Greg pawed at his forehead, peering into the mirror before him.
It was a rock. The same one that had been on his forehead earlier.
So why was it still there, even after he had turned back?
Back in the truck as it had gone flying, Greg thought he was going to die. He sailed through the air, released what he would later -if ever confronted about it- assert was a quite manly sounding scream, and landed in a tumble of limbs in an offshoot alley. Upon regaining his senses, he sprang back to his feet in an attempt to go back and help Dinah.
Only to see that the local superheroes had arrived.
Assault -which was weird, he and Battery were usually fused at the hip. Seeing him out and about without her was just weird.- and Miss Militia -Oooh!~ was there some sort of trouble in Assault and Battery's highly supposed marriage? Greg had long assumed that they were only together as part of a sting operation, although he had never gotten any farther with his investigation. There just wasn't enough evidence to be had.- had arrived during his recovery, somehow taking out all the guys in the CRVs without a fuss.
Miss Militia pulled Dinah from the truck, and Greg let out a sigh of relief. She looked alright, Miss Militia didn't look like she was panicking so it probably wasn't even as bad as it looked. Which in turn was once again, not all that bad.
It was then that Greg felt a spike of panic.
What if she came over this way? What if she caught him, made him tell her his real name, called his mom?
That could never happen.
He saw her turn his way, so he hurriedly sprang back into the depths of the alley. This action immediately backfired on him, one of his feet landing solidly on the tail of a cat that had claimed some random chunk of trash as its lunch. The cat let out a screech only slightly quieter than Gregs own, and took off running.
Greg recoiled, slipping on a piece of garbage and slamming headfirst into the wall.
As he painfully sat up, clutching at his face, he could see the darned cat on the catwalks above him. It was quickly moving up to the top of the building, intent on escaping to the roof. Stupid cat.
Greg looked up at the telltale sounds of movement nearer him, and paused upon seeing just who had entered the alley. Miss Militia. She looked totally badass up close in Gregs opinion, American flag bandana fluttering lightly in the breeze.
It was all over. She was gonna call his mom, his mom was gonna ground him, it was all gonna be-
"Excuse me, are you alrig-" she cut herself off as she peered upwards, hearing the stupid cat make its bid for freedom up on the rooftops. "Excuse me," she repeated, changing her light knife thing into some sort of grappling gun.
Light cast, will based energy formation. Not too dissimilar to gem tech, but a great deal more unreliable. She'd have to conceptualize the format and blueprint every time she wanted to bring out a new weapon. Much simpler to save and store a design, then call it out when she needed it. She could even boost the durability of the items she made if she fortified them with already existing materials, but-
"Sir!" Miss Militia called out once again, startling Greg out of his daze. "Are you alright?"
Greg blinked owlishly at her, noticing with great relief that the arm he was cradling his forehead was his normal pale whiteness. He had turned back! But how?
"I'm fine," he settled on, as her gun reformed into a flashlight that she shone into his eyes, one after the other. "Just a small bump. Really, I did this to myself, that girl ran past me and I slipped on something. Went face first into the wall."
His probing touch stilled, fingers feeling something still attached to his forehead.
"I should probably go, let you get back to your work," he muttered half heartedly, before turning back to her, "Was that one girl you pulled out okay? I think I recognize her, Dinah Alcott? I think?" He led. There, now they had a name to go off of so she could get back to her parents safely.
"The mayors niece?" Miss Millitia replied.
"...Yes? I think?" Greg weakly responded. Miss Millitia sounded like she knew what she was talking about. He didn't know if she was the mayors niece, just what her name was.
"Fine, you can go. If you remember anything about the fleeing cape, call it in. Alright?"
"Okay."
Greg had quickly made his way home, shielding his newfound bling with a discarded ball cap he found in a pile of refuse. It was quickly apparent why the cap was left behind, it smelled like something had vomited it back up after trying to eat it. Suffice to say, it was quickly thrown out once more as soon as Greg arrived home. Three applications of shampoo later, and he swore he could still smell it on his hair.
And the damned gem.
It sat there, looking back at him from the center of his forehead. Why was it still there? He apparently had changer powers, so why couldn't he make it go away? Greg supposed he could just wear one of his own hats -no more trashcaps for him, no sireebob- or maybe a sweatband. Headbands were cool, right? He might be able to get away with wearing a bandana, but the ones he had were sadly in gang colors from a previous recruiting they had tried at the school. Greg got a free bandana, so he wasn't complaining.
"What is your deal?" He asked, poking at the offending bit of peridot.
Peridot. That's what kind of gem it was. Now that he could actually see it -going crosseyed past the edges of his eyelids hadn't helped- he could clearly identify it. Not that he was quite sure how he knew what type of rock it was. He had never been a big geo nut before, but when he saw the gem in the mirror, the name sprang unbidden to his lips. Strange.
He focused on it, trying to get the gem to activate the change to his 'power form'. Nothing. Greg found he wasn't able to manipulate metal anymore, either. Apparently it was a form dependant power only. A bummer.
"Wait," he murmured, thinking back on the last two times he had changed. "Both times was right after I had... smacked into something. With my face." Greg looked at the mirror, watching as his expression turned sour. "Well that sucks."
Greg took a second of contemplation before he put his newest test into action. Then he face palmed as hard as he could.
"Oooooowwwwwwwww," he moaned, watching as his skin turned pink and echoed the shape of his hand where it had hit his face. "Maybe it wasn't hard enough?" He posited, seeing as he hadn't turned green. Or shrunk several feet.
Greg steadied himself, then slammed his face into his bedroom wall.
"Ooooooooooooowwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww," he whined, having quickly decided that if that even was the way he was supposed to turn back and forth, it simply wasn't worth the hassle. Lifting a hand in front of his face, he noted that it hadn't worked. "Okay, no more hitting myself in the face," he groused.
Greg got back up from where he had fallen on the ground, making his way back over to his moms full length mirror. Still a pasty skinned white boy, not a speck of green save for the rock mocking him from his forehead.
"Why won't you work!?" He snapped, jabbing a finger at the reflection.
A curious sight befell his eyes, his body twisting and shrinking in the mirror before him. With a slight flash of white light, the green skinned form stood in front of the mirror once more.
"Wait! That was," Greg trailed off, concentrating on what the transformation had felt like. He then tried to force it again, watching as he retook his original appearance. "Seriously?" He choked out, rapidly flashing between forms, "that's so easy! Why was I having so much trouble with it?"
A couple more flashes and Greg stopped, more closely inspecting himself. He had to say, he looked like a few years younger, green skinned girl. Weird. Some of the proportions didn't look quite right, but it might have just been his current perspective.
"I need a name," Greg decided, eyes locking on the gem above his eyes. "Maybe just... Peridot? It's not really informative, but it's kinda what's on the tin," he mused. "I can't just go out again like this though," he stated, eyes tracing the ridiculous looking jumpsuit onesie. "I look like a freaking kid. No one's gonna take me seriously if I don't-"
Greg froze, his mind hard at work on the task at hand. He was a tinker, what he needed was a bit of tech to his name so he could put up more of a fight than she had today. It was absolutely embarrassing, if she had only had a set of rudimentary limb enhancers she could have taken care of those thugs without breaking a sweat. If she installed some older gem tech, she could also cycle in her life energy to build up her bodily mass. It would put some strain on her reserves, but if she was careful it should be fine. She first had to whip up some robonoid bioplasm, if she had a vat or two she could even start on installing warp pads around the city-
Greg smacked himself in the face, transforming back to his human state. Was that what tinkers were like? All the time, having that much information rattling up in their heads?
He agreed with the options that had presented themselves. Somehow, making these 'limb enhancers' would not only allow him to openly carry a weapon without anyone being able to tell the difference, but if he followed the instructions the feelings had given him he might even be able to pull off looking like a normal adult.
"Tinker tech is so bullshit," he smiled, transforming once more to his shorter state. "But I have got to come up with something in the meantime. I don't think I have even half the stuff I'll need to make them anytime soon, and I sure as hell ain't going back out looking like this."
Greg put his mothers mirror back in her room, careful not to scuff it. It was easier than he thought it would be, the metal in the frame allowing him to levitate it back into place.
He retreated back to his own room, rifling through his drawers to try and find something he could cover up the tacky jumpsuit with. A small problem -ha. ha. ha.-, he quickly learned that his current plethora of clothes was simply too big for his diminished form. And he hadn't kept many things from when he was younger, in the end all he could find was a tired looking black hoody -which for some reason younger Greg had cut off the sleeves, perhaps he thought that made it look cool- and pair of boxers he had never worn.
They had green Roswell alien heads peppering the fabric, looking even kiddier than he remembered. Why the hell had he even kept this?
A niggling thought entered his head. Why not try and see how it looks?
He slipped them on over his pants/leggings/onesie, like a good superhero. All the greats wore their underwear on the outside.
A couple seconds later and Greg felt his face burn with shame. Alien boxers did not make him feel any more heroic, and if he was being honest they looked kinda silly.
He heard the front door bang closed, and in a panic transformed back. Surprised that the boxers hadn't exploded from his body expanding -in fact, they appeared to have disappeared entirely- he struck what he considered a rakish pose as his mom peered into his room.
"Hey hon, whatchu doing?" She asked, a bemused smile on her face.
"...Nothing."
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Suiting Up, Interlude; Taylor
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Taylor leaned forward, bracing herself against the beasts movements below her. It sprang forward with each step, muscles bunching up beneath its pink tinged hide. The ground underneath them passed with frightening alacrity, distance being eaten up with each paw that fell upon the earth.
The beast, the lion had only approached her after she had triggered, revealing itself in a roar of sound that Taylor had been worried would bring the hands of the Protectorate down upon her. Thankfully, nothing had come of it. She was safe.
The lion didn't appear to contain a higher than average intelligence, at some times showing off tendencies of a housecat but at other times showed a disturbing capacity to understand what she was saying. It had shown her secrets, powers that itself had possessed. Some form of hammer space contained within the confines of his mane. Within she had found several weapons, photographs, sets of armor, among other random bits and bobs.
In addition to its Breaker abilities, the lion could apparently run as fast as a car, if not faster. It was quite an accident that she learned the giant ball of pink fluff could also teleport, in a fashion. It would let out a short roar, casting a wormhole in front of it. Taylor found this method of traversal to be rather comforting, a memory of her mothers hug embracing her.
All the abilities that she had seen of the lion, all the new powers she had discovered within herself...
Still, she felt incomplete. The form her power gave her was appreciated, a disguise that hid her true face from the world. But her power still whispered to her, empty, separate. There was still something she had not done, something she needed to do.
This led her to her current outing, in the middle of the night. She needed quiet, obscurity, safety.
She must be allowed to work without distractions, if she was interrupted she didn't know how that would affect the experiment.
Finally arriving in an empty park a fair distance from her home, she dismounted from her rose tinted ride.
"Stay," she ordered, "Guard me while I work." The lion gave a keening purr, curling up on the ground as it closed its eyes. Despite a its appearance, she knew that it would know if someone or something came within range long before she did.
She followed the pull of her power, leading deep inside. She knelt deep to the loose earth, feeling the cool clods of dirty beneath her hands.
She pushed.
The energy deep within seeped out into the earth, slowly incubating into form. She stayed like this for hours, shaping the life she was creating as to her will. She was working with substandard material, but it would suffice for her first work. Finally, as the rays of the sun slowly crept up beyond the edge of the horizon, she was done.
She stepped back, watching as the body within the pit before her slowly raised itself from the worlds embrace. The earth around it had adopted an ashy, grey appearance as all plants in their radius withered and died. It seemed the energy she supplied was not enough, if she wanted to continue growing her manpower without anyone noticing she would have to take her work out of the city eye. Completing the procedure in the middle of a park was foolish in hindsight, anyone could happen upon the hole her creation had left.
The orange skinned humanoid stood up looking Taylor straight in the eye. "Yes?" It let out.
It was as her power had hypothesized. The creations she would make would not be infants out of the womb. She could supply them with a measure of general knowledge, to be tempered and grown further by experience though life.
She turned from the thin looking gemwoman, drawing the attention of her more animalistic companion. "Lion, up and at'em."
The lion let out a short yawn, getting to its feet with a languid stretch.
Taylor hopped up on his back, turning back to her creation.
"Jasper. Get on." She didn't want to overwhelm the new lifeform, so decided to stick to short one word commands.
The orange skinned humanoid looked on, before giving her a short nod. "Yes," she aquiesed, giving Taylor a deep bow as she lowered her head.
"My Diamond."
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End Interlude
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Greg watched as the last of his available spending money disappeared into the cashiers register. Three hundred, ninety four dollars. Two whole months of working part time at the movie theatre closest to his home. Minus what he had frivolously spent on video games.
All to buy supplies.
Twenty tubes of jumbo sized, mint infused toothpaste. The base for what would quickly cure into his first batch of bioplasm. The other materials needed for the gunk were harder to acquire, forcing Greg to traipse back and forth from store to store. He even had to visit the local Asian market for a handful of the more obscure ingredients.
Greg had put off transforming again once his mom had gotten home, worried that she might accidentally stumble in on him. Really, being grounded would be the least of his worries, if his mom knew he turned into something so small and -shudder- cute looking...
Greg shuddered, repressing a full body shiver. She would pull out the camera, that was for certain. Then would come the themed poses, then... He didn't even want to think about it.
He had decided to sleep on it, see if anything else crawled out of the woodwork. Thankfully he hadn't changed back while he slept, but he awoke with the barest recollection of a slightly odd dream.
"I don't get why we have to through with this, it's not like we'd make all that big of a difference."
"We can't deviate from the plan. You know what she saw, you know what they're capable of. If we don't do it, they'll all suffer."
"They don't need us!"
"You can't change my mind, I'm doing this. With, or without you."
"But... Lapis..."
Greg had awoken from his slumber covered in a sheen of cold sweat, a vague sense of sadness deep in his gut. He couldn't decipher what the two voices had been speaking of, nor could he recall why they sounded so familiar. He had quickly put them from his mind, getting ready to go about his daily business. Saturday, the day of rest. Or, as Greg was currently proving, the day of working your ass off in order to get your foot in the proverbial door.
He had work at two, so he wanted to get as much done as possible before he had to report in. If he was late again, his supervisor said he'd get written up. Stingy bastard.
Walking home was relatively uneventful, beyond seeing a homeless person urinating on a building. The fact that it was a woman was slightly off putting, Greg had to admit.
Once he reached home, he wove his way as carefully as he could though the house in an attempt to avoid waking his mom. She usually slept in till nine on Saturdays, so he still had about twenty minutes to go.
Depositing his wealth in a series of plastic tupperware tubs, Greg careful meted out the given materials and started the curing process. Siphon a bit of energy from his gem into the containers... Now all he had to do was wait.
What did he want to do with the rest of his time? What could he do? All he could do here was wait for the bioplasm to finish, and really until then anything he did would just be so much kicking his feet.
Greg took to the Internet, his second home and wide reaching blanket of comfort. Trying to find anything about the altercation that had occurred yesterday, he came across a surprising bit of information. Apparently the men chasing them were found to be a part of a 'terroristic sedition group'. Sounded like as much of a coverup as anything else. Vague, and altogether pointless information. Might as well have claimed them to be a group under the employ of Barney the Dinosaur.
Beyond that, Greg hit a pleasant surprise. While Dinahs name was ommitted from the official report, the PRT hinted that a prospective member of the wards had been involved. The tentatively titled 'Forecast', as unimaginatively named as they had tried to saddle her with. Greg hoped she managed to pull a Clockblocker and come up with something cooler.
There wasn't much more to do. Sparky was bound to sleep in till noon, so no good would come of calling him up yet. He'd see him once he went in for work anyway, and they'd have plenty of time to talk afterwards. Greg decided that if there was one person in the world he could confide in, it'd be Sparky. He had never let him down. Guy was a bit of a pothead, but that was as far as he ever went. Was half his investigative force for his ongoing campaign to enlighten the ignorant online masses, to boot.
Every hero needed a sidekick, after all. He had tentatively cued Dinah up for that slot, but it looked like she was firmly enmired in the depravity of the consipiracy that the PRT perpetuated in their shadow wars.
A moment of silence for her innocent soul.
Maybe he could give her a call, see if she would be willing to jump ship and join forces with a kickass tinker? Not that he had much to his name yet but a couple dozen Tupperware containers filled with semi inert ooze.
Kickass.
He could still try to give her a call and see if she was doing okay. He felt a mite sheepish that he hadn't struck around but with the heroes there his instinctive fight or flight response kicked in something fierce. They looked like they had everything under control, anyway.
Greg reached for the corded phone next to his bed, flinching back at the last second. He couldn't very well call from his house, they'd trace it back to him in an instant. Late night tv had taught him that, at least.
He had crank called the local Protecterate a total of two times, mostly due to boredom, and slightly due to curiosity. Both times he had been smart enough to do it from a pay phone, and both times he had quickly retreated to watch from afar. The first time nobody came, but the second time Armsmaster had shown up.
Needless to say, Greg had booked it. Didn't know how long ol Armsy had stuck around, but he knew fair well that it took him only roughly two minutes to track the call and arrive. So he'd have to be careful with the situation if he went through with this.
He decided to go through with it.
"This might not be the smartest idea," he admitted, staring down at the bulk of the payphone. He hadn't needed to insert any change, the Protectorate call line being under the emergency number listings. "Shit," he muttered, looking around wildly as a niggling thought entered his head.
His voice probably wasn't the best to use in this call, if a guys voice called to ask how Dinah was doing when it had been what looked like a girl that had been riding with her... Better not to let the governments secret think tank of enslaved thinkers have any more information than they already had.
No one around, the payphone he had chosen was reasonably out of the way, wedged just between E88 and ABB territory. Just close enough that no one ever visited, just far enough away that most gangers steered clear for fear of traipsing into a rival gang.
Greg changed, wincing as his chin narrowly missed the lip on the bottom of the phones casing. Stupid short body. Stupid freakishly tall phone. Why didn't they make them for short people, huh? This was a tragedy against the vertically challenged!
Greg dialed, using his magnikinises to dial the numbers and levitate the receiver down into his waiting hand. It shouldn't interfere with the electronics within. At least, it shouldn't.
"Protectorate hotline, what's your emergency?" a bored voice came from the earpiece, sounding as if he had been speaking the practiced line for years on end.
Poor guy.
"No emergency," Greg stated, settling on a similar bored tone to the mans, mixing it slightly with haughty 'better than thou'. Anything to further confuse the government, and the people within it. No reason to make it easy, after all. "This is Peridot, new cape. I was involved with a slight altercation yesterday, I was calling in to ask if Dinah Alcott is alright? I kinda had to leave sooner than I wanted, wasn't able to see how she fared..."
"Uh," came the sudden, hurried response from the man. A flurry of fluttering papers sounded over the line, indicating that the guy was searching for something. Probably the secret tracking codes that they used to keep track of illegal downloaders. Or mimes. "Just a second miss, I think I have to... yeah, just a second, I'll transfer you over."
The line went silent for as second, before a cheesy muzak track started playing. Greg suppressed a groan, holding the phone away from his ear. Just one of the tactics they plyed to jerk around the little guy. Next they would send his call back to the first guy and have him 'transfer' him again, or they would ping pong him back and forth between two operators. Three if they especially wanted to try and bamboozle him as to the truth of their actions.
Classic government,
"Armsmaster speaking," came a thick, brusque voice across the line as the muzak cut out suddenly. Greg stood stock still, staring at the handset in shock. They actually put him through? Huh. He thought he was going to have to play keep away with the jerks, hopping from phonebooth to phonebooth as they tried to set him up with a phony charge of obstruction or something. "Hello?"
Greg snapped out of his reverie, realizing that he had been leaving the man on the other end of the line in silence.
"Apologies," Greg let out, using his new voice to mask his discomfort. When all else fails, pretend to be better than everyone else! The Internet had taught him that, had won him many an online argument over some useless bit of drivel. "I was checking on something while I waited," he lied. Not like Armsy would be able to tell, it was a harmless little fib. "This is Peridot. I'm calling in to check up on Dinah Alcott?" He continued, trying to keep his tone clinical. Any measure of disconnect he could manage would only be one more block in the wall of his eventual disguise.
He was so clever. Greg deserved a cookie. What's that Greg, were you a smart boy? Yes you is.
Greg barely managed to avoid patting himself on the back, turning his attention back to the conversation at hand.
"Peridot... Am I speaking to Voidah?" Armsmaster asked, his tone coming across as slightly disbelieving.
"Yes," Greg admitted. "I decided a simpler nomenclature would be more fitting with my image. The void null energy tech I was working on never really went anywhere, so keeping the name 'Voidah' really didn't make any sense, I'm sure you understand?" First rule of bullshitting someone. Sound like you knew what the hell you were talking about. If you let even a mote of indecision poke through, the haters and flamers would leap on you in an instant. And then the hangers on would group up behind whoever it looked like was winning and the the whole thing would snowball from there.
Greg was sure that was how real life worked.
"I... Yes," came the tentative response. "Miss Alcott is unharmed from yesterday's activities, although she was slightly shaken up about the events. Can I expect you to come in for a debriefing?"
Greg paused, wondering how much time had passed. A minute and a half, certainly.
"I don't think so," he denied, thinking furiously. He was trying to stall him, obviously. "My recounting of what happened yesterday isn't needed, and you wouldn't receive any new information that you hadn't already gotten from our young Alcott. I just wanted to check in, make sure she made it out in good spirits."
"It take it from Miss Alcott that you are aware of her... Abilities?"
"Of course," Greg responded instantly. "While our time together was brief, I became well aware of why her attackers were pursuing us." There, try to claim information whilst giving none away. That way he couldn't try to throw this back in his face with assertions that he was trying to 'unmask' a cape in a public setting.
Greg was no dummy.
"I see." A rote of silence followed, to such an extent that Greg wondered if the hero had hung up. "Miss Alcott is currently staying on the Rig for her own protection, she has voiced concern over your well being. Would you be willing to come in then, to put her worries at ease?"
Greg pulled the receiver away from his mouth. What a heavy handed play. Greg would have to be an utter and complete moron to fall for that.
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Gregs eye twitched, currying the past conversation over once more in his head.
Apparently he was an idiot.
He was currently standing in the middle of an elevator, deep within the confines of the sea bound Rig. Their headquarters, safe behind a force field that they were obviously using to block transmissions to earth Aleph. And Gimmel. And Lamed. And all the others they didn't want the hard working American to know about. Commie bastards.
Heading down, a rando agent at his side as the cramped space headed towards the Wards floor.
"My daughter is about your age," the agent mused out loud, probably trying to make small talk in an ill thought out attempt to endear them to him.
Greg hastily decided on his response, deciding to go with, "You don't look nearly old enough to have a daughter my age. Unless there was some form of genetic kerfuffle going about with your birth? Perhaps taking your genetic code to inseminate and create your offspring before you yourself were born?"
The man looked taken aback, mouth flapping open as he tried to form a response.
"Changer," Greg finally supplied, allowing the man to let out the breath he had been holding.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to assume," the man hurriedly rushed to apologize.
"No matter," Greg cut him off, "I know what I look like. It is of course an unfortunate side effect, but I'm currently well under way to alleviating my own discomfort."
"I... Of course." The agent said, ending the stilted conversation as they continued on in silence.
The elevator stopped, the door refusing to open immediately. Made sense, if she was designing this floor she would have the door remain closed for about twenty seconds, to a full minute. Would give her and anyone else behind the doors to slip a mask on, no telling when a rogue fan or an over eager photographer would make their grand sneaking escapade onto the Rig.
There were Strangers out there, people who could literally turn invisible. Better safe than sorry.
"The doors remain shut so anyone out of mask has time to put them on," the agent oh so helpfully supplied.
Drat, that meant Greg had been wrong. No way they would just up and tell him what the reason was. Probably had the Wards section in some sort of folded spacial region that they had to build up their generators to bridge the connection to the closed off space.
Yeah, that sounded more likely.
The doors finally opened, showing off a reasonably normal looking lounge area. Obviously the transition room for people to sit and jaw, then send off their unwanted visitors with relative ease. With the door right here, they could potentially just kick them from the couch!
Greg let himself have a slight smile, before a distinctive missle of brown haired mass collided with him.
"Voidah!" A familiar voice crowed, a young girl in a cheapo plastic mask standing before him. She stopped, looking down at his legs. "What the heck are you wearing?"
Greg looked down, wondering what the hell she was on about. He was wearing the same thing she had seen him wearing before, the dumb looking onesie-
He was still wearing the alien boxers. Shiiiiiiit.
Roll with it.
"What," he smoothly responded, not missing a beat as he looked her in the eye. Words sprang unbidden to his lips, but they felt right so he wasn't too perturbed. "You don't like my appearance modifier?"
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
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Greg held the teacup daintily in his hand, silently judging it as he patiently waited for the hot liquid within it to cool to acceptable temperatures. It was a shoddily made, mass produced piece of plastic, formed from substandard materials that had resulted in the cups plastic to warp on one side. It was barely noticeable, but he had noticed. It appeared that this cup was the worst off in the set, the other three being displayed around him of similar quality but not so much rigorous use.
"So how are your new accommodations treating you?" Greg asked, blowing the at the surface of his tea before he took a sip. The tea tasted odd. Not bad, just... odd.
Dinah looked up from her own cup, almost spilling it in the process. "Oh! It's... nice..." She paused, taking a sip before she started again. "Kinda sterile, though. Almost forget it's technically a military base at points, but then the little cubby hole rooms just kick the realization right back at you," she groused. "The living quarters are small, but apparently they were 'never really designed for civilian living conditions' in the first place," she stated, enunciating her point by jabbing forward with her cup.
Greg spared a glance at the small puddle of tea that had hit the floor. Dinah must have wanted ants, cause that's how you got ants.
"The others are really nice, except Shadow Stalker," she continued.
"Little miss Edgelord?" Greg joked, filing away that little bit of trivia. It was always suspected that Shadow Stalker wasn't exactly the most up and up person, theories and rumors about how she had been inducted into the Wards following certain untoward events. Anything from punching a homeless man in the face to slaughtering a fifteen man group from the E88 followed her continued participation with the wards. She just didn't have the displayed demeanor of a hero, not even an antihero. She wasn't even all that cool like batman, she just came off as a poser.
Dinah let loose a sharp snort of laughter, creating another spot of spilled tea on the floor. She was going to piss off the janitors, at any rate.
"She's a total bitch!" Dinah agreed, surprising Greg with her brashness. "She took one look at me and immediately bad mouthed me. Thinks she's so cool, just cause she's tall and has tits..." she trailed off, almost prompting Greg to launch his own load of boiled leaf water onto the floor. "
"I'm sure... Whatever it is she said, she didn't mean it. Tensions are probably just high. Being a highschool student isn't exactly the most relaxing vocation, mind you..."
"How did you know she was in highschool?" Dinah asked, screwing up her nose in confusion.
"Elementary, my dear Watson!" Greg crowed, adjusting his nonexistent monocle. "First and foremost, she is a ward. I realize this in and of itself is not a solid indicator of ones age, yourself and own personal little green suited space warping terror as evidence to the contrary..." Dinah huffed, sticking out her tongue at Greg. "But when added to the fact that she stands at about five six, five seven that in and of itself indicates that she has most likely already underwent her primary pubecence state, leaving her around her optimum height in growth. And since she has reached such a height that is in and of itself an indicator of her age. Therefor, highschool. Elementary, you see."
Greg took a deep draw of his tea, daintily sticking his pinky out in jest.
"You are such a dork," Dinah finally responded.
"A whale penis am I?" Greg retorted, "Well an elephants kneecap are you."
Dinah laughed again, a tinkling sound that echoed in the room around them.
"The others aren't so bad," Dinah continued, scratching her elbow, "Vista seemed relieved that there was finally another girl on the team-"
"Edgelord didn't count, I'm guessing?" Greg supposited.
"Stop, it's gonna come out my nose again," Dinah pleaded, before wiping at her mouth. "No, seems M-... Vista is just as disillusioned with her as I am. With how she treated me just seconds after meeting me, I'd hate to think about how she treats her day in and day out... Aegis is pretty cool, if a bit... wooden. Seems to take the 'leader' role too damned seriously. Clockblocker is a hoot, if a bit of an ass. He's here this morning, pulling moniter duty. Kid Win is alright, if a bit weird. Always goes on and on about tinkertech and stuff..." Dinah suddenly gasped, fixing Greg with a dour stare. "I'm not gonna have to worry about that with you, am I?"
Greg lifted a chastising hand, waving away her concerns. "No, no. I'm perfectly well able to read the room and not go on about frivolous matters," he lied. This 'pretending to be an old person' bit was absolutely exhausting. Greg had no idea how old timers managed to remain aloof and so... Matter of fact, all the damned time. It was draining, and Greg was worried his thin veneer would slip at the slightest provocation. "If you ever engage me on a certain topic though, I might just talk your ear off."
"Not my ears!" Dinah squealed, covering one with her off hand, "My elephants kneecap will be so lonely without them!" She laughed.
Greg took another sip, inspecting the room around them.
Metal walls, easy to manufacture and install. Piecemeal and modular, like constructing a Lego set. Any low labor grunt could have a room like this done in hours. Greg could even see the solder work in one of the rooms corners, indicating a rushed job. This section of the Rig probably had been converted from an emergency barracks at the start, new rooms being added on after the fact. Air conditioner inset in the wall, pumping in a steady stream of air. Possibly could be used to deliver a dose of sleeping gas, in case someone managed to sneak in. Cameras poked out of the ceiling, little dome shaped caps that allowed them three sixty degree coverage. Probably were recording this conversation, as well. Vouyeristic perverts.
"Wait, we not only get the ice queen but also a rule sixty three Gumby?" A new voice crowed out, prompting Greg to focus on the newcomer. Said newcomer plopped down in the armchair across from him, pouring himself a cup of tea as he tried to find a comfortable position. He wore a sweatshirt adorned with clocks, a simple looking helmet/mask combo covering the upper part of his face and the entirety of his scalp.
"Do I need to go find Vista, Clock?" Dinah stated in a careful tone. "I'm sure even though it's early, she'd be more than willing to execute maneuver 'slap Clockblocker upside the head', wouldn't you say?"
"Jeesh, you see what I have to live with?" The new cape joked, shrugging his shoulders. "Make a simple joke and everyone jumps down your throat! Agh, hot," he exclaimed, blowing on his tea.
"Maybe if you were more careful with what words you slung about so carelessly, small capes with access to the back of your skull would be less inclined to introduce their open palm to it so often," Greg calmly stated, watching Clockblocker over the lip of his cup.
The cape didn't react as he had thought he would, letting loose a rip of laughter as he narrowly avoided upending his cup upon the floor. It was already a lost cause at this point, the ants would be coming and there was nothing they could do to stop it.
"Now that's the kind of spunk we need on the team! Shadow never laughs at my jokes," he explained, adopting a mournful expression, "You seem like a sweet chick, it's nice to meet ya! I'm Clockblocker, but you probably already know that," he stated, smirking as he extended his hand in greeting, "I'm kinda famous. The magnificent Clockblocker! Blocker... Of clocks!"
Greg supressed a laugh, keeping his expression steady through a monumental force of will. He eyed the hand, giddiness dancing in his gut. An actual hero wanted to shake hands with him? Kickass. Greg would never wash that hand again, he'd be able to chop it off and steel it on eBay for millions.
He took the boys hand in his own, giving it a short shake, as he was starting to draw back, he felt a small charge of... 'Energy' for lack of a better word, racing up his arm and over his entire body. This sensation was quickly swallowed up by the gem on his forehead, returning his senses to normal.
"Please tell me you didn't," Dinah sighed, cradling her forehead as the temperature dropped several degrees.
"I had to ice queen! It's tradition!" Clockblocker crowed.
"What's tradition?" Greg asked, fixing him with a speculative gaze.
The poor boy yelped, eyes whipping back to stare at Greg as his cheaply made plastic cup clattered to the ground as the liquid within drained across the floor. "What? I... How? I froze you!"
Greg stared at the cape, disbelief at the edges of his thoughts.
"Obviously you seem to be suffering from some form of performance anxiety," Greg quipped, watching as Dinahs fought to keep down her tea. Clockblockers face retained its open mouthed expression of 'what the hell', but it was harder to tell his emotions due to the stupid looking mask. "I'm told they sell pills for that."
"Ew, gross," Dinah finally settled on.
"What's with the ice queen thing?" Greg asked, tilting his head to the side. "You haven't been being mean to poor little Clocky here, have you?" He teased.
"Ooh!" Dinah let out, putting down her cup as she lowered her right hand to the table. It was at this moment that Greg noticed something slightly odd. She was still wearing the badly fitting gloves she had stolen from the truck. Oh well, if she wanted to keep spoils of her past victories, who was he to keep that from her? "No, that little joke is what De-... 'Clocky' here wants me to take as my superhero name. Watch this!"
She pushed against the table, her hand glowing under the glove with an Inner blue light. Greg stared as a sheen of ice slowly crept outwards from her hand, freezing the liquid in her cup solid almost instantly. She looked back up at Greg, smiling victoriously.
"Ha, take that! Ice beats magnets!"
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Greg thought over the conclusion of his visit to the Rig, musing slightly as he moved his broom back and forth in a mechanical pattern. He definitely could have handled that differently, if not better. There was much valuable information to be had, though.
Greg tucked his hat back down farther on his forehead, sliding it uncomfortably over the entirety of his gem. That possessiveness had slowly grown on him, switching from him thinking of the gem as 'that gem' to 'MY gem'. It slightly irked him to learn that covering up his gem felt more annoying than leaving it bare to the air. It felt at times like he was trying to cover his eyes, or ears. Like he was trying to blind himself. Didn't make any sense to him, but the feeling lingered.
After meeting Clockblocker -who had proceeded to attempt to freeze him several more times, unsuccessfully,- their discussion had become decidedly more pointed. They were of the thought process that either Greg was joining the wards, or it was 'expected' of them to give him a Wards pitch.
Learning that he was in 'fact' too old to join the Wards -Greg was loving the changer excuse, it was practically a get out of jail free card- had brought its own host of irritations. Dinah had predictably gotten upset, as slight as it had been. She had obviously assumed that Greg was of the same age, and even thought it was only a couple years in reality she had trouble thinking of Greg as old as he had claimed.
Of which he pointedly ommitted.
No reason, once more to give the Man any more information 'he' didn't already have. Greg remembered the cameras inset in the ceiling, and had pointed them out with a smile and the 'mysteriously' phrased statement 'A lady has to keep a secret or two' after Dinah had asked his true age.
At least she had been more polite than Clockblocker. Kid had just up and belted out the question with little aplomb, left Greg internally screaming as he scrambled for a believable answer. Thankfully he hadn't needed to, immediately proceeding his question Dinah had slapped him upside his head. Sure, she had struck his dumb looking mask, but she hadn't hurt her hand too horribly. Probably earned him another swat once Greg left.
"Oy, Veder!" Came the voice of his supervisor. Greg paused in his work, dumping a tray of trash into the can beside him. "Some asshole took a dump in theatre six. You're up this time, Vosely is next, then Arben. Got it?"
"Got it," Greg admitted, dreading his future task. He'd be more annoyed that Ashley didn't seem to realize he was doing this job for the past year and therefor KNEW everything there was to know about the cycle chart, but he didn't even have the heart for that at this point in time. He had much more important things to think about.
Clockblocker had offered a short tour around the Wards rooms as a bit of an empty apology, Dinah having been already given a cursory tour the day before. It was pretty standard, each ward apparently had a small sleeping space set aside, with a desk and integrated lamp as well as a wall mounted telephone.
Greg noted with subdued interest that each room had the ceiling mounted cameras.
It was upon passing a certain enlarged room that Greg had been filled with an overwhelming curiosity.
"And on our left, you can see the spacious and luxurious workspace of Kid Win-" was as far as Clockblocker got before Greg had already unknowingly walked inside.
He had walked up to a table amid a strangled 'hey!' from Clockblocker, before picking up a piece of obviously unfinished tech. He had then thrown it over his left shoulder in contempt.
This was the workspace of the premier tinker Ward in Brockton Bay? Greg supposed there was always Gallant to fall back on, but he had his own suspicions on the Ward. He bet based off Gallants suit that it was just supplied him by Armsmaster and Kid Win. It was obvious if you thought about it, the beams he shot out of his hands were secretly an outward side effect of his inherent vampirism. He ate the emotions of those around him, which was why they made a suit that would make it so he could only do it in controlled beams!
Made perfect sense.
Kid Wins tech was... Insulting. It started easily and comprehensively enough, but the farther along it got in production the more muddled its creation became. In a simpler explanation, it was like KW started making a hairdryer, and forgot halfway through. He desperately tried to recall what it was he had been making, and instead tried to build off of what he had to make something completely different. Using the blueprint for a bulldozer he tried to continue, starting the process over again before he finally arrived at his finished product.
A flashlight, for example. But insides so cluttered with redirected power couplings that it was wasting three times as much power as it needed, if the power even made it where it was supposed to go in the first place. He had power rerouted from the battery through seven different circuit boards in one piece he picked up, for goodness sakes.
It was only after seeing Dinah nod in understanding at his description that Greg realized he had been voicing his complaints in a perfectly audible, clear voiced fashion.
He had quickly excused himself from the young tinkers lab, asking the two Wards not to say anything to Kid Win under the pretense that he didn't want to be rude. He didn't really care if he was rude to Kid Win in actuality, while the Ward was cool it was primarily his fault that the entirety of the nation didn't have hover boards yet. One copywrite and suddenly no one else can reproduce them. Freaking buerocrats.
The cameras in the ceiling worried him, however. If KW so much as looked back over his logs upon finding his tech in different places than he had left them, he'd have a very clear video of a green skinned cape bad mouthing him in front of two of his teammates. That might complicate future meetings between the two of them.
Greg drew his attention back to the task at hand, a soapy bucket of water in one hand and a copious amount of cleaning products tucked under his other arm. Some people just were sickening.
Leaving the Rig had been a less than stellar affair, the same agent that had picked him up in a black van being the one to drop him back off at the same payphone. Past that point, Greg had made his way out of the public eye for a chance to change back. He had had one straggler, a balding man in a business suit that if he had wanted to be any more obvious in following him would have worn a glowing fluorescent sign. Greg had simply turned a corner, changed back, and nearly ran into the guy.
A copious amount of ineffectual cussing had sent the guy on his way, some assertions that Greg 'knew a guy' and that the guy 'should be careful in their territory'.
It was far enough away from both sects that it could be either gang claiming territory, but of course... Greg was white. Quite visibly not Asian. So hopefully he didn't cause a bit of a turf war over someone not even of the gangs claiming that a certain stretch of street was 'theirs'.
Greg didn't worry too much, all three gangs claimed that Winslow was 'theirs' yet nothing ever came of it.
He didn't follow the man like he had wanted, quoting the proverb of precaution. He could stalk him again later, maybe. At the very least, Greg hadn't been forced to use his super secret escape procedure so he could hold it in reserve for the future. Being a coastal city, Brockton Bay had a plethora of storm sewers installed to get rid of the excess of water that rained nearly every other day. Thankfully these tunnels were much cleaner than their name suggested, providing a perfect getaway. If you had the specially made tools to lever and lift the manhole covers, or like Greg you had an ability that could lift metal on your side!
Not that Greg had currently tried and seen if he could lift the things yet. He could lift metal, therefor he could lift the covers. So he hoped.
He had arrived at the theatre before his shift, so he just slummed in the second half of an ongoing movie. Couldn't even talk to Sparky, apparently his friend had been called away for a family emergency. Something in Montana. Oh well, he could talk to him once he got back.
Which led to his current least favorite activity.
The bastard hadn't even had the courtesy to do it on the floor, in a scene of sick fascination he somehow gotten his offal in both cup holders of his seat, as well as along the head of the seat.
Greg hoped that Tom had tased him like the last guy.
Ooh! A taser inset in the arm casing, geared with a variable output to ramp up for brutes! That could work.
----------------------------------------
The week passed slowly, the days of school lingering like a turgid bath of filth that constantly slid over his skin. The gangers were all irritable, some talk of a new group of capes that had hit several groupings of their compatriots. Rumors and whisperings on PHO, but nothing solid. Most fantastical of such claims were from of the gangers that they were attacked by a woman riding a pink skinned lion. Throwing pink energy shields like frisbees. Shadowy minions that crept from the woodwork knocked them out from behind. Sounded like either Shadow Stalker was up to her old tricks, or something new was on the proverbial table.
Greg thought it might be Mouse Protector. She used a shield. And it would be just like her to try and stir up something absurd like a pink lion. Why she was in the area and not as herself was a tougher pill to swallow, but Greg was sure he'd come up with something.
The trio continued their ongoing 'game' of torture against his brazen haired goddess, and it was with this that Greg had his first focus.
Tuesday, and his bioplasm was ready. A semi molecular solution, which could be used to repair gem technology. How Greg had come to this conclusion, he wasn't sure. Tinkers=Bullshit, he guessed. But he could also use the ooze to create the shell, the '''circuits' and 'logic boards' for his creations. It only took a little ingenuity and in some cases the addition of premade molds and materials, and he could proceed with his plans.
He had swept aside his initial designs for his 'limb enhancers', intent on his more immediate goals.
Drones.
Specifically, the 'traditional' robonoid model that his power supplied him with. Their initial design was perfectly serviceable, but if he wanted them getting around he needed them to be a bit more discrete. The schematics that flew into his mind made sense, although the derision that followed did not.
What did he truly care if the 'outdated' and 'flawed' stealth systems he was implementing were useless against other gems, that they would be just as visible to them as to other modern gem technology?
He was the only one who had a gem! Sometimes Gregs power made him laugh at its rigid foolishness.
By the end of the night, an old toaster and their microwave had bravely sacrificed their parts and metal casings for more important considerations. Sure, his mom would notice sooner or later, but he'd take that once he came to it.
As an afterthought, Greg had a secondary primary started, a base for a teleporting system. The 'warp pads'. They were straightforward in construction, all he had to do was make sure they inlaid to the planets natural energy streams and they should function properly. Of course, he realized the main problem of them right off the bat. They were mostly stationary, and couldn't be used for dynamic combat purposes in the middle of a fight. He could link a temporary pad to the main grid, a small disk the size of a dinner plate that would unfortunately shatter upon use. Slightly disappointing, but fortunate for a quick getaway if he needed one.
Slightly disappointing as well was the knowledge that the pads couldn't be activate by anyone other than himself. Well, anyone with a gem actually could activate them, but Greg was the only one so that point was slightly redundant. A niggling feeling in the back of his head itched at that thought, but Greg brushed it away. Anyway, his plans of offering their use for Endbringers events was slightly hamstrung by the fact that he was the only one who could use them. He could bring non organic material or living beings through the transfer -if what his power was telling him was to be believed- but he alone was the only thing that could initiate the transfer.
Wednesday. He had one of his stealth robonoids following Taylor around for most of the day, recording the abuse that was heaped upon her daily. There were a couple times that he could have sworn his crush had stared straight at his robonoid with a confused expression, but she hadn't raised a fuss and no one else seemed the wiser. His newly upgraded phone cached the video proof, each act from the unrepentant trio boiling Gregs blood ever higher. The gem based memory chip was perfectly capable of holding several terabytes of data, topping at just under eight. It would be more than enough.
Friday night, he had finally captured enough footage over last three days. He compiled the video and shortened it down to just under two hours. Two hours of toxic abuse. It made him sick, to think they did this everyday. No more. No longer, this would be his first truly thought out act as a legitimate superhero. You didn't have to go out every night and punch bad guys in the dick, this would be just as helpful in the long run.
It would cause Taylor some embarrassing attention in the short term, but in the long run she would be safe. No more bullies, maybe they'd even shunt the bitches off to juvie. He could only hope.
He seeded several servers across the coast with his completed video, uploading it to nine thousand, eight hundred and seventy six -Greg felt this had a comedically straight number to it. For what reasons this occurred to him he hadn't the slightest.- separate YouTube and Facebook accounts. In addition, he added links to the PUBLIC record of the police report that had been filed following Taylor's hospitalization after the locker incident. Why that had been thrown out and the only thing the Heberts had gotten out of it had been a stupefyingly low settlement Greg hadn't the foggiest clue. That was some grade A corruption bullshit going on there.
Finally, for about three minutes at the start of the local eight o'clock news on channel ten the first segment of the video played whilst the poor bastards at the radio station tried to pull it.
Underneath the video ran a URL to Gregs new YT account, with the original video safe behind several layers of virtual protection. Even if some enterprising hacker tried to take down the video it would be reuploaded almost instantly. Any strikes or takedowns would be rerouted to some skinhead in his class that uploaded upskirt videos. It would serve him right.
His new channel and PHO name was titled simply. Same as his cape name, Peridot. This was it, there was no turning back now.
His mark one limb enhancer lay on the table before him, bulky and physically unimpressive. It was technically usable, and could be used as an information hub to control his robonoids -which now numbered seven! It was easier to keep making them once he got the others to help construct their new siblings.- and could perhaps be used to give him a brute one rating. Perhaps a brute two. Maybe not, that would be pushing it. He had tried to make it look more impressive by putting spikes along its length, but in the end it looked rather 'try-hard'.
It would have to do for now.
Greg leaned back in his chair, stretching towards the ceiling. He would see if the improved power cells were ready for conversion into his waiting robonoids, but if the casings need to be redone then-
"God fucking damnit Greg!" His mothers voice echoed down the hallway. "What did you do to the fucking microwave!??!"
...
Oh, shit.
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Interlude; Armsmaster
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Armsmaster was many things. A studious Individual who had long since broken near every bone in his body in the pursuit of physical mastery. A cantankerous individual who didn't truly understand the people around him so was forced to emulate and stagger from conversation to conversation like an unfeeling zombie. An unparalleled Tinker, whose works were lauded in some cases as the best in the nation.
Aside from Patchwork out of Wisconson. That hack had been stealing his designs for years, even if he couldn't prove it. Dragon didn't count, and he had no desire to pit his works against her. For some reason he couldn't really fathom he wanted her to... 'Like' him? He couldn't really understand the feeling that pooled in his chest.
The past week had been a trying one, he had to admit. First, the various indentations that had been left around the city. The first had been found in Carley Park, five feet away from a seven hundred year old oak. Not that anyone could tell its age anymore, all plant life in a tight area around the indentation had withered to ash. Seven hundred years of life, smothered overnight.
After that incident, every night thereafter had left the city with yet another new scar in its landscape. There was no continuity between the holes, not in location -they seemed to pop up randomly- or seemingly purpose. The only correlation between them was the shape.
Humanoid, varying in height. Some sort of tinker experimenting in teleportation tech? Perhaps. It didn't explain the plant life, or the lack thereof. It could be that draining the plants was to function as a red herring, distracting prying eyes from the true purpose.
In the end, he had a total lack of information. It could very well just be some tinker digging holes to disguise their tests at some sort of plant killing device.
Nine holes, in nine days.
That new tinker, Peridot could be the cause. The timelines synced up, the holes had only started cropping up once she showed up, but she hadn't shown the propensity towards specialized gear from what he had seen.
Alien spotted boxers made of cotton were not all that spectacular when it came to tinker tech. It could be that she just threw on something that fit -which in and of itself fit with her 'changer' claim, if she was as old as he suspected then she had probably taken the shorts from her seven to nine year old son. Probably in jest, or perhaps as part of a bet?- or perhaps she was truly that eccentric. During her visit to the Rig, she had only once commented on her given attire, claiming it to be an 'appearance modifier'.
Hmm.
"Colin?"
It was really confusing trying to formulate a plan to deal with her. If she was as old as he thought -with son in tow to boot- then trying to convince her that joining the Protectorate was in her best interest would be a particularly hard sell. Mothers were always the hardest to convince, they never wanted to put their families in danger. It would actually be more fortunate if she was closer to the age her appearance suggested, pressuring adolescents into joining the wards was lauded as a particularly easier option than going after a fully grown cape.
They were more suggestable, he admitted. Minds full of hero worship and lacking the critical skills needed to function in the world. If it was the Protectorate that drew them into their fold to give them said skills, wouldn't that be for the best?
"Colin."
Last, but perhaps most puzzling of the week had been one Dinah Alcott. Supposedly just a thinker, albeit a precog thinker. Those were rare in and of itself. Add the fact that she apparently had a cryogenic based striker power? It was easily rank four, perhaps even five. She could form and throw shards of ice hard enough to pierce two inches of steel, for goodness sakes. The girl would be a right terror once she got older. Thank god they had found her before she had been abducted, if a villain with her power set had turned up in Brockton Bay it would have been one more stone on the scale. Another nail in their coffin, tilting the deadly balance they had tenuously kept in current days.
He wasn't sure, but he could also swear she had a minor passive precog ability to add onto her main one. During her training spars -initially to just teach her how to fall correctly, she had recently been graduated to being allowed experience against another human being- she had shown an almost intuitive ability to weave around her partners movements in order to hit them when they thought they had dodged perfectly. She wasn't strong enough to do any real damage, but if she used her cryokinesis? She could potentially apply freeze burn to an opponent. She was quickly shaping up to be a valuable addition to the Wards-
"COLIN!" A voice yelled out of his private communicator. He jerked in his seat, the piece of circuit board falling from his hands as he numbly peered down at the screen.
"Sorry," he apologized, picking up a cloth and mopping at his brow. "I was deep in thought."
"I noticed," the iron tinged tones of Dragon filtered through, amusement drenching every word. "Sorry for disturbing you, but a situation has arisen. I assume you haven't seen the news?"
The image on the screen changed, showing a live broadcast from a local station. Colin stiffened in his seat, peering despondently at the image before him. A profile shot of Sophia Hess, the tag line underneath reading 'Bully?... Or Psychopath?'
"Seems like your new friend has a bit of a problem with one of your wards," Dragon remarked. "Your new tinker, Peridot put up several thousand copies of this video," at this, another video started playing on the screen. Colin noted that the length stated it was over two hours long.
The video started out rather innocently enough, before a voice started narrating over the close up image of a middle aged man stared on impassionately. "Some people are spineless cowards," Peridots voice stated from the screen. "They simply stare on as those around them are pushed into the dirt. They sit and do nothing, not because it's the right thing, or the easy thing, but just because it's the more convenient thing for them to do." The video slowly panned out, eventually including the figures of four girls standing in a classroom doorway. Two Caucasian girls and an African American that Colin dully recognized as Sopia Hess, standing threateningly around an unfamiliar girl.
"For the past year and a half this girl has been systematically bullied by these twits, past any reasonable measure that any sane person would have offed themselves to be done with it, because like that teacher in the background there," Peridot paused, the camera refocusing as all three individuals harshly shoved their way past the remaining girl. She gave a pleading glance at the teacher, only to be rebuked as he turned back to the papers on his desk.
"Like him, I was a spineless coward. I kept my head down, kept my nose clean. Fear of upsetting someone, fear of rebukement, fear of retaliation. Fear that what happened to her would spill over onto me. I cast off that fear, I can't live under its shade any longer. I can't allow HER to live like this any longer. People will ask me why I've done this, perpetuated this horrendous act of invasion of privacy. Those three girls need to LEARN, that actions have consequences. That acting like a freaking psychopath won't be tolerated in the real world. That attempting to KILL a fellow student won't be tolerated."
Her voice paused once more, as pictures showed in slow sequence on the screen. They showed the inside of a school locker, its contents filled and slathered with dried blood and filthy looking trash.
"... I'm sorry, Taylor. I saw what was happening, and I did nothing. I was just as spineless as the people who were SUPPOSED to protect you. To protect ALL the children at that school. I just hope you can forgive me for taking so long to drag the blinders from my eyes."
"As well as hacking one of your local news stations to play the first part of it. It's everywhere, Colin," Dragon drug his attention back from the video as it started playing unedited audio, "There's nothing I can do about it. Soon as I take one down, five more people re-upload the darned thing."
Colin sank into his chair, peering on at the screen before him in sullen amazement.
"Peridot... What have you done?"
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Interlude End
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Greg had undergone many a dressing down from his mother over the years. That one time he had been playing with matches, and burned a bit of the living room rug? The time he overfed the goldfish and then tried to hide the dead body behind the bookshelf? Or how about when he found one of his dad's girly magazines and didn't tell his mom?
She found it wedged in between his bed and the boxsprings, and my had her rage been palpable.
Greg had sworn at the time that he'd never sit on his poor aching rear ever again.
So it was with great trepidation that he sat on the edge of his bed in front of his fuming mother, discounting just why he had taken apart their only microwave and left a smattering of parts littering the basement floor.
Some reveals just don't come out right. Some are garbled, some just end up making you look like even more of a rebellious, evil child.
How on earth do you tell your mom you have powers?
"Mom, I have powers."
Holy shit, I guess it's as easy as that. Hopefully he would be able to avoid any encounters with the wooden spoon.
She sat stock still, eyes staring uncomprehendingly. "What?" She finally let out.
Greg didn't respond, simply shifting form and levitating a spoon in front of her face. It had been lying on the floor, having sat there for god knows how long. Greg couldn't even remember why he'd left it there in the first place. There was no bowl of cereal, so he really had no clue.
"Huh," she settled on, poking at the floating spoon. She quickly rallied, fixing him with a sour glare. "That doesn't explain the microwave..."
"Tinker," Greg bashfully supplied, refusing to meet her eyes. A small snort of sound escaped his mother, sounding suspiciously like a squeak.
"And that gives you permission to break my things, that I bought with my money, to care for and support this family?" She pointedly asked.
Greg crushed the rebellious bit inside himself that had been hoping she'd be caught up longer on the whole 'powers' thing. She had come out of it MUCH faster than he'd hoped.
"No, mom," he sullenly stated.
"No it does not," she restated, before letting out a huff of air. The silence deepened between them, culminating as she finally continued. "I don't appreciate you keeping this from me. I'm your mother, for goodness sakes!" She exclaimed, waving her hands about dramatically. "I'm supposed to protect you, even from yourself! You know that, right?"
"Yes mom," Greg woodenly supplied.
"Look at me," she commanded, lightly placing her hand under his chin and gently forcing his gaze upwards. "I love you, you know that, right? You can't keep this kind of thing from me. Understand?"
"... Yes mom."
She let out a low breath of air and seemingly deflated, sinking backwards into her chair. "You're going to be the death of me Greg, I just know it. Couldn't have just been born a normal, non little troublemaking youngin', could ya?" She joked.
Greg didn't know how to respond. Was he still in trouble?
"You're still in trouble, by the way."
Shit.
"You're grounded for the week, you can go to work, but no hanging out with Rupert. No computer games for the rest of the week-"
"Moooom," Greg whined, chafing at the indignity.
"No buts!" She snapped, waggling a finger in front of his face. "You can still use your computer and Internet, but only for homework or productive activities. Got it?" She waited while Greg slowly nodded. "No video games, either. I'm going to trust you to honor that, if I have to come in here and move all your electronic crap into the basement I'm going to be very unhappy, capische?"
Greg nodded frantically, he knew she'd do it, too. Actually, she made him do it last time, and then he had to move it all back by himself to boot.
"Now that that's over with, lemme get a look at you," she started, getting up from the chair. Before Greg could protest she had both hands firmly grasped around both sides of his waist, and then he was dangling a foot above the bed. "Oh, my, gooooosh!" She crooned. "You're sooooo adoooorable!~"
'"Moooooooooooooooom," Greg groaned at her antics. He knew she was going to do something like this when she found out. If he could avoid the inevitable photo shoot he would only be so lucky.
"Oh come on, let your dear old mum have this," she rebutted, turning him to and from so she could better inspect him from both sides. "You know how long it's been since I've been able to hold you like this? Ohhhh, Greggy you make me feel like a young woman again!" With this, she cradled him against her chest. He thanked his lucky stars he was facing outwards, he could only imagine how embarrassing it would have been if she had mashed his face against her chest.
Greg let out a mournful groan, putting up with the indignity for now. She'd get tired of this before long, allowing him to get back to his tinkering and experimentation.
"I always wanted a daughter," his mom started.
"Mooooom," Greg protested, finding some level of humor in the fact that he was beginning to repeat himself. Maybe he could just record it and play it again and again for the next hour? Anything to alleviate this torture.
"I'm serious!" She belted out, mushing her chin into the top of his hair. "After we had you, I kept trying for number two..." She trailed off, rocking him gently in her arms as she hummed in speculation. "And then your father left, so I marked it down as a forgone conclusion. But now I have the best of both worlds!"
"Please no," Greg ground out.
"Oh stuff a sock in it Greggy, I'm not some psycho like Bates mother, I'm not gonna force you to be a daughter for me," she joked, hugging him tightly. "But this is nice. I forgot how good it felt to be able to hold you in my arms like this... Hold that thought," she stopped suddenly, setting Greg down gently on the edge of the bed.
She quickly left the room, Greg dreading her eventual return. She was going to get the camera, he just friggin knew it. Next it would be 'oh just take a couple with mommy!' And then it would all snowball from there. This day couldn't possibly get any worse.
He heard her opening the trapdoor to the attic, it's long neglected springs squealing out from their rust. Why was she going up to the attic? Oh god, what if she kept her old clothes from when she was a kid? Nooooo, please no. It was bad enough already what with being restricted from playing his justly deserved vidya, but piling this sort of treatment on top of him was just needless torture.
She finally came back, back arched as she carried a heavy looking box in front of her. She let it fall with a thump to the floor, dust erupting from every possible orifice and settling across the room. Well, if that was any indication, if there was clothes inside they would most likely be so moth eaten that they'd be unwearable. Score one for Peridot.
"I never let your father see what was in this box," she started, opening a pocketknife to slice open the yellowed tape holding the top closed, "Told him it was just old clothes, sentimental garbage from when I was a kid. Remember how that asshole sold the grandfather clock we had in the living room?" She asked.
Greg nodded, curious and slightly confused. One day he had come home, the ever present piece gone. Indentations in the carpet where it had been were all that remained, an open scar in the middle of their living room. He remembered his mom screaming at his dad, threatening to leave him if 'he ever pulled this shit again'. He hadn't even needed the money, just wanted to be able to buy more booze.
"I'll admit, I never completely trusted that man," she mused, tearing open the first flap. "I knew if he ever found out about this, he'd use it to hurt me. Hurt you, us." She hurriedly stated before opening the box fully.
Greg peered inwards, confused as to what he saw. "It's... Cloth?" He asked.
She dipped her hands into the box, dragging the fabric out into the light. She stood up, displaying the outfit in front of her she she tried to frame it over herself. It was a leotard, black silk with red and golden accents and two long trailing gold gossamer wings falling from the back.
"You're looking at the feared, the terrifying, the magnanimous," she started, coughing once before continuing. "Doctor Girlfriend," she stated, her voice suddenly coming out sounding like a gruff man had gargled razor blades, menthols, and marbles for ten years straight.
Greg flinched back, unable to parse the masculine voice coming out of his mothers lips.
"What?" He finally settled on, strangling his words out as best he was able. "What? I don't..."
"I was a super villain, Greggy!" She crowed, voice still sounding deep and terrifying coming from his petite bodied mother. "Well, sorta. Kinda. Just for a bit."
"I... How?"
"Well, it was the eighties sweetie, it still wasn't the best time for a single woman trying to make it in the world," she explained, sitting cross legged on the floor. "Add in capes, and any chance I had of getting an actual job was little more than shit in a toilet. I'll admit, I fell on hard times out of highschool, fell in with some... Unscrupulous folks. My boyfriend at the time, he triggered and started making stuff, you see?"
Greg nodded, not really seeing as he inspected the horrifying outfit. Something like that was not something he wanted to imagine his mother ever wearing. Was a couple steps away from being a strippers outfit, gah. The gloves and thigh high boots he could see crumpled up underneath where it had been didn't help.
"He ended up finding out that he specialized in making themed gear. Stuff like a car that looked kinda bat-like, a gun that looked kinda like a dog," she waved at the outfit once more, "Butterflies," she stated with a laugh. "He ended up calling himself 'The Monarch', took to hounding this poor scientist in Oklahoma, guy wasn't even a tinker or anything, he was just some poor bastard trying to follow in his fathers footsteps. Apparently he had 'ruined' my boys life in highschool. Inadvertently. Well, as you can probably tell, that didn't end well," she returned to using her normal voice, putting Greg at ease. He wasn't even aware of how badly he had tensed up. "The guy ended up hiring some crazy bodyguard, gutted my poor Charles right on the hood of his own monarchmobile."
Her eyes took on a far away look, before she continued. "Got out of the game right after that, being a villain was fun but it wasn't really leading anywhere. I only ever really took to it cause Charles was so passionate about it... I guess I can just count my blessings that I managed to get away before I was permanently affixed, might have ended up as 'Doctor Missus The Monarch'." She let out a sharp laugh, "Charles was absolute shit at naming things..."
"So..." Greg wanted to know, "what was with the voice? Do you have powers?"
She gave him a short nod, smiling as she did so. "Voice mimicry. Better than any ventriloquist, can out voice any voice actor. Not really the best actor, and I certainly can't pull out my best ones. They're perfect imitations, sound like the real thing to any computer. Would make the private security market freak the hell out if they ever found out," she joked, letting out a soft sigh. "Never really came up anything good to do with my power. Suppose I could call up the PRT and have Armsmaster talk to himself, but that wouldn't really lead anywhere..."
Greg pondered her words, observing the figure before him. His mom had had this huge secret, but in the end it was less than nothing. Not even a fragment of who she now was. Would that be him in twenty years? Pulling down a taped up box of his old tinkertech, telling his kids about how he used to be a superhero? Maybe show off the changing trick for parties. Hell, maybe all the Endbringers would be dead by then.
"I'm going to be a hero," he suddenly declared, raising his head. "I... I want this. I want to be able to tell my kids about the 'good old days', what good I actually managed to do." He lowered his head, afraid to look his mother in the eye. "This world... I don't want to bring my kids up in a world like this. This world is rotten, diseased. There's so much that can be done... So much that has to be done."
Gregs mother drew him into a hug, sitting on the bed beside him.
"I'm sure that whatever your goal is, you'll do great hon," she said, "But please, whatever it is you end up doing, please be careful. I don't want to lose you. I... I can't lose you too, k?"
Greg said nothing, nodding in response.
"Now enough of all this gloomy gus stuff, let's see a smile on your face! Eh? Eeeeeeeh?~" she elbowed him in the ribs, until he finally let himself crack a smile. "Now come on, you've only seen one outfit, wait till you see my first one!" She crowed, dipping both arms in the box up to her elbows.
Greg paled as she raised up another set of clothing, a tight looking light purple nurses outfit with... A miniskirt.
"Ewwwwww," he moaned, desperately trying to kill the mind poison with concentrated force of will.
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