His hand was green.

His wrist was green.

His arm was green!

THE REST OF HI-

Greg, -naturally, assuming that some sort of horrid gunk had somehow managed to envelop his extremity without his noticing, most likely from the dumpster he had previously had a face to face with- 'freaked the hell out'. Well, in a controlled manner, at the least. One thing his mother had instilled in him at an early age was that one 'did not have a temper tantrum or otherwise embarrass mommy in public'. This included but was not limited to- Loudly yelling for no reason. Flailing his limbs about with no regard to anyone near him. And finally, doing ANYTHING that managed to get a police officer to come over and ask 'is something wrong'.

So, for Greg -unlike say, a normal, well adjusted human being- his freak out consisted of him stretching his arm as far away from himself as he could managed, all the while choking down what he KNEW was going to be a shrill sounding screech. Slowly, his brain rebooted and allowed him to better inspect what was covering his hand, all for the self preservation of getting whatever the hell it was off.

A finger reached out, and poked his right hand. It was at this moment that Greg realized his OTHER hand was covered in the stuff as well. And that whatever it was, it didn't feel like anything. Just felt like he was tapping a finger against his bare hand. Flesh against flesh.

Also, Greg was sure something was wrong with his eyes. His hands looked... smaller?

One hand rubbed against the other, trying to make sense to Gregs poor belabored mind. There wasn't anything on Gregs hands. His hands were green. His flesh... was green? His flesh, his skin was green.

"Why am I green?" Greg asked out loud, trying to rationalize what his eyes were telling him. He started, hearing an unfamiliar voice spill out from his mouth. Whipping his head from side to side in the vain hope that it had actually been someone else speaking, he was met by an empty alley. Couple rats not giving a shit, munching on something that looked suspiciously like trash from the nearby Fugly Bobs. Besides carrion, nobody. Nothing intelligent, anyway.

"Aaaaaaah," Greg sounded out, his mind distracted momentarily from his discoloured skin. "Aaaaah. Baaaaah. The clever fox- holy shit that's weird whatthehellhappenedtomyvoice?" His remaining words spilled out in a disorganized tumble, barely even making sense to Greg himself.

He reached up to cradle his head, an unconscious coping method he had developed to combat the errant moments of stress he was occasionally overcome by. -His dad was never coming back, daddy would never hurt him again, mommy said so, the courts said so, they'd never let him- scratching at his scalp made his mom worry that he was going to cause himself a bald spot, but he hadn't had anything like that happen. Yet. Probably wouldn't happen. Probably.

Greenish tinged blonde hair spilled past his fingers, framing them in an eerie halo past his eyes. Uncomfortable seconds passed, before he dredged up the courage to drag a strand of hair into closer inspection before his eyes. A momentary contact with a thin see through visor confused him even further -he definitely wasn't wearing that earlier- before he refocused on the important thing in question. 'What happened to his hair' might have been less pressing than 'why is my skin green' but it was the sequence of events that took Gregs attention. The hair seemingly happened the most recently, so it was the most important.

It was blonde, yes. That being said, it was not the same tint of Gregs own. Whereas Gregs hair was at easiest claimed a 'dirty' blonde, it had never been this tint before. Reaching ever upwards -studiously ignoring the sight of his arms, one thing at a time- his hands encountered a veritable bush of hair spanning outwards. His hair had grown. Why? What the hell could slamming ones face into a dumpster have to due with spontaneously growing an afro? Okay, so it really wasn't an afro persay, the multitude of strands were almost slick, thin and straight as they 'poofed' outwards. It was just so thick, was he going to have to get his mom to take him to get a haircut?

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Mom.

Greg froze, fingers constricting in a rictus as he tried to contemplate what his mom would do if she saw him like this. What would she say? What would do? She would probably ground him. Yep, there was no question about it, his mom would take one look, and then she'd shut off the router. Or at the very least she'd unplug his line. Dang it, he was going to be grounded forever, he hadn't even done anything! This day sucked, the only way it could get any worse is-

Greg stopped, his fingers brushing against something on his forehead. Probing further told him next to nothing, beyond the fact that he apparently had a polished piece of rock superglued to his face.

Greg was very close to suffering from a mental breakdown, so he decided to do something slightly intelligent. He took a deep breath, and let it out. Then he took another. Another. Once more.

"Okay," he muttered, sagging inwards as he leaned up against the nearest wall. "Let's... try to figure this out. My arms are green. My voice sounds weird. My hair is weird. I'm wearing... some weird set of sunglasses. I-"

Greg unfortunately spent the next few seconds hyperventilating, having looked down to see that he was no longer wearing his typical 'cool' outfit of slacks, spits, and a hoodie over an Armsmaster branded tshirt. Instead, he appeared to be wearing what looked like a skintight jumpsuit. Onesie. Leotard. Thing. The legs and wings of the vest were a deep green, darker than his skin now was. Patterned across the chest was a chevron, a V whose flat black tips disappeared over his shoulders.

'His' being subjective at the moment, seeing as Greg could see his body quite well under the confines of his new... 'Onesie', and did not like what he saw.

Greg had never been particularly muscular, a result of the copious amounts of junk food coupled with a lacking exercise routine. His paunch was gone, replaced by a flat, childlike stomach that perfectly allowed him to see the absence that had so distressed him earlier that morning. A quick, frantic pat of the area reconfirmed this fact, forcing him to freeze once more.

It was gone. Straight, just... GONE.

Greg pinched his cheek, flinching at the burst of concentrated pain.

"Okay... Calm down, need to calm down, freaking out won't do me any good...Logically. Have to think about this logically," Greg trailed off, opting to pace back and force to try and focus his thoughts on a helpful subject. "My skin is green. It's my skin, not something ON my skin. My hair is wrong, my voice is wrong. Holy shit, am I a case 53?"

Greg stopped, before running down the alley to look stealthily at the surrounding area. Noting what he saw, he once more retreated further into the alley, away from questioning eyes.

"I'm right where I was. Case 53's don't remember anything either, so that can't be it. At least, I think I remember everything," Greg muttered, taking a moment to try to remember as far back as he could. He couldn't think of anything he was forgetting, but wasn't that the case of forgetting something? "I remember who I am. Greg. Greg Veder, I am a normal," debatable, "teenager. Soooo... Did I trigger? Do I have powers? What the hell does being green mean, power wise?"

Greg took the chance to punch the nearby wall, wincing in pain as he cradled his now aching hand.

"Okay, not brute. Definitely not brute. God, why did I think that was a smart idea?" A couple curses went through his mind before being discarded, such thoughts weren't helpful. "Tinker? No, tinkers have thoughts, blueprints and stuff that flitter through their heads. Fugue states. Mover?" A couple hops back and forth and he discarded his latest guess. "If anything, I think I might be slower. Striker? Blaster?"

Greg thrust his hands out at the wall that had dared to attempt injuring his hand. Yes, it was all the walls fault, and ha nothing to do with his own shortsightedness. A few seconds passed, no energy beams forthcoming. After a couple more seconds of frantically waving his hands in the desperate attempt to make something happen, Greg gave up.

"Nothing. Not even a weird feeling. So not striker or blaster. Could still be a master or a stranger..." Greg looked around, realizing he couldn't really test either one of those without a 'willing' test subject to help. "Master would be bad anyway, no one likes masters. So that only leaves..."

A manic spark lit in his eyes, and a wave of hope arose in his chest. "Changer! That would explain everything! Although, why changing green would be a power is beyond me..."

Any further musing was cut off by a compact missle of flesh and hair impacting with Gregs side, knocking both himself and his attacker to the ground. A frantic bout of movement quickly separated the two of them, allowing Greg to roll to his feet.

It was... a giant child. Like, absolutely gargantuan. She looked like a normal kid proportion wise, a young girl about eleven or twelve. Beyond that, she was as tall as Greg was. That in itself was unthinkable, Greg was the gawkiest the of the gawky, having just finished going through a growth spurt earlier that year. he was close on the heels of the 6" height mark, already having outstripped his mother and leaving her with a plethora of 'short jokes'. She had dropped plenty on himself as he was growing up, he only felt they were deserved now.

The girl looked around wildly, slowly getting to her feet as her gaze locked onto Greg. She stared, staying silent for several seconds before she belted out "Ninety Seven point Eighty Two percent."