The tension in the air was palpable as Cora paced through the temporary hideout, tablet in hand. Her sharp gaze darted between screens displaying drone schematics and security feeds from the Syndicate’s battleground. Each tap of her stylus was quick and deliberate, punctuated by frustrated muttering.
“Tempo,” she said, not looking up, “have you seen Greg? We’re supposed to be strategizing, and he’s... gone. Again.”
Tempo leaned casually against the wall, arms crossed, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement. “Relax, Cora. He’s probably doing something super important. Like, I dunno, figuring out the mysteries of the universe. Or deciding what flavor of chips to eat next.”
Cora shot him a glare that could’ve melted steel. “We don’t have time for jokes. The Syndicate’s operations are escalating, and I need everyone focused.”
“I’m focused,” Tempo said, raising his hands defensively. “Focused on how mad you’re gonna be when you find out where he is.”
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Cora’s irritation mounted as she checked every likely spot: the surveillance room, the storage area, even the supply closet. No Greg. Finally, she stormed into the workshop, where the hum of machines and the faint scent of soldering metal filled the air.
And there he was.
Greg was curled up inside an empty drone assembly pod, his head resting on a spare hoodie he’d rolled into a makeshift pillow. A faint snore escaped his lips, and his signature eye mask—emblazoned with “DO NOT DISTURB”—rested over his face.
Tempo peeked over Cora’s shoulder, taking one look at the scene before bursting into laughter. “Oh, man, this is gold. He’s like a cat. You could’ve checked any random corner, and boom, nap time.”
Cora crossed her arms, her jaw tightening. “Greg!”
Greg stirred but didn’t wake.
“Greg!” she shouted louder.
This time, he sat up groggily, pushing the eye mask to his forehead and blinking at her. “Huh? Oh, hey, Cora. Did you need something?”
“Need something? Yes, I need my team to be ready for a life-threatening mission. And you’re over here... napping?!”
Greg stretched, completely unbothered. “You make it sound like I was slacking off. This is called self-care, Cora. Can’t save the world on an empty energy bar.”
Cora pinched the bridge of her nose. “We’re infiltrating one of the Syndicate’s key facilities, and you’re playing Sleeping Beauty?”
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“Sleeping Beauty didn’t do half the work I do,” Greg quipped, sliding out of the pod and brushing off his pajamas.
Cora froze. “You’re still wearing those?”
Greg glanced down at his brightly patterned pajama pants, adorned with cartoon sheep holding swords. “Yeah. Why? These are battle-tested.”
Tempo was doubled over, barely able to speak through his laughter. “Dude, are you serious? Sheep with swords? You’re gonna terrify the enemy!”
Greg shrugged. “Laugh now, but when this becomes the new superhero look, you’ll all owe me royalties.”
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Moments later, the team approached the factory perimeter. The tension returned as they navigated past automated sentries and motion-activated alarms. Greg, however, had the relaxed energy of someone strolling into a café.
Inside, the facility buzzed with activity. Drones floated through the air, and conveyor belts carried crates of weapons and strange, glowing capsules.
As the team moved stealthily through the maze-like structure, a sudden alarm blared. Red lights flashed, and the hum of machinery grew louder.
“Guess the Syndicate wasn’t expecting visitors,” Greg said casually, rubbing his eyes like he’d just woken up from another nap.
From the shadows emerged a group of enforcers, their glowing visors scanning the room. Tempo darted forward, his movements a blur as he disarmed one of them with a well-placed kick. Cora stayed back, directing a small robot to disable the nearest security camera.
Greg, however, was nowhere to be seen.
“Where is he now?!” Cora hissed, ducking behind a crate.
A few seconds later, a vent above the enforcers rattled. Greg tumbled down, still stretching mid-air, landing on one of the enforcers and knocking them flat. He sat there for a second, yawning.
“Man, you guys start without me?” he mumbled.
Tempo was howling with laughter. “Greg, you just took out an enforcer by accident.”
Greg rolled off the dazed enforcer and stood up, groggily adjusting his gloves. “Yeah? That’s what happens when you wake me up early.”
“Nice pajamas!” one of the enforcers shouted mockingly.
Greg smirked. “Thanks. They’re custom.”
Another enforcer lunged at him, but Greg sidestepped with ease, tripping the attacker and sending them sprawling. “You see? They’re lucky. Plus, they breathe really well.”
Tempo rolled his eyes mid-fight. “Yeah, Greg, I’m sure breathable fabric is why you’re winning.”
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As the fight wound down, Cora found herself watching Greg with a mix of irritation and grudging admiration. Despite his unorthodox methods—and questionable wardrobe choices—he had a knack for turning chaos into something manageable.
She sighed, shaking her head. “I swear, one day, your habits are going to get us all killed.”
Greg grinned, leaning against a nearby console. “Maybe. But not today.”
Cora couldn’t help but smirk faintly, though she quickly masked it. “Let’s focus. We still have work to do.”
Greg saluted lazily. “Yes, ma’am.”
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To Be Continued...
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