NOVEL FROG Mob 5.13
Mob 5.13
– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –
April 20, 2011
12:37 PM
Broken glass along his path crackled threateningly as Greg stepped through the doorway, bare feet treading across the detritus without care. Sharp edges threatened to dig into his soles but he felt little more than pin-pricks, his bare skin resisting it nearly as well as one would expect from a pair of sturdy boots.
Lights flickered on one-by-one above his head as he entered the building, the once-pristine door swinging back closed behind him. It hit its grooves with far more force than the thing was really meant for, the tinkling of more jagged glass joining those already on the floor at the boundaries of Greg's perception.
He shuffled on unsteady legs, muscles aching from a need to rest. Wounds across his body — a painful reminder of his disastrous duel with Oni Lee... as well as its almost-lethal conclusion — numbly reminded him that he should be suffering extreme pain. Not for the first time, Greg was thankful for Gamer's Body for allowing him to survive what would have been his assured execution. And yet, the pain lingered — the throbbing numbness and erratic sensation of ache and hurt was a constant annoyance.
In hindsight, the impromptu usage of Reinforcement when escaping the burning backdrop of his duel with Lee had helped keep him from falling apart then and there. But he knew very well that Reinforcement was only a delaying tactic, one that also seemed to epitomize the idea of diminishing returns. Case in point, it was enough for the mere minutes it took him to flee the scene, but now that he'd dropped it, the frailties of the flesh returned to the forefront of his mind.
He didn't even hurt, really.
His stats alone gave him a vastly superhuman baseline - and that was without bringing his various Resistances and the other Perks and Abilities into play - but that did nothing to change the fact that his body was broken and damaged in a variety of ways. Sure, his powers made the pain and discomfort he felt negligible, to a certain point, but it still remained that Greg was simply exhausted above all else. With his Health nearly as low as his Will, his body and mind yearned for him to stop and rest; to give himself a chance to recuperate.
One hand clutched his torso as he hobbled forward. The feeling of warm blood as it dripped from sucking wounds and through his fingers was a familiar one. It trailed behind him, each drop slipping past his grasp with every single step.
He hated this so much…
This feeling...
This weakness...
It wasn't him.
He was better than this. This was nothing to him.
One blue eye fluttered closed to match the other as Greg took in a shaky breath of clean air, the last remnants of smoke scraping at his throat lessening in the presence of its antithesis. He stumbled forward at the deepest point of the inhale, chest shooting up like fire in the very center as it expanded outward from the depth of the breath.
He coughed.
That single action bent him at the waist, a mass making its way past his throat with more weight to it than a mere cough could ever hope for. The taste of blood on his teeth, coating his mouth, was replaced by a taste far more acrid and bitter than he would like.
Something left his mouth as he remained doubled over; the dark mix of black, brown and red sending a wave of confusion through him as it splattered over the marble floor. A little more continued to leak from his lips, the red in the mix growing brighter as his throat continued to spasm and heave.
A liquid Greg knew had to be human blood kept leaking from him and he couldn't help but wonder what color his teeth were at this point, a dumb joke from what felt like years ago making its way into his head.
Who brushes a single tooth at a time? Teethbrush is more like it.
He felt a ridiculous grin work its way across his face and, through the haze of exhaustion, he began to laugh.
...Ow.
A few seconds letter, Greg Veder let himself breathe again, wounded torso apparently not quite ready to support another laughing fit. Okay, I deserved that one. Wasn't funny in third grade. Wasn't funny now. Again… Ow.
Apparently, getting blasted by energy-beams, carved up by a machete, taking the force of a salvo of grenades to one or more body parts, and finishing with a round of impalement wasn't good for you.
Who knew?
Another laugh.
Another hacking cough of detritus being expelled from his insides like hocking a loogie, and the splash of something on the once-white tile beneath him.
The boy didn't bother raising his one good arm to wipe his mouth; the ash, dirt and blood staining the burnt remains of his costume was likely to leave more of a mess than it would remove if he tried.
Man, he was tired. A yawn came unbidden to his freshly-healed lips. When was the last time he slept? Oh, right. That rooftop. Maybe…
Maybe he should take a nap or something. Surely, that couldn't hurt, right?
Right?
No!
The blond blinked his one good eye, shaking his head from side to side as he tried to fight the specter of exhaustion dragging him further and further down. No.
Greg had things to do. ABB to hunt. A "Bakuda" to find, whoever that really was.
He could sleep when he was done.
It was less than ten seconds after he finally started to move again that his legs finally decided that he was done for him. Greg Veder's eyes began to slip shut as he collapsed forward, consciousness already beginning to fade before he could even register the object that halted his fall.
...Closing his eyes for a few seconds wouldn't hurt… right?
Right.
– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –
Quick Healer → Fast Healing
Catch Your Breath → Warrior's Breath
Toughened Body → Iron Body
Perk(s) Gained
Fast Healing
Just a flesh wound, right?
You heal much faster now, regaining Health at a rate of a fifth of your VIT every fifteen seconds.
Warrior's Breath
The true power of the Warrior lies in his Breath.
Recovering from countless struggle has forced your physical energies into a state of rapid circulation. Your base Willpower recovery rate is multiplied by 10.
Sleep It Off
Great advice, honestly.
Negative Status Effect durations are lessened by 25% while Asleep.
Iron Body
"I am not built as weakly as you are."
Forget about being tougher than most people. Now, you're just plain superhuman. All physical damage is reduced by your level number, in addition to all other damage reduction.
+Blunt Force-based Status Effects require a Critical Hit to manifest
Title(s) Earned
Lucky Bastard
Fortune smiles upon you. You have experienced good fortune at a time when you assumed all was lost.
+???
+???
+???
Skill Gained!
Mana Barrier Lv 1
Some kind of force-field!
The power to generate and manipulate defensive fields of arcane energy as a projected construct of your Mana. When using this Skill, your barriers can negate and/or deflect all physical damage up to a certain level. Any damage above the negation level shatters the barrier immediately.
Warning: Strength of barriers can decrease proportionally and drastically with complexity.
Cost: 50 Mana
– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –
April 20, 2011
6:36 PM
Greg Veder woke up the way he usually did.
...Most days, at least.
His mouth opened with a slight gasp as Greg was thrust forward into immediate consciousness and his body brimmed with an energy that he usually took for granted. He lay there, face-down, for a few moments, not even opening his eyes as he allowed the caffeine-like rush of energy in his system to settle down to something far more manageable.
He blinked slowly, both eyes closing and opening again without the twinge of pain that some part of him had been expecting. Instead, that expected feeling was replaced by sheer comfort. What… The blond remained still, letting out a toneless, meaningless sound of appreciation as he shifted slightly in bed, eyes still closed. When did my bed get so… nice?
The thought echoed in his head as he nestled deeper into the comfort of the mattress for a few moments, rubbing his uncomfortably matted hair against an unusually firm pillow that was somehow just as soft as the bed.
Individual fingers twitched — one by one — until his hands clenched into fists at his sides. Greg opened them again, letting out a long, low breath of air. He regretted that an instant later as his eyes darted open from raw shock, nearly retching as the stench of his own breath wafted into his nostrils.
Greg raised his head from the pillow, hoping that a lungful of fresh air would ease the smell, only to find himself having to struggle. "What the... "
The words were muffled into the pillow as it rose with him, stuck to the side of his face for whatever reason. Dazed and confused, Greg's hands rose to the pillow and wrenched it away from his cheek, wincing as the pillow seemed to make a sound that was equal parts crackling and ripping as it came away and fell onto his lap.
Greg spared a glance down at the pillow now in his lap and found himself flinching again — recoiling at the mass of encrusted blood, dirt and hair that coated its formerly soft, pristine surface. He inhaled sharply before gagging on the stench of the tattered mask that still clung desperately to his face.
"Jesus Christ… Uggh, I can barely breathe with this thing on." The blond paused to let out a slight cough, immediately raising a hand to the base of his neck and gave the fabric a sharp tug to wrench it off.
Shit.
What remained of the balaclava came free in his grip, falling apart completely as frayed and burnt cloth finally gave up the ghost. The torn balaclava and battered, dented skull mask fell onto the pillow in his lap before clattering to the white tile floor below.
All of a sudden, Greg flinched as his unprotected eyes were suddenly faced with the full glare of harsh fluorescent lights, the sudden stimulus forcing a few blinks out of him.
With an annoyed groan, Greg tossed the dirty pillow from his lap and back onto the bed proper, his wincing gaze following it a moment later. For the second time that day, Greg Veder found himself recoiling in disgust.
What was once a pristine white surface had now been dyed several colors; all of them dingy, unappealing and downright disgusting. The vigilante blamed it on all the dried blood and soot that had soaked into it all. "Christ on a cracker…" Greg let out a groan of pure revulsion as he glanced down at the surface of the bed, leaning back slightly from his position on the edge of the bed. "Can't believe I did all this."
Shaking his head, Greg thoughtlessly licked his parched lips, eyes widening as he realized what he did. A moment later, he found himself having to push back the bile rising in his throat, Greg almost gagging once more as the taste of blood and grime spread across his taste buds. "Son of a…"
His hand jerked up almost instinctively to cover his mouth, his palm slapping against the flesh of his face with audible force. The blond went still a second later, the same hand falling away from his face. Greg blinked, his expression twisting in confusion as he stared at his own hand as if it was unfamiliar to him. He raised his hand again, much, much slower this time around, and prodded his cheek with four digits at once. Huh.
Without a second thought, Greg slapped himself across the face.
Hard.
His head whipped to the side from the force of it, the harsh sound of flesh on flesh almost ringing in his ears as he shook his head. But, apart from that…
Nothing? He mouthed the word to himself, still blinking in subdued confusion. As odd as it sounded, he hadn't felt a single bit of pain from the hit itself, the actual pressure and force from the self-inflicted slap aside. He could register what had happened and he could process the actual sensation but the instinctual sting of pain just wasn't there.
What the… Greg looked down at both his hands, breathing in deep through his nose as he tried to process this new development. I don't look any different… Well, he paused to prod at his filth-encrusted chest, noting some added definition that hadn't been there the last time he checked, Not too different.
He flexed his fingers again, unsure of what exactly he was noticing. He feltdifferent, that was for certain, but how exactly that expressed itself was up for debate. It didn't seem to be a matter of strength or anything along those lines; he knew what that was like already. If anything, he felt more… solid, he guessed would be the term.
What that meant for him, he wasn't actually sure, but it didn't seem to be a bad thing so it wasn't like he needed to care all that much. What he actually needed to focus on was how much of a mess he currently was, considering he had been lying in his own filth for who knows how long.
A frown grew on his face as he stared at his mostly bare arms and chest, smoke and dirt coated so thick on his upper body that he seemed to be wearing a black shirt. His gloves could barely be called such anymore, most of the cloth having been worn down to pitiful threads at this point, and his boots… well, those were completely missing. The entirety of his costume had been mangled to the point that the only thing still in one piece were his trousers. Well, disregarding the massive rips in the cloth, of course.
Really, it was no surprise that the bed and pillows were a mess, considering what Greg looked like.
Being aware of how he looked seemed to awaken the rest of himself as a sense of strong discomfort made its way through his body when he tried not to scratch at his filth-encrusted body. "Just like right after Lung…" He muttered again, unable to stop himself with his fingers already going to work on a patch of dried blood and shriveled muscle fibers that his body had likely ejected and replaced sometime during his nap. "Only, no bathtub to wash off in."
The young cape raised his head again, voice still somewhat raspy, and let out a confused grunt as he glanced around the room he found himself in.
"Mattresses? A… A mattress store?" Greg continued to look around, his first words apparently hitting the nail on the head. Mattresses upon mattresses filled the rather large showroom, each one slightly different from the rest. His eyes flicked over to the shattered glass door, a massive hole in both the upper and lower panes making said blue orbs widen.
"...Shit," the syllable was followed up with a pitiful frown, a contrite expression to match his mood. The blond craned his head over at the mess of the door and then slid his gaze to the half-broken wall next to it, signs of someone attempting to break the door frame visible to the naked eye. "Seriously? I did all that too?"
"No, that one wasn't you."
Greg sprung to his feet at the sound of an unfamiliar voice, entire body alert and surging to life in an instant. Before he could stop himself, the teen had already spun around with both hands raised, mana already geared up to launch fiery hell at whoever and whatever posed a threat.
"Hello there."
Greg blinked at the figure standing at the side of the room opposite the front entrance, an older man standing right by yet another door, this one leading further into the building's interior, a still-damp mop leaning against the frame. The flames curling around his hands sputtered out immediately, the mana Greg had been feeding the pyrokinetic reaction coming to a sudden stop. Haltingly, the blond lowered his hands from their ready position and stared back, mind racing.
My mask… shit. I took my mask off without even looking… Jesus, what's wrong with me? Just say something. Say anything. Go already!
"Uh… Hi?"
Solid.
"Glad to see you awake." The adult male shuffled forwards and into the light of the mattress showroom, allowing Greg to get a better view of him. He wasn't a small man, not in the slightest, but he wasn't exactly tall either, powerful arms and a solid chest somewhat at odds with his apparent age.
Dark-skinned and with a thick salt-and-pepper beard connecting to a similarly-colored mustache, the older man cut a rather stocky figure as he took a few steps closer to Greg. A pair of square-lensed glasses glinted in the light, hiding the man's eyes for a second before he spoke up again. "Been out for a while, haven't you?"
"Uh…" Greg blinked, words again failing him. "I guess? Maybe an hour or two?"
"You've been out for a good six, young man," the words came as the business-casually dressed man paused his forward movement by a stack of mattresses, a large and colorful 'Clearance!' sticker stuck to each of them. "That's worth a bit more than a guess."
"S-S… Six?" Greg blinked at that, more thrown by the number than anything else. "I've been out for six whole hours?"
The man nodded slowly, raising an eyebrow as Greg stiffened again, visible worry making its way into both their expressions. "About that, I'd say. Truthfully, if it wasn't for you talking up a storm in your sleep, I'd have long figured you as dead."
Six hours? Six hours? Greg couldn't help but shake his head as he tried to process that, the action more inherently violent than usual as he slammed a palm into his forehead repeatedly as he did so. Six hours!?
So much could have happened in just one hour with the city going half to hell and here he was, wasting daylight on a stupid nap. Six… whole…
Before he could launch into another mental tirade or continue beating himself over the head with his own hand, Greg felt the calming spread of [Gamer's Mind]lapping at the shores of his mind, almost as if warning him that it was there more than actually doing anything.
Letting out a growl that was more frustration than actual anger, Greg shook his head a second time, fingers digging into his palm as he tried to compose himself. A moment later, he forced a weak smile onto his face and glanced back up at the other figure in the room, the older man brushing something off his blue polo shirt as he waited patiently.
Despite his [Danger Sense] not giving him any warning at all, Greg couldn't help but feel a rising paranoia that was entirely his own. He had broken a door to get inside, passed out in this store for nearly a half day, and ruined a presumably expensive piece of this guy's property and yet, the older man was as calm as ever.
Something didn't feel right about this.
Greg raised a hand over his mouth with the pretense of scratching his nose and uttered a quiet 'Observe', hoping to get some information before he allowed himself to say or do anything else.
Patrick Porterfield Simpson, Lv 11
Small Business Owner
HP: 260/260
Patrick Simpson is the owner of the local Mattress King in Brockton Bay. A former police officer, but quit long ago for several reasons. Does not trust either the PRT or the Protectorate. Carries two handguns at nearly all times. Secret Justin Bieber fan.
Greg blinked at the second to last line, returning his gaze back to the man in question as he suddenly realized why he was so calm.
Searching for something to say to break the silence, Greg turned back to glance at the blood-stained, filth-covered mattress and back over at the shattered door, mind already made up on what to say next as his gaze returned to the man who he now knew for sure owned this place. "Oh, I'm… uh… I'm sorry…"
"Sorry?" Mr. Simpson glanced up, lips in a firm line as he surveyed Greg with a critical eye. "Only one's feeling sorry here is me. A mattress-pillow set like that would go for about two grand, give or take..." He folded his thick arms over his chest, one eyebrow raised as he continued speaking. "No matter which way I spin it, still puts me about a thousand in the hole."
Greg found himself blinking again, confused by the sudden turn of the conversation. "Uh… I understand. I can give you that, I guess, but… uh, what about the door?"
There was more than a little confusion on the store owner's face as he spared a moment to process Greg's words. "What about the door?"
There was silence from Greg at this, his mouth hanging partially open as he found himself struggling to answer yet again. "It's… It's broken?"
"And you're telling me this because you want to do something about it," the ex-cop half stated, half asked Greg, eyebrow raised as if asking a question with far more depth.
"I think s-" Greg cleared his throat again, idly flexing his arm to draw attention away from how uncertain he sounded. "Yes, I mean. Yes, I would like to do something," he replied, figuring the man wouldn't say no to some money to cover costs. A little more than some would likely go a long way to keeping him quiet, too.
There was silence between the two of them, Greg growing more uncomfortable as the older man continued to stare at him like he could read the teen like a book. After a silence that felt much longer than it probably was, Mr. Simpson let out a tired sigh, shoulders slumping for little more than a second as Greg heard him mutter something.
The blond frowned as he managed to catch the word "kids", then the words "never change" and "bother to listen" following shortly after.
Mr. Simpson gave Greg another once-over, eyes still narrowed before he shook his head again. He replied, "The door's my problem, not yours."
Greg opened his mouth, a question already on his lips when the dark-skinned man simply turned around without warning and began to walk back into the dimly lit hallway. Pausing for a second, he glanced over his shoulder and gestured back at Greg in a move that clearly said 'Come on.'
With that, he disappeared around the corner.
"What?" Greg found himself mouthing, more than confused by the sudden shift in the conversation. Whatever. Shaking his head, the blond took a cautious step forward, common sense warring against bold impulse.
A single step later and bold impulse won.
What's the worst that could happen?
– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –
"...Oh, man…" Greg let out a not-so silent gasp of air as he shook his head without even meaning to, eyes closing for a few moments.
"This is… this is…"
He shook his head again, mouth opening and closing almost without his control.
"Kid, I'm gonna need you to relax a bit."
Greg opened his eyes, pausing his fish-impersonation to glance up at the mattress store owner. The man in question had risen out of his seat when Greg wasn't looking, already having poured himself a fresh and steaming cup of coffee in the interim. On the other side of him, on the counter, was a good-sized counter TV screen, its screen black and powered off as it sat next to a fat radio that looked at least a whole decade out of date.
Greg wasn't sure exactly what he was expecting when he followed behind the man just a few minutes ago. But being led into a well-lit break room and offered something to fill his empty stomach had not been in his top three guesses.
"Hmmpf?" Mouth full and grimy face speckled with crumbs, the shirtless teen raised his eyebrows as he cast Simpson a questioning glance. After being on the receiving end of an expectant stare, he took the hint and managed to swallow the remainder of the roast beef sandwich he had just mowed through, the remaining acrid aftertaste of his own mouth and still somewhat-dirty hands somehow not spoiling the experience for him. Water and hand soap could only do so much, after all.
Pausing yet again to clear his throat, Greg raised his gaze once more. "I mean, uh… Yeah?"
"I said, there's no reason to eat that fast," Simpson spoke up again, raising the steaming mug slightly higher with each word. "Food's not going anywhere and it's nowhere near as good as you're making it seem." The older man took a sip of his coffee, the large, black mug reading 'Best Boss' in white print hiding his expression for a single moment. "I would know, since they're leftovers from my friend's deli a few blocks over."
Greg allowed himself a slight grin, the expression slightly forced but undoubtedly familiar. "Sorry about that. I guess I haven't really eaten anything that wasn't energy bars in a while." His grin grew a little more as the man's expression shifted back into one of interest. "Your friend's sandwiches are real good, though. Guy knows his beef."
"I'll tell him you said that. But fair warning, he will use it as an endorsement."
"Oh," Greg took another bite of a fresh sandwich, now eating at a much slower pace. "Why's that?"
"Because… well," Simpson allowed himself another sip, the man letting out a soft exhale as he raised his lips from the mug, "the man loves capes. Old ones, new ones, young ones. It's a hobby, you know."
Greg's grin wavered slightly. "Y-yeah, I can understand that."
"Good that you do, 'cause I sure as hell don't."
The blond flinched at the sudden shutdown delivered in a suddenly grizzled tone, the older man's expression darkening for a quick moment. In a few short steps, he made his way over to the round plastic table Greg sat at and took the seat across from him.
"Football's violent as all hell, but at least half my team isn't dead or missing six months in. So, I have to ask..." Simpson raised the cup to his mouth again, eyes not leaving Greg as he did so. "... Why?"
The teen swallowed another bite of beef, working his jaw as he set down the remainder of his sandwich on the paper plate in front of him. Letting out a long breath, Greg leaned back in the metal fold-out chair, blue eyes fixed on the store owner. "... Why what?"
"You look about fourteen, kid. You should be at home or something… waiting for this craziness to die down, doing whatever it is fourteen-year-old boys do to pass the time. Not… not this."
Greg didn't have to force the slight smirk on his face at those words, the teen still leaning back in his chair as he replied, "First of all, almost sixteen here. Second…" Greg paused to let a soft hiss of air leave his mouth, the sound the closest thing to an honest laugh he could manage right now. "I mean… what exactly do you think fourteen-year old boys do to pass the time?"
"This is not a joke, kid." The black mug clinked down on the linoleum surface between them, a few drops of black coffee trailing down the side of the cup and pooling beneath it. "It stopped being funny when I saw you stumble in here, bleeding like a stuck pig and looking like you've been put through a meat grinder and a smokestack."
"I can see that, I guess…" Greg offered a slight tilt of his head, one arm lazily draped over his bare chest. "... I mean, I always did think I smelled a little like pork. Which is super weird, 'cause I've never liked the taste."
Simpson's jaw tightened. "Kid…"
"Man..." The retort was intended as light and humorous, but the intensity in the teen's blue eyes and the slight bite in his tone gave the single syllable an edge that wasn't necessary.
"You really don't understand?"
"Depends," Greg replied flatly, the smirk on his face at odds with his suddenly uninterested delivery. "There's a lot I don't understand and a lot I don't want to understand."
Part of him wanted to call it some sort of victory as Simpson's hands tightened into fists on the table at his retort, but the rest of him wondered why he was still even here, apart from needing to keep the old man silent somehow.
Patrick Simpson let out another sigh, the man raising his gaze as he dragged his seat even closer to the table, the slight screech of rubber soles on tile going ignored by both occupants.
"Listen… Listen real close and let me tell you something…" Simpson leaned closer, voice low enough that he wouldn't have been heard if Greg wasn't the only other person in the quiet room. "I've been stuck in this goddamn store since Sunday afternoon with nothing but those two boxes behind me to pass the time. I've seen you on the news and I'm pretty sure I've heard about you on the radio."
Yay for me. The thought was tinged by not a small amount of bitterness, Greg already imagining how the news was showing him as getting ragdolled trying to pull of a rescue attempt and needing to get saved in the end by the very person he was saving. He'd be lucky to escape total humiliation after this. Looks like I'm famous.
On the outside, he simply crossed his other arm over his chest as his smirk slowly faded from his face. "And?"
"Do you want to end up in a morgue, son?"
Greg felt himself audibly groaning before he could stop himself, an imaginary pressure building up in his forehead as he forced himself not to flinch. "Please… please don't call me that again."
A raised eyebrow joined the piercing stare being sent his way. "What, you mean 's-?"
"Yes, that word." The teen nodded as he interrupted the store owner. "No offense, I'm sure you're a great dad but I already have one of those."
"Kid, this stopped being funny a long time ago," Simpson dropped bluntly. "You need to stop whatever this is before it's too late. Just…"
An exhale left the older man as he rubbed his chin in silence for a few moments, eyes not leaving Greg's. "Just tell me, what exactly do you think you're accomplishing out here like this? You think killing yourself is gonna get you anywhere? What do you think you're doing than the cops can't? That the PRT can't?"
The cape remained silent.
"You really think any of that makes you a hero?"
Greg blinked, mouth performing an imitation of the Sahara as the question sunk into his bones. "I mean…" The blond's eyes widened just a bit further. "I… I am…"
Memories flashed through his mind of the last few days. Screams from thousands, the wails of the suffering and the cries of the gangsters as he hunted each and every one of them down, his own laughter as he simply mowed through them. So many burnt-out husks… an entire apartment building warped in on itself like an Escher painting… a side street full of what looked like but couldn't possibly be simple ice sculptures… Not like that. All things he couldn't even help with in a million years if he tried...
The blond turned away and licked his lips, a distant expression on his face as he looked back at Simpson again. "You know what? I'm… I'm not sure. Least not anymore."
"Oh?" There was silence between the both of them, Simpson's mouth still trapped in a perfect O as he muddled over the answer he definitely had not been expecting to receive.
"Yeah. Yeah, I thought I was, you know." Greg worked his jaw again as his gaze dropped, opening it and closing it with repeated clicks like an infant discovering the wonder of teeth for the first time. "I thought it was just that simple. Cool costume plus superpowers multiplied by the number of bad guys taken down. A few factors to add in, maybe, but other than that… Yeah. Basic hero equation."
"...And your parents were just okay with this?" The question came off as hollow, Simpson's face oddly tight as if preemptively regretting the question.
"M-my… my m-mom…" Greg shut his eyes tightly, trying to force back tears that weren't even there as he felt himself calming down almost immediately. He opened his eyes almost immediately after, a smile on his face that he couldn't feel. "My mom's the reason I'm still out here."
"..."
"Not just her. There was this girl… She was the first one who ever liked me…" He screwed his eyes shut one more time, again fighting tears that didn't exist. "Like, like liked me. And I saved her the first time and I thought I was in the clear… I did my job, right? The hero's duty, y'know. I saved the girl. I even got her to the hospital and my mom was there and then… then…"
"That hospital?"
"Yeah, that one." Greg shook his head several times, vague sounds of disagreement escaping him as he did so. "...It was my fault, you know. I wasn't ready. I w-wasn't… I wasn't..."
He paused for a moment, single fist tapping against his chest in a staccato beat as he stared down the recalcitrant store owner. "I wasn't thinking. If… If I had payed attention, if I had gotten my head together… If I had focused…"
The teen took in a shallow breath, controlling himself again before something could do it for him. "There's a reason I've been running around trying to stop all this… Looking for the person behind all the explosions, trying to stop the ABB before they could set off any more. I was doing something good, y'know? And I messed up, yeah, but I'm… I'm the good guy h-here." He patted himself on the chest, voice taking on an almost pleading tone.
"I'm the only one who seems to be doing anything cause I haven't seen a single real hero actually taking down a single one. I'm just one guy, right? You'd think they'd be ahead of the game a little more. But noooo." Greg's eyes closed yet again as he shook his head. "No, they're just flying around while the city's on fire probably doing photo ops and playing peacekeeper and just… justlettingthosemonsterswalkarou…"
His knuckles went white.
[PTSD] negated by Gamer's Mind.
Greg's breath could be heard for a quiet few moments, his clenched fists slowly descending onto the table. As they made contact, he spoke up again. "I'm sorry. I've just been so angry and I've tried real hard not to be, 'cause it's really fucking hard to hold b-"
He cut himself off and took in another breath, licking dry lips to buy himself a moment more before speaking again. "... There was this explosion last night. ABB set off a bomb that turned everything around it into goo… including a gas main. An abandoned building south of the Docks went up and I was there. I tried to put it out… tried to pull the flames out of the building. Didn't work that well so I tried blowing the fire out with as much wind as I could manage…"
"... I heard about that."
"Yeah, I b-bet you did." Greg suppressed a slight shudder at the thought of it, the teen still surprised by how quickly things had… flared up. "Look, I..." A bit of nervous laughter escaped his lips before he could stop himself, Greg not even knowing where it came from. "...I fucked up. I keep fucking up. Just… over and over. There's so much I could have done different, done better… So much time I could have not wasted."
Mr. Simpson seemed to be struggling as Greg continued to speak, the man flinching several times as he laid bare what was currently bothering him. "Young man…"
"So much time I spent running around fighting bad guys… for what?" The blond let out an audible snort, mouth far too wide for the expression on his face to be a simple grin. "I haven't done a single thing to actually help anyone or fight any criminals for a reason that wasn't… selfish. I called myself a fuckin' hero cause of that. I knew and I didn't even care. It just felt good to be something, to do big things. I was strong and fast and powerful… And even when I got beat into the ground, I felt untouchable."
His too-wide smile restrained itself, lips pulling back into a distant smile. "I know it was selfish but... it was fun, I guess? I was a hero 'cause it was fun? Yeah, that's pretty much it." Greg shook his head as he leaned forward on the table, gaze dropping to the table's drab, gray surface as he hung his head.
WIS + 1
Another sigh escaped his mouth, the young blond faced with unwanted confirmation of his own realization "...You're right."
"I am?" Even without looking, he could hear the feigned disbelief in the older man's tone. "Mind telling me what about?"
Greg didn't even bother to raise his head, eyes screwed shut as the he groaned into his hands. "You don't have to rub it in, okay? I'm not a hero, I get it. I'm just a selfish, stupid kid who's in over his head," he replied, tone as blunt as he had ever been. "Are we done here?"
The break room was left with a pregnant silence, the only sound interrupting the quiet being the gentle tick-tock of the clock hanging to the right of the fridge.
"... August 15, 1995."
Greg blinked at that, confused by the non-sequitur even as he kept his head down.
"It was a Tuesday," the older man continued, voice wistful. "And I had just celebrated my fortieth birthday the week before."
The teen lifted his head, making eye contact with the store owner immediately. "What?"
Patrick Simpson raised his eyebrows, the mug in his hand just inches away from his lips. "That was the day I turned in my badge. I was a cop fifteen straight years and I made sergeant five years prior. Wanna know why I quit?"
Greg didn't answer, simply blinking as he wondered what this had to do with anything.
"Well, I'll tell you," Simpson continued on as if Greg had actually responded, lowering the coffee to the table without even taking a sip. "Just two years before that, the PRT became official and just like that, capes were officially out of the hands of guys like me."
The older man let out a chuckle that sounded more bitter than anything else. "Years of my life fighting idiots in masks and all of a sudden, I wasn't good enough. Pissed me off like you wouldn't believe."
Simpson's mouth opened in a broad and toothy smile, coffee-stained front teeth and dark gums on display. "I liked being a cop and I liked fighting capes. Made me feel good. Made me feel a rush. Was I reckless because of that? Selfish? Stupid? Of course… but it don't change the fact that I was still a cop. I did what I had to. I put away criminals; both parahumans and regular like me. Why should any of my own hang-ups take away from the good I did?"
The hint of a smile formed on Greg's face, just thin enough to barely be noticed.
"No matter why I put on the uniform, it doesn't make fifteen years of hard, honest work meaningless. I don't think the people in this city care all that much whypeople help them. What matters is that they actually do. And I'd be a liar if I said you weren't doing at least that much. I hear it on the television and the radio — while the Protectorate and PRT ran around the city, trying to put out the fires, someone out there was helping the police make arrests on multiple ABB strongholds, and keeping keeping people safe from looters and thugs. And, kid, as sad as that is for me to deal with, I bet that someone's you."
There was another stretch of silence as Simpson rose out of his chair, the old man's smile dimming to nothing. His mouth became a thin line, an odd pain in his eyes as he stared at the boy across from him. Greg stared back expectantly, spirit rising as he took in the ex-cop's commendation, backhanded as it was. "I can't stop you, kid. I wish I could say I don't think you're gonna end up getting yourself killed... but it's your life and your choice if you wanna waste it."
A light came back into Greg's eyes at that, defiant yet strangely hopeful.
"I'm not wasting it and I'm not gonna stop either," Greg finally replied, voice edged with firm resolve. The slight smile on his face threatened to spread further as he stood up himself, the chair beneath him screeching on the floor as he slid it back. "I'm doing what I have to."
"...Are you?"
If the older man had been expecting a thoughtful reply from Greg, he was about to be severely disappointed as a twinkle of mischief shined in the teen's eyes. "Of course I am. Beats hiding out in the back of a mattress store."
The older man's laugh was unexpected, Greg nearly flinching at the sudden raspy sound Simpson let out. "Can't deny that one, can I?" The harsh chuckle was nearly as much a surprise to Greg as the wrinkled hand the store owner stuck out. "Pat Simpson."
After a moment of quiet thought, Greg reciprocated with his own. Skin made contact with skin and they shook, Greg's thin smile bursting out into a grin as Simpson let out a slight sigh, as if already regretting it.
"Greg Veder."
They pulled back from the handshake, both of them falling back to an awkward silence as they stared each other down with far less tension than before between them.
"So," Pat began, hands falling to his waist. "Would I be wrong in assuming that you aren't going to stop until either you or the ABB give up the ghost?"
"That was the plan, yeah," Greg replied with only a slight snort at the terminology. He nodded his head regardless, lips jutting out slightly as he gave the question a moment's thought. "Why?"
"Because..." the dark-skinned man began with a sigh as he walked over to the counter behind him, "If this doesn't make you rethink things, I really don't know what will." That said, he pressed a button on the side of the small television, the screen quickly fading in from pure black to the over-saturated graphics of Brockton Bay local news.
Blue eyes widened as the images on screen continued to play in front of him, Greg barely paying attention to the actual words being said as the shaky video and the text beneath it captured his full focus.
His head snapped back to Simpson, neck moving so fast that it would threaten almost anyone else with whiplash at the very least. He had only word on the tip of his tongue.
"When?"
"...About an hour before you came to." Another sigh left the older man. "I'm assuming you still haven't changed your mind?"
The grin on his face stretched wide enough that it almost hurt. "Complete opposite."
"Of course," the mattress store owner muttered.
"But, first things first…" Greg glanced down at his blood-encrusted and soot-stained body, hands in determined fists at his sides as he looked back up at the adult in the room.
"I'm gonna need a shower."
– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –
Spoiler: STATUS