Greg Veder vs The World

Lag 6.21

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –​

Approaching the dilapidated structure of Winslow High, Greg Veder couldn't help but feel a wave of cynicism wash over him. The school, with its peeling paint and graffiti-tagged walls, stood as a stark reminder of the negligence it suffered, nestled in the heart of Brockton Bay's Docks South area. The building's rundown exterior mirrored the city's gloom, its lack of care evident in every cracked window and rusted railing.

School. Great.

The thought dripped with sarcasm as Greg took his first step onto the school grounds proper, the air of the campus matching his mood - unenthusiastic and cynical. The pathway leading to the main entrance was littered with trash, just to show how much people cared.

Winslow High, despite being the second most populated public high school in the city—second only to Arcadia—was a far cry from adequately maintained. The disparity was jarring. Here was a school that, on paper, received enough funding for its size, yet in reality, it was one of the worst in terms of appearance and upkeep.

Despite Winslow looking like shit on a stick, the air around him was charged with the buzz of teenage energy and drama. Snippets of overheard conversations floated around him - gossip about weekend parties, complaints about homework, the latest relationship drama. It was like walking through a live feed of trivial concerns, each one more mundane than the last.

A group of students huddled near a graffiti-laden bench, their laughter cutting through the morning air. "Did you see the game last night?" one of them exclaimed, his enthusiasm failing to mask the tired lines under his eyes.

"Yeahhhhh, shouldn't have watched it instead of studying," another replied.

His expression, a blank smile lacking its usual intensity, barely changed as he navigated through the clusters of students loitering around the entrance. Despite his nonchalance, Greg couldn't ignore the whispers and stares that trailed him like shadows, echoes of last Friday's encounter with some Empire juniors. It wasn't every day someone stood up to bullies like that, and now he was a walking, talking piece of high school folklore.

"...heard he took on three of them by himself," one voice whispered, tinged with a mix of awe and disbelief.

"No way, Veder's just a regular dude," another scoffed, skepticism lacing their tone.

"I hear dude's on the juice."

Holding back a sigh, blue eyes roamed Winslow's grounds as he slowed his approach, in no real hurry to get to the doors, attention falling on a group of eyes that seemed locked in his direction. Girls stared back at him, a few pretending to be on their phones but he could tell by the glances of the half-dozen group that they were looking at him.

He glanced down at himself quickly, wondering if he had spilled something on himself during his rushed breakfast. His outfit today was a simple one, one better suited for lazing indoors than school, but he didn't really care. Throwing on a sky blue t-shirt with a large white exclamation mark on the center of it and a pair of baggy white sweatpants over similarly-colored sneakers, he had simply run out the door after scarfing down some pancakes and eggs. And no stains either…

He glanced back up and sighed. Probably nothing. Turning away from the girls as he still felt their attention on him, Greg's eyes dulled as his thoughts went somewhere else.

The night before still weighed heavily on his mind. It was supposed to be his big debut as Void Cowboy, the persona he had meticulously crafted, the one that was truly 'him'. But instead of a grand unveiling, it turned into a humiliating… humiliation. I can't believe I let myself get punked by some two-bit villains, he thought, frustration simmering within. And a literal trash-tier cape... what a joke. What were the Merchants even doing there?

White Knight's fights with Lung and Hardkour's clash with Oni Lee had left him feeling like a real, serious cape, and had made him think that Prodigy was up there with the big-leagues.

But Void Cowboy? That was a different story.

The embarrassment he faced the night before was a bitter pill to swallow, especially considering the effort he had poured into superhero work.. I should have seen it coming, should've been quicker, sharper... he degraded himself internally.

Greg's gaze drifted past them, noting the cracks in the pavement, the way the weeds had made a home in the neglected flowerbeds, and the tired, resigned expressions of students trudging their way to the school's entrance. It was a scene played out in countless high schools, but here, it felt like a prelude to something bleaker. You'd think with all the attention this place gets, someone would bother fixing it up.

Passing by a group of underclassmen, he caught a fragment of their conversation - something about a new video game release. He probably would've really been invested in that a few months ago… weird.

A moment later, as he swerved to avoid another set of giggling girls in his path, his thoughts were interrupted as someone tried to brush past him, a shoulder bashing his own. "Watch it, Veder," an annoying voice sneered.

With barely more than a thought to guide his actions, Greg pushed back with his own shoulder, patience wearing thin even as he kept his force minimal. "You watch it, Tenorman," he growled at the boy in the letterman jacket. The jock's surprise was evident, and the surrounding students couldn't help but laugh and whisper at the sight of the football player being put in his place.

Figures. Satisfied with his small victory, Greg continued towards the school entrance, his mind drifting back to the previous night once more. The embarrassment, the mockery he must be facing on the forums, what PHO was probably talking about, it all gnawed at him. He'd planned to stay offline for a while, to let the heat die down. At least for a week, maybe more.

But the replay of his mistakes still burned.

He tried to shake off the thoughts, focusing instead on the day ahead. Thinkin' about it won't change anything, he reminded himself. Today was a new day, and he'd just have to face it head-on.

"Told you to step the fuck back, slant!" Greg's frown deepened at the slur, the angry word pulling him out of his irritated thoughts.

His eyes narrowed as his gaze snapped up, instinctively scanning for the source. Why can't one day at this place be normal? His thoughts were interrupted again as a kid with a phone in hand clumsily collided with him. The kid mumbled an apology, eyes wide with a mix of fear and anticipation, clearly more interested in recording the scene than being part of it. What the- Greg followed after and rushed forward, moving no faster than a normal person, and pushed his way into the middle of a small circle already forming around the front doors of Winslow.

Both hands moved instinctively as a figure charged in his direction and another nearly stumbled to the floor, his attention barely on his actions before he was already done. In one swift motion, Greg's palm caught a large fist, stopping it dead in its tracks, while his other hand grabbed the collar of a smaller boy's shirt, pulling him back to safety.

The blond blinked and glanced down, blinking again in recognition at the Japanese kid in his grasp. Huh. He turned his head slightly to face the shocked face of the first student, the other boy still half wearing an enraged grimace.

Tall and built like a basketball player, with toned muscle and a shock of blond hair bleached even brighter, he wore a tattered jean jacket over a band t-shirt Greg had never heard but Sparky probably had a poster, trying hard to look the part of a tough guy.

Logan? Greg frowned at the thought. Logan Sterling was another idiot that he knew well, the boy one of his usual bullies in the sophomore year that sniffed around Mal and the other juniors in an attempt to be more than an Empire wannabe. He had been one of the outcasts like Greg in the first half of freshman year, almost even something like a potential friend.

Considering he seemed to be a fan of Japanese media, manga especially, no one ever figured he would be one for the Empire.

That was before puberty hit and he started to bulk up, getting wider and taller enough to be somewhat intimidating to others in the same year.

Greg, especially.

Or at least, he used to be.

Logan's face, twisted in aggression, slowly melted into confusion as he realized who had stopped him. "Veder?"

Greg's hand tightened slightly on the collar of the other boy's shirt, his gaze locked with Logan's startled brown eyes. "Sup, Logan?" Greg plastered a smile onto his face. "Read any good manga recently?"

"Look, I didn't even do anything," the boy in Greg's grasp tried to argue, wriggling around in his shirt. "I was just trying to get inside."

"Yeah, I bet," Greg replied, his tone light but his gaze sharp. He released the boy, who quickly scurried back and away from the action, quickly surrounded by a group of other Asian kids.

Logan's fist, still caught in Greg's other hand, trembled slightly, the initial shock of being stopped mid-swing giving way to a simmering anger. "Let go of me, Veder," he growled, trying to pull his hand free. The crowd of students around them whispered and murmured, some taking out their phones, hoping to catch a potential fight on camera.

"You wanna keep your teeth, Loge?"

Several other boys, their hair dyed a noticeable bottle blond, stepped forward from the doorway, surrounding Logan as the boy flinched at Greg's threat. Greg stood his ground as Logan's posse, a mismatched group of wannabe tough guys desperate to be part of the Empire, closed in around their leader.

The boys flanking Logan were equally imposing in their own way, each trying to puff themselves up to seem more intimidating. One had a buzz cut and a face full of acne, his oversized hoodie hanging off his skinny frame. Another, with a nose that had clearly been broken more than once, wore a sleeveless shirt that showed off his tattooed arms. They all shared the same look of misplaced confidence and anger.

Greg finally letting go of the other teenager's fist, Logan's face paled slightly as he stumbled back. "Let's keep it civil, yeah?" His voice was calm but firm, the underlying threat clear.

"Civil?" Logan spat, his face full of anger and embarrassment in equal measures.

"Yeah, civil. You know, like calm?" Greg answered back. "Too big of an SAT word? My fault."

The taller boy growled, puffing himself up even as he remained in place, seemingly hesitant to take a step forward. "The fuck do you think you're talking to?"

"The fuck do you think you are?" Greg shot back with a snort. "You think you're tough, man? Picking on someone like Hiro?"

"Wait, how do you know my na-"

"Why don't you try that with someone your own size?" The blond continued, not letting the other boy speak. "You big enough, bro? Bigger than Mal?"

"You really think you're something, huh, Veder?" Logan hissed, his eyes darting around, gauging the reactions of the growing crowd.

Greg's lips quirked into a smirk. "Just think you should pick on someone your own size, Logan. Or maybe find a better hobby."

The one standing just behind Logan, a pudgy boy with arms crossed defiantly across his muscle shirt, spoke up. "No fuckin' ABB in the school unless they pay a fee. Lung and Oni Lee are done, we're not letting them in for free."

Greg hummed, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Nice rhyme, Dr. Seuss, but freedom is the right of all sentient beings. So is education. Move."

"Or what?" Logan challenged, confidence bolstered by his crew.

"Or I'll beat your faces in," Greg responded, grin sharp and dangerous.

The threat wasn't one without heat or weight to it. Last week's events had spread like wildfire through the school and both Greg and the Junior-Eighty-Eights knew it. On top of that, the public denting of a locker with Mal's head on top of Coach Wilker's added gossip of him being on roids had given him a bit of a reputation when it came to being something of a fighter.

Not to mention, the added rumor of him beating up Sophia so bad that the humiliation made her stop coming to school.

He still wasn't sure where that came from or why he was supposedly at fault but the rumor mill was like that.

"You gonna let him talk to you like that?" one of the bottle-blond boys muttered, his voice laced with uncertainty as he glanced between Greg and Logan.

One of Logan's friends, a wiry boy with a shaved head, stepped forward. "Maybe we should teach you a lesson, Veder." His voice was eager, too eager, like he was trying to impress Logan.

Greg's eyes flicked to him, then back to Logan. "You sure? Right here, right now?"

Logan's resolve visibly wavered as Greg spoke, but he puffed out his chest as he realized all the eyes on him, trying to maintain his bravado. "What's it to you? Scared?"

Greg laughed, the sound coming from a place deep inside him. "Of you? Never. But it was really hard to get blood out of my jeans last week and I'm wearing right now so…"

Logan took a step back at the reminder of the last fight Greg had been in, his gaze darting around the crowd. The whispers and the watchful eyes of the other students seemed to press down on him, weighing heavily.

Suddenly, a voice called out from the crowd. "Come on, Logan, leave it. He's not worth it."

Logan glanced over his shoulder, his expression faltering as he saw the disapproval in some of his friends' faces. He looked back at Greg, his anger still simmering, but his confidence visibly shaken.

He shot a final, spiteful look at Greg before turning away.

"We're not done, Veder," Logan spat out, but the threat lacked heat or venom. The other boys, picking up on Logan's retreat, exchanged uneasy glances before shuffling away, their own confidence visibly diminished.

The crowd, their anticipation for a fight unmet, began to disperse with murmurs of disappointment and curiosity. Greg watched them leave, his posture relaxing slightly as the confrontation came to an uneventful end. Shaking his head, the blond glanced back at the boy he had saved as the crowd slowly walked away and indoors, the fight they had been hoping for not going to happen.

The boy Greg had saved broke apart from his friends and gave Greg a wary look as he walked back up to him, adjusting his glasses nervously. "Thanks, I guess," he mumbled, clearly unsure how to react to the sudden rescue.

"No problem, Hiro." Greg shrugged nonchalantly.

"Uhhh… do I know you?" Hiro Yasuda, one of his new AGB commanders, asked meekly, shrinking back slightly as Greg suddenly focused his gaze on him.

"What was that?"

The shorter Japanese teen stared up at him, adjusting his glasses once more as he tried to take in the other boy. "Y-you knew my name? But I don't know you?" He stepped back slightly, his face blanching slightly as he slowly took in Greg's taller, more muscular, blond form, probably drawing many wrong conclusions.

Fuck meeee… Greg mentally cursed.

He had forgotten, for a moment, that Hiro only knew him as Hardkour, not as Greg Veder. He quickly let go of Hiro's shirt, hoping to diffuse the situation. "No, you don't. Forget it," he replied with a snort, trying to brush off his slip-up. "Just watch out for yourself, yeah?"

"Y-yeah." Hiro nodded, still a bit dazed, and hurried off in the opposite direction.

Greg watched him go, his mind briefly wandering to the complexities of his double life. One minute I'm fighting super villains, the next I'm fighting bullies on roids. My life is weird.

He pushed past the doors of Winslow and into the familiar dilapidated hallways and flickering lights above as they greeted him like a bad friend, strides slow and unbothered. The lockers lining the walls were covered in posters and flyers, each one screaming for attention despite most people paying them no mind. The chatter of students filled the air, a constant buzz that Greg had learned to tune out.

He navigated through the crowded halls, sidestepping a spilled backpack here, a huddle of gossiping students there. He passed a group of juniors huddled around a phone, their laughter loud. One of them caught his eye and quickly looked away, whispering something to her friend. Greg couldn't help but wonder if they were talking about him, or about Void Cowboy. He pushed the thought away as he approached his locker. No use worrying about what they think.

As he spun the combination lock, a figure huddled nearby caught Greg's eye. The familiar slouch, hidden under a black-and-yellow hoodie and sunglasses, could only belong to one person in the whole of Winslow High.

"Hey, Sparkplug." Greg couldn't help but tease. A grin played out on his lips as he observed his friend, who looked more like a brooding, incognito celebrity than a high school student. "What's with the glasses, bro?"

Axel "Sparky" Ramon, his posture only slightly defensive, lowered his sunglasses a little, showing off a brilliant pair of bright gold eyes that seemed to shine like the sun against the comparatively dull ones above. In fact, they seemed to pierce through Greg, the boy in yellow blinking slowly as he stared. The hooded teenager glanced around cautiously before replying in a slight hiss, "Because fluorescent lights mess with my new eyes, dumbass. Shit's a bitch-and-a-half to deal with."

Man, that's gotta be tough. Greg barely held back a sigh again, smile fading slightly as something in his stomach left him feeling unsure of what to say. I can imagine, still getting used to the sensitivity. "Yeah, that sounds about right."

Leaning against the locker wall, Sparky let out a heavy sigh as he banged the back of his head into some rando's locker. "On top of that, I'm wearing earplugs and I can still hear just as good as I could before. Shit's fuckin' insane, brah."

"Yeah…"

"Like some next level comic book shit."

"I know…"

"Like, I think I'm getting abs?" Sparky's pitch rose, voice sounding hesitant as a hand cradled his stomach.

Greg tilted his head slightly as he shot a glance at his friend, unsure of how to respond to that one. "...nice?"

Sparky shot him a weird look back. "I mean… yeah? But in a weekend? That's fuckin' weird, brah."

Greg nodded as he swung his locker open, the metal door creaking slightly. "You're not wrong. You know it was the only way I could..."

"Don't," Sparky cut him off sharply, his expression hardening as he raised his head again, sunglasses tilting forward until Greg was faced with his friend's wolf-like glare. "Don't apologize. Not for this. I'm the one that snapped and went off rogue. You ain't try to torture me to death."

Greg paused, his fingers hovering over a textbook. What do I say to that? He wondered, his thoughts a whirlpool of guilt and relief.

Sparky continued, a hint of excitement creeping into his voice as his grin widened, teeth seeming oddly sharp for a moment as he stood up straighter. "Hell, you killed the fucks that wanted to. 'Sides, I can jump almost twice my height now. That's sick as hell, I don't care what else, man."

A genuine laugh escaped Greg at the newfound enthusiasm in Sparky's voice. "Yeah, it's pretty badass. Just remember, with great power…"

"We all watched the Eidolon movie. Shut the fuck up," Sparky shot back, unable to hide the small smile on his lips. "I get it, Greg. I'm not planning on going all lone rogue vigilante on you."

"Good to know." Greg grinned, relieved. "Just promise me you'll be careful, okay? We don't need you getting into any more trouble."

"I'll try," Sparky replied, his tone light but his eyes serious. "but you gotta watch the stones you're throwing. Don't wanna fuck up your own house, my boy."

"Huh?" He winced as he said the word, the smirk on Sparky's face undeniable as he realized what he was referencing. "Wai-"

"Ain't that right, Void Cowboy?" Sparky whispered the last three syllables with a growing grin that was entirely mocking.

Greg sighed, leaning forward into his locker as he tried to hide his head from his friend's mocking. He didn't need enhanced hearing to hear the barely repressed laughter in Sparky's voice and he certainly didn't want it right now. "It wasn't just a joke, y'know. I put a lot of thought into that persona."

"Bet you did."

He groaned again. "But I did."

Sparky let out a pleased hum. "And where did that thought get you?"

"Can we not do th-" Greg felt himself being pulled out of his locker by the back of his shirt, the blond allowing the action until he once again found himself facing the grinning face of his best friend. "Can we not?"

"Oh, we're gonna, brah," Sparky shot back. "You lost to the fuckin' Merchants."

Greg winced again. "I didn't lose to the Merchants. I took down Mush. Squealer and Skidmark drove away and I was not in the mood to chase them down, okay?"

Sparky shrugged, glee visible in his eyes as his sunglasses dipped forward. "You got beat up by band instruments and a walking garbage dump uppercutted you. Sounds like a loss to me." There was very little that could make the other boy smile but actually getting on Greg's nerves for a change was one of them.

"A piano missile slam-"

Their conversation was interrupted by the bell ringing, signaling the start of homeroom. Students around them began to move with a renewed sense of urgency, heading to their respective classes.

"Whatever. We'll talk about this later," Greg said as he slung his backpack over his shoulder. "J-just.. just meet me at Old Industrial tonight."

Sparky, ever the skeptic, raised an eyebrow, his sunglasses once again slipping down his nose slightly. "Why?" he asked, as he adjusted them back on.

Greg'se expression shifted from a scowl to a grin, embarassment giving way to excitement at the flip of a mental switch. "We're going for a run. Trust me, you're gonna love it."

The look on Sparky's face told Greg very well that his friend was as interested as he was skeptical. "Alright, brah, I'll bite… but this better be good."

Greg chuckled, closing his locker with a final thud. "Oh, it'll be good."