?"

Greg grimaced, shooting his friend a dark look. "What, you think I smile all the time 'cause I'm just so fucking happy? That I don't have bad days, that I don't feel like shit sometimes?"

"No, but—" Sparky flinched.

"I'm not saying it's all an act," Greg interrupted, frustration bleeding into his tone. "I'm a happy guy, and I like my life. I really do. But I smile because I have to. I have to stay in a good mood, because otherwise... otherwise things just get worse." And I can't afford for things to get worse. Not now, not ever.

Sparky's expression softened. "Yeah, bro. I know..."

Greg threw his hands up, agitation vibrating through his frame. "No, you fuckin' don't, Axel."

Sparky stared at him silently, golden eyes firm and unblinking.

Greg sighed, dragging a hand down his face. "No, you... you kinda fucking do." He shook his head, shame creeping in. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, that was rude of me. Really rude. You almost died, and you weren't ready for that shit."

The other boy flinched again, expression going grim. "To die? Nah, I don't think anybody kinda is."

"Yeah, well... You get used to it." Greg's voice was bitter, edged with something dark and painful.

"Do you?" Sparky asked softly.

"I do. It's happened enough. Fuck it, maybe if I lose an arm, I'll take a week off or something. I got turned into hamburger and was still fucking trucking," Greg bristled, anger and hurt warring in his chest. "I got my guts blown out of my chest two nights ago. I had my face cracked open in a back alley and I still made them suffer for it."

Sparky's eyes went wide. "What the fuck, brah? When did this happen?"

"I just said two nights ago," Greg shot his friend a look, before shaking his head.

The golden-eyed boy blinked. "Bu-"

"But I don't give a shit about any of that," Greg continued, all the words spilling out of him in a rush, "because all my effort was basically fucking worthless. The person I was trying to do it for fucking hates my guts, and I don't even know why."

The warehouse was silent for a few seconds, all three boys holding their tongues as Greg glared furiously off into the distance.

Finally, Sparky clicked his tongue, shaking his head. "Wow... Wooooow."

"What?" Greg snapped, defensive.

"C'mon, man. 'The one I fucking did it for'?" He shook his head again, shooting Greg a look that screamed 'what the fuck are you talking about?' "C'mon, don't be a whiny bitch right now, okay?"

The blond stared back at him. "..."

Sparky rolled his eyes, clicking his tongue as he did so. "You're just being emo for no reason, 'cause you're sad. You didn't do this for some redhead who made the blood rush outta your head. You did it because you wanted to be a fucking hero, dumbass."

Greg glanced down, uncertainty warring with the anger still simmering in his gut. "...What if I did it 'cause I just want to hit something?" What if that's all I'm good for?

Sparky shrugged, unfazed. "Then go fuckin' hit something, brah. Just stop being a pussy about it."

"Flamme." Theo finally spoke, breaking the tension, his voice ringing out soft but clear, almost reverberating physically through the warehouse.

Both Theo and Sparky turned, blue and gold widening as the chubby boy finally raised his gaze to look at them, his face sweaty from exertion.

A small flicker of fire, no larger than a lighter's flame, sat in the center of Theo's pale hand, flickering to life in front of their eyes.

Sparky's eyes widened. "What the fuck?"

Greg just laughed, loud and genuine, the sound startling in the quiet of the warehouse. "I know you did this to distract me, Theo, but I don't even care. This is fucking sick!"

As if on cue, a phone began to ring, cutting off Greg's laughter before it could get manic again. Greg blinked, digging into his pocket and pulling out a battered blue clamshell. Flipping it open, he answered the phone with a curt, "Blue Eyes White Dragon."

The warehouse fell silent as Greg listened, his expression shifting from a slight frown to something almost approaching a grin. After a few seconds, he snapped the phone shut and shoved it back into his pocket, striding past the couch towards the door. "I'm going out. You guys can lock up behind yourselves."

Theo and Sparky exchanged a glance before turning back to Greg.

"Where you goin'?" Sparky asked, an eyebrow raised.

Greg grinned wide, a savage edge to the look on his face. "To go fuckin' hit something."

The door slammed shut behind him, the sound echoing through the space.

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –​

Theo glanced sideways at Sparky, breaking the silence that had settled over them. "...Is this sort of thing a regular occurrence?"

Sparky sighed, running a hand through his hair. "...Kinda, yeah."