"That was kinda weird," Greg muttered to himself, running along the walls of a Downtown skyscraper, his arms thrown behind him as he moved at high speeds. The cool evening air whipped past his face, muffled by his helmet but still sharp enough to keep him alert.
It had been.
Undeniably.
Lady Bug sending him that invitation on PHO had been… also very weird. The memory of the message notification popping up on his phone still made him do a double-take.
He honestly hadn't believed it was the real Lady Bug yesterday, until Greg realized that she was also verified on PHO. Which then brought up the question… Why is she talking to me? The thought buzzed in his head like an annoying fly, refusing to be swatted away.
It had been almost two whole months since the one and only time they met, before he had unlocked Gram, before he had taken down Bakuda, before he had fought Lung for the first time…
The memories flashed through his mind in rapid succession, each one a snapshot of adrenaline and chaos.
Jesus Christ, it's only been two months, Greg pulled a face under his red helmet. Feels like way longer.
He had been expecting many different things when he showed up. His mind had conjured up scenarios ranging from ambush to impromptu dance party. One of them had not been a simple hangout. The normality of it all had thrown him for a loop.
Honestly, not even top five options on his mental list. Greg smirked to himself, amused by his own overthinking. It had been top ten, though.
Funny enough, Lady Bug wanting to pour her heart out to him had actually been top three, but not like this. The reality had been far more... mundane? Was that the right word?
Was I really just used for therapy? He knew it wasn't that simple but the thought had made him frown at first on the inside, which was weeeeird. You have a gf, dude. Anyway, he might be kinda-sorta-friends with Lady Bug now — Greg had not been expecting that.
Hell, it had been a whole month since he had last been Sir Prodigy — almost two since he and Lady Bug had last met.
He didn't think they were cool like that, for real. The idea that she might actually consider him a friend made something warm and unfamiliar stir in his chest.
Guess I made a good impression, he smirked to himself, leaping off the edge of a rooftop. The ground rushed up to meet him, a dizzying swirl of concrete and asphalt that sent his heart racing. He was already in his Hardkour costume again, the red helmet snug around his head as he looked out at the world through his white double-sided lenses. It had taken an instant to switch outfits, Greg ducking behind a rooftop the second he was out of Lady Bug's sight and transforming with a thought. Time to take care of business.
He landed atop a six-story building, rolling to build off momentum, both his body and his padded motorcycle leathers absorbing the impact with practiced ease. The gravel of the rooftop crunched under his feet, tiny pebbles scattering in his wake.
Greg sprang up and sprinted towards the edge as wind blew through his hair where it poked out of the top of his helmet, his pace quickly reaching at least sixty miles per hour. The world blurred around him, buildings and cars melting into a kaleidoscope of colors.
He bounced up in a short leap, arms lunging out as he grabbed onto the side of a metal pole off the edge of the building. The cool metal bit into his gloved hands as he swung around it, letting go of it at the perfect moment as his momentum sent him hurtling at speed right towards another building.
As soon as he landed, he ran vertically up the side, sticking to the wall with his Adhesion skill. Each step felt like defying gravity, a middle finger to Newtonian physics that never failed to make him grin.
Greg dodged around rooftop obstacles like HVAC units and exposed pipes using fluid flips and spins. His body moved on instinct, years of video game parkour translated into real-world agility thanks to his powers.
The call from Lee had been… unexpected and more than a little bit frustrating. The memory of the conversation made his jaw clench, the playful energy of his run momentarily replaced by a spike of anger.
Apparently, the Sky Triad was making noise again, not all that happy that Mako was in PRT custody thanks to him. So they had decided to raise hell by fucking with Ronin property off the Downtown Coast. Because they seemed to think that the best way to deal with their problems was to make them everyone else's problems too.
Trouble was, the old buildings they had been wrecking were occupied by a bunch of people that already had beef with both the Ronin and the Sky Triad.
Three guesses who that would be, and if your first wasn't the Flying Dragons? Greg almost felt his eye twitch behind his Hardkour mask. Because why the fuck not?
> Quest Gained!
>
> Turf Wars: Flames and the Fallen
>
> It's like the worst of a bad horror and action movie mash-up on your doorstep. The Sky Triad and Flying Dragons have unleashed their respective heavy hitters — Akuma, a fire demon with a flair for murder, and Jiangshi, a killer zombie who's all brawn. As they turn your turf into an action-packed, flaming nightmare, it's up to you to strike back.
>
> Objective: Defeat Akuma and Jiangshi in a showdown on your territory.
>
> Bonus I: Prevent any civilian casualties during your clash.
>
> Bonus II: ???
>
> Success: 40,000 XP, +10 VIT, Perk: Hard to Kill, +5 to [Pyrokinesis]
>
> Failure: Loss of ¼ of the Downtown Coast, Loss of respect with the Ronin
Greg growled at the thought of never having any peace in this fucking city. The lieutenants of both the Dragons and the Triad duking it out would have been perfectly fine by him if it wasn't happening in his territory.
He frowned. Well…
That wasn't exactly true, but he would probably have been less pissed about it. Who am I kidding? I'd still be pissed. The thought of gangsters tearing up any part of his city made his blood boil.
Greg approached a wide street gap, eyes narrowing behind his mask as he calculated the distance. With a burst of speed, he made a cat leap onto the taller building across. His fingers scraped against rough brick as he scrambled up quickly, moving with inhuman ease. In seconds, he was flipping up to the roof, the momentum carrying him into a smooth roll.
This would be so much cooler with a soundtrack, he thought, imagining an epic orchestral piece accompanying his moves. The night air whipped past him, cool against the exposed skin at his neck.
Spotting a narrow scaffolding, Greg grinned. Time for some Mario action. He used it as a makeshift tightrope, balancing perfectly while sprinting between rooftops. The metal creaked under his feet, but he paid it no mind. His focus was razor-sharp, every sense heightened by the thrill of movement.
Reaching the end of the scaffolding, Greg launched himself towards a neighboring building. He used a burst of speed to bridge the distance, the gap between structures yawning beneath him. For a heart-stopping moment, he was airborne, nothing but open air between him and the street far below.
He landed in a low crouch on the next roof, barely pausing before sprinting forward again. The impact sent a jolt through his legs, but his body absorbed it like it was nothing. Superhuman durability for the win.
Greg jumped and rolled over a series of small air vents and other rooftop clutter, weaving through them with nimble footwork. It felt like a real-life video game obstacle course, each move flowing into the next with practiced ease.
The worst part was he had actually been really enjoying hanging out with Buggy, even if he wasn't as big of a fan of her new costume. Kinda liked the creepy look better, he mused. Made her seem more... I dunno, mysterious? The memory of their rooftop pizza date—No, not a date, idiot—flashed through his mind.
He bit his lip as he leapt up and used a billboard as a springboard, pushing off with his hands and vaulting high and far across to another building. The advertisement for some new action movie blurred past him, forgotten as soon as it was out of sight. But that would have been rude to say, he reminded himself. Plus, Emma would kill me if she thought I was critiquing another girl's outfit. I think.
Upon landing, Greg sprinted down a declining rooftop, gathering speed as he headed towards the outskirts of the commercial district. The slope added to his momentum, making him feel like he was flying. Buildings whizzed by in a kaleidoscope of concrete and glass.
He navigated through a construction zone, using half-constructed walls and beams as a complex obstacle course. Maintaining speed and direction, he vaulted over stacks of lumber and ducked under hanging tarps. The smell of sawdust and fresh paint filled his nostrils.
Greg leapt from the construction site to an apartment building, transitioning from the unfinished structure to an old fire escape. The metal clanged and rattled as he clattered down several flights swiftly. Hope nobody's trying to sleep, he thought with a smirk.
Spotting a water tower, he swung around it, using the momentum to pivot and change his trajectory toward a cluster of smaller buildings closer to the docks. The rusty metal groaned under his grip, but held firm.
He made a series of rapid descents, jumping from building to building, decreasing in height as he neared street level. Each landing sent a small shock through his body, but the thrill of movement kept him going.
Greg caught sight of a moving bus and grinned. Time for some Pro Skater shit. He ran alongside it for a moment before smoothly transitioning to its roof, using it to cover ground quickly without expending as much energy. The rumble of the bus's movement vibrated through his body.
After a few blocks, he dove off the tram, tucking into a tight ball and rolling into a narrow alley. He pushed off walls to maintain speed, ricocheting between brick surfaces like a human pinball. The confined space amplified the sound of his movements, echoing off the walls.
Greg emerged from the alley onto a busier street, seamlessly blending into the crowd for a few moments to cross. He weaved between pedestrians, his movements so fluid that by the time most turned around, he was already out of sight. The noise of the city—car horns, snippets of conversation, distant sirens—washed over him.
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Re-entering a quieter area, he used parked cars and dumpsters as stepping stones to keep his feet off the ground and maintain a relentless pace. Each surface offered a different texture—smooth metal, gritty asphalt, slick plastic—forcing him to constantly adjust his movements.
As he approached the final stretch, Greg spotted the Docks in the distance. The salty air grew stronger with each step, filling his lungs with the unmistakable scent of the ocean. It mixed with the urban smells of exhaust and concrete, creating a uniquely Brockton Bay bouquet.
He utilized the last few rooftops, making smaller, more calculated jumps as the buildings became more sporadic near the waterfront. The gaps between structures grew wider, requiring more precision and focus.
For his final move, Greg executed a soaring leap from the edge of an old warehouse. He tucked his legs in as he flipped—once, twice, three times, four—covering a crazy distance before landing in a tucked roll on a deserted backstreet near the Docks. The impact sent a jolt through his body, but he absorbed it smoothly, coming up into a low crouch.
His head moved on a swivel, scanning the area for any signs of the gang activity he'd been sent to investigate. The warehouse district loomed around him, full of shadows and potential hiding spots.
"Now, where the fuck are these—"
A sound that could be nothing but an explosion ripped through the air, Greg flinching instinctively even as he spun around. The blast wave hit him like a wall, rattling his teeth and sending his heart racing. What the actual fuck?
His eyes widened just in time to see a warehouse wall buckle and burst, concrete giving way as a blurry figure was launched through it at speed. Time seemed to slow as Greg's enhanced senses kicked in, allowing him to take in every detail of the chaos unfolding before him.
The wall crumbled like it was made of styrofoam, chunks of concrete and rebar flying outward in a deadly spray. Dust billowed out in a thick cloud, momentarily obscuring the figure hurtling through the air. Greg's muscles tensed, his body reacting before his mind could fully process the danger.
His eyes widened and he ducked low as rubble flew over his head and around him, a wave of heat flowing out. The heat washed over him, making his skin prickle beneath his costume. Too close for comfort, he thought, adrenaline surging through his system.
Greg turned his head as the flying figure hurtled above his head, gray skin and black clothing barely visible amid the cloud of rubble careening alongside him. The person – Cape? Greg's mind supplied – looked like a ragdoll tossed by a giant, limbs flailing as they soared past.
The figure landed with enough force to crater the already pockmarked street as they struck it, their body skipping over the ground like a stone lazily flung by a giant. Each impact sent shockwaves through the pavement, cracks spiderwebbing out from the points of contact. Greg winced at the sound of bones crunching, but the figure kept moving.
It slammed into a car at the other end of the street past him, the metal screeching like a banshee as it jackknifed around him. The vehicle folded like an accordion, wrapping around the person's body in a twisted embrace of steel and glass. For a moment, everything was still, the only sound the settling of debris and the faint hiss of the car's dying engine.
Greg's eyes widened slightly as the man wrapped in mangled metal spat out what could only have been a curse, pallid gray hands gripping the sides of the wrecked car and slowly pulling himself free. Huh. Regeneration Brute. So that's what that looks like. The teen watched in morbid fascination as the man emerged from the wreckage. Gnarly.
He was a muscled man shorter than Greg, wearing a ripped black t-shirt and jeans, with ragged white wrappings around his hands and forearms. There was a large faded white scar in the shape of an X across his face centered on his nose. What stood out most, though, was his skin – an unnatural, sickly gray that made Greg think of corpses and zombies.
Greg narrowed his eyes. Analyze, he thought, activating his power.
> Jiangshi Lvl 42
> Urban Revenant
> HP: 1280/1280
> Trait: Somatic Integrity Reinforcement
>
> Jiangshi is the undead enforcer of the New York Flying Dragons. With skin as gray as the city smog and hair like silver wire, this villain is a relentless, regenerating thug who refuses to stay down. Feels very little pain or much else at all, apart from the rush of adrenaline. Jiangshi prefers close-quarters combat to better leverage his brute strength and rapid regenerative abilities. It's the only way he feels alive.
"Son of a…" Hardkour's gloved hand went to the sword on his back as the gray-skinned man fully stood up, the villain rolling his neck as he groaned and spoke. "This fuckin guy."
Cloudy-looking whitish eyes turned Greg's way, the guy clicking his tongue as he raised an eyebrow. "I know that ain't who I think it is…" His voice was a gravelly drawl, tinged with a hint of New York accent.
Hardkour stared back, trying to keep his voice level and intimidating. "And who are you thinking?"
Jiangshi snorted, a sound somewhere between amusement and disdain. "I'm thinking it's some shitty AB-brat who's trying to get in the way of my fight."
The teenager blinked, momentarily thrown off by the casual dismissal. "Your fi-"
"WHERE THE FUCK IS THAT SHITTY ZOMBIE?!"
Greg's head snapped back to the hole in the warehouse wall the cape in front of him flew out of, a figure hopping out onto the rubble with a mad cackle. The new arrival's voice was high-pitched and manic, a stark contrast to Jiangshi's bored drawl.
Analyze, Greg thought again, his power kicking in instantly.
> Akuma Lvl 45
> Firestarter Fugitive
> HP: 450/450
> Trait: Dermal Pyrokinetic Propagation
>
>
> Akuma, the Sky Triad's fiery left hand, blazes through Boston's underworld in his distinctive orange juvie getup. Already a psycho whose parents gave up on him, he broke out of juvie by setting it on fire, and was dumb enough to get caught up in his own flames. Triggering and escaping instead of dying like he should have, Akuma started up the Sky Triad with an old friend to turn his knack for chaos into a career. His skin isn't just hot; it's a walking fire hazard, ready to ignite anything (or anyone) unlucky enough to brush against him. While he is a hothead, Akuma does need a moment or two to calm down to avoid losing control.
"Jay, c'mon, man, what happened to our fight?" The guy spat out, strutting down from the rubble. He was a skinny, wiry-looking Japanese man with piercings across his face and ears. He wore an orange prison outfit with bare arms, covered with straps in many places. "I was having fun."
Akuma. Greg blinked, watching the fire trail up the man's bare arms, skin flickering like paper and trailing off into the air as bits of flame. Oh, that just looks weird. It was like watching a human candle, flesh melting and reforming in a constant dance of fire.
"Ask this fucking kid," Jiangshi drawled, jerking a thumb in Greg's direction.
Akuma's gaze snapped to Greg, the blond standing directly in the middle of both villains. His eyes were wild, pupils dilated with a manic energy that made Greg's skin crawl. "Ay, kid, what happened to my fuckin' fight?"
Greg tensed, glancing between the two villains. He could feel the heat radiating off Akuma, the air shimmering around him. Jiangshi, on the other hand, seemed to suck the warmth from his surroundings, his undead presence an unnatural chill. Caught between fire and ice, Greg thought, just my luck.
"I don't know what you fucking think this is," Greg growled, trying to channel his inner badass, "but keep it out of my fucking territory."
He glanced at Jiangshi, noting the way the undead cape's muscles tensed, ready for action. "Take it back to New York," he said, before shifting his gaze to Akuma, "or Boston. Or wherever the fuck else. Just keep it out of my backyard."
The gray-skinned man grinned slowly, a predatory expression that made Greg's hair stand on end. "I don't know, I kinda like it. Feels like a second home."
Akuma laughed, a high-pitched giggle that sent shivers down Greg's spine. "Yeah," he said, flames dancing in his eyes, "It lets us meet in the middle. And I'm all about compromise."
Hardkour fought the urge to roll his eyes. Great, comedian villains. Just what I needed. "Portland's right next door," he suggested, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Go fuck their shit over."
Jiangshi tilted his head, considering. "He's got a point."
For a moment, Greg thought they might actually listen. Then Akuma spoke again, dashing those hopes.
"Yeah…" the pyrokinetic drawled, his grin widening impossibly. "But the boss likes this shitheap. With Lung off to the Birdcage, it's looking like a perfect vacation home. A real fixer-upper, though." His gaze swept around the derelict warehouse neighborhood. "And your shit is in need of fixing-upping."
Hardkour felt a spark of anger at the casual dismissal of his city. "Rude," he muttered, fingers twitching as he resisted the urge to draw his sword.
Akuma's eyes snapped back to Greg, narrowing dangerously. "And on top of that, you got my fucking shark girl arrested."
Hardkour's eyes flicked in his direction, confusion momentarily overriding his anger. "I'm... sorry? Was she your girlfriend or something?" That wasn't in the briefing…
Akuma's demeanor changed in an instant. The fire on his arms intensified, flames licking higher as he started to twitch. His face contorted with rage, suddenly seeming to become manic as his palms exploded with fire with the force of small grenades. The blast sent debris flying, scorching the ground beneath him.
Greg tensed, muscles coiling as he prepared for the attack he knew was coming. Time seemed to slow as Akuma pointed his hands behind him, using the explosive force of his flames to propel himself forward.
The pyrokinetic shot towards Hardkour at high speed, spitting and screaming at the top of his lungs: "YOU GOT MY SHARK GIRL ARRESTED!"