Greg Vs Raid 9-7

“…” The first breath of warehouse air sat on his tongue, a wrong taste to it.

Not wrong like old grease and rat shit, which is what it should’ve tasted like. This was… clean. The sharp, sterile bite of fresh paint and industrial cleaner scraped the back of his throat, a chemical ghost that had no business being here. What the hell. Two weeks.

 Two weeks since Greg had shown them his pimped-out exhibition of a supervillain clubhouse, from kitchenette to rooms to mega-computer that probably cost half as much as a mid-life-crisis sportscar.

Two weeks since he’d been pushed out of the way as his best friend’s brains splattered across the concrete like chunky strawberry yogurt with pieces of actual fruit in it.

It was clean now, though.

No stains. No cracks. No trace that anything bad had ever happened here. It was like someone had taken a memory and power-washed it into non-existence.

The whole place was like that. 

New walls, new lights, new everything. A perfect, hollow replica of a place that was still sprayed with his best friend’s brains every time he closed his eyes.

He’d arrived at noon like the text said, taking the rooftops because the city below was a mess of detours and roadblocks, a fifteen-minute drive turned into a forty-minute crawl that would’ve made him want to punch something. The new seawall was a massive, ugly scar of concrete already covered in graffiti, mostly shitty, amateur tributes to White Knight that looked like they’d been tagged by middle schoolers with daddy issues. The work crews were a mix of weary locals and grim-faced men, 80% of them Asian of some kind, in hardhats bearing the logo of a black turtle. 

A logo that Sparky just rolled his eyes at. This fuckin’ guy…

Axel Ramon, “Sparky” to anyone who mattered, let the heavy warehouse door slam shut behind him, the metal grinding against concrete loud enough to pull a grimace out of him. Keep it casual, keep it cool. He slid back his hood, the golden-eyed boy rolling his shoulders as he tried to ignore the constant itch of ants crawling under his skin.

Just… chill, man.

It was just… too still. 

Even past the low hum of the climate-control system vibrating through his soles, Sparky felt like the world in here was just as bad as the world outside.

Only with less space to move.

That same need had been everything the last couple weeks with Greg… recovering, grounded, half-dead? 

He wasn’t sure, but Greg was okay enough to joke so… that didn’t mean much, actually, now that Sparky thought about it.

He shook his head.

It was that need to move, to do something; it was just a constant low-grade itch he couldn’t scratch right. It had been like this ever since Greg… juiced him up, honestly, which was more like over a month now. Month and a half? Something like that.

The only thing that made it unnoticeable was a good brawl, honestly.

Unfortunately, those were a lot harder to find than you’d think.

Even after Leviathan.

Just trading one problem for another. He couldn’t help but think back to the little orange bottle of fluoxetine that sat on his bedside table, unopened. 

It was right next to the other one he hadn’t touched in a month. He just… didn’t feel like he needed them anymore. The grey fog in his head was gone, replaced by this… this buzzing. This incessant irritation that made everything feel like it was moving too slow, like everyone was talking through molasses. It was better, probably. But it was also way more annoying than being depressed, which was saying something.

He started walking because standing still made the buzzing worse, feet scuffing quietly on the polished floor. Hate this shit. 

Even after the jumping and the running and flipping it took to get here, it just wasn’t enough and he couldn’t explain why. 

It had just been getting louder, getting worse, that little tinny buzzing. 

He remembered helping his dad work out a couple times in the gym he built for himself, the already big man very invested in using as much of his natural size to get bigger before he got too old. Pre-workout, Ax, he said once, gulping down a bottle of something he’d scooped some powder into and shaken up. Makes you feel like you stuck your toe in a socket.

Yeah, this felt a lot like that.

Sparky clicked his tongue as he ran a hand along a smooth steel support beam, tapping an uneven rhythm against it with his fingertips. Tap-tap-tappity-tap. Like Keith Moon having a seizure. 

“Place is bigger than I remember…” The words stretched out of him, a long lazy drawl that sounded more like his dad’s voice with every birthday that went by. 

Gross. Sparky frowned and tilted his head back, scanning the grid of LED lights high above, the bright, clean light making him want to squint. “Or maybe it’s just… cleaner.”

“It’s the exact same dimensions.” 

Sparky let his eyes slide shut, holding back a sigh as a voice sounded off from the side.

No farther than a couple dozen feet away, they stood against the wall like furniture, sounding no different than someone reading a blueprint out loud to his fucking calculator. “The lighter paint color and the increased lumen output of the new lighting fixtures create an illusion of greater space. It’s a common architectural technique.”

Of course.

Sparky didn’t even have to look, hair falling into his face as he turned on his heel to pin the other kid with a look.

The chubby boy stood there, staring back, silver meeting gold as he wore some simple grey henley that looked like it had been ironed.

Ironed.

Who the hell ironed a henley? Rich kids, man. Probably had his underwear pressed too, little creases down the sides like gift wrapping. “Right. An illusion. Cooool.” He stretched that one syllable out like taffy, kicking at imaginary trash on the immaculate floor. “He here yet?”

“No,” Sparky rolled his eyes at the single word. Whether it was super-senses or just intuition, he could hear every inch of condescension Theo managed to cram in just one syllable. “And you know he’s not. He did not specify a time beyond, and I quote, noonsies.”

Noonsies. The joys of being friends with a potential S-Class threat that liked to talk like a toddler with brain damage were infinite and unending, both. A snort forced its way out of his nose as Sparky pushed his hood back, revealing his sloppy grunge-rock mess of hair, the kind that took effort to look this effortless. “Yeah. King of the Bay’s got better shit to do than be on time, I guess. Still, though…”

Golden eyes traced the massive space as Sparky did a slow turn, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Damn, though… shout-out to gangster. Who new criminals did a great job at removing blood?” Honestly, you’d never know someone got his brains splattered all over everything. 

Theo’s silver eyes swept over the renovated space like he was cataloging inventory. “It’s efficient. The layout is as defensible as it was before. Greg was rather smart to renovate this way. Clear sight lines, fewer blind spots.”

“Yeah, well, that’s great and all,” Sparky muttered, eyes twitching back and forth as he took everything in, still unsure about this place for obvious reasons. “Still feels weird, though. Being back here.”

After watching his best friend’s skull turn into abstract art, it wasn’t exactly the most chill place to be in.

Greg’s cousin gave a slow nod, deliberate as everything else he did. “It would be illogical for it not to.” Then almost as if it didn’t matter, the fat boy just shrugged. “But we’re safe now. He made sure of that.”

Sparky’s jaw tightened as the drummer pulled his phone out, flipping it over in his hands, smooth glass cool against his palm. He’d read the text from Greg a dozen and a half times last night, words damn-near-burned into his retinas. ‘Yo. Warehouse tomorrow. Noonsies. And don’t trip, the guys who jumped me are all dead now. Kisses, ya boi G.’

Kisses. Because nothing said friendship like a body count with emoji hearts.

“He said they were taken care of,” Theo continued, following his gesture with those silver eyes.

“Oh, yeah, no, I remember the text,” Sparky drawled, shoving one hand back into the right pocket of his torn jeans as his feet led him pacing back and forth all over again. “It’s just weird he thinks that’s reassuring.”

Theo’s lips loosened as he tilted his head slightly, expression moving one tick closer to the organic side of human vs robot scale Sparky had him on. “It is… a bit reassuring.”

The statement was so matter-of-fact, so devoid of anything resembling normal human reaction, it took Sparky an honest second to process it. He stopped fidgeting with his phone, stopped pacing, head snapping toward Theo with narrowed eyes.

“…You’re weird, dude.”

The sheer lack of fucks given on the fat boy’s face would have been impressive on anyone not named Theodor Anders. “It’s a logical statement of fact, Axel. A threat identified, a problem neutralized, a variable removed from the grand equation that is our lives.” He shook his head, the action barely worth that as he rationed movement like he was trying to save calories for the winter. “All of us, including the structural integrity of Greg’s skull and grey matter, are safer for it.” 

A ripple dragged its way through his body, Sparky’s clenched teeth jittering in his jaw. This…

“By definition, that is a reassurance.”

“It’s fuckin’ psycho is what it is! Normal people don’t just text their friends ‘hey, murdered a bunch of dudes, LOL.’ That’s… that’s messed up, man. And you’re messed up for just going along with it.”

Theo’s expression remained as placid as the lake, but his eyes narrowed just as tight as Sparky’s. “You’re here, aren’t you? Would you be, if you didn’t have that reassurance?”

“Don’t ev—”

“No, seems like you don’t understand, Axel,” Theo cut him off, voice still calm but edged Sparky’s way. “Let’s take this apart. You’re here, which means on some level, you also accept the premise. You accept that their removal makes this location viable again. Any moral qualms you’re expressing now are a retroactive justification to make yourself feel better about a decision you’ve already made.”

“Except I’m not the one making excuses for it!” Sparky’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. “I’m saying it’s fucked up! I can accept it, sure, but he’s fucked up for treating it like that, and you’re fucked up for acting like it’s just… math!”

“I am not acting,” Theo said, authority in those calm silver eyes only making Sparky’s skin itch more as he felt like he was talking to the adult in the room all of a sudden. “I am stating a fact.”

“No one cares about your faggoty facts, fucking fat-ass!” The last few words left his lips in a hiss, almost against his will as he stood there breathing heavy, that buzzing almost a roar in his ears now.

Theo blinked his way, a soft smile on his lips that Sparky definitely didn’t lie. “That’s just not true. The world depends on those facts. Emotions just sit on top and make things annoying.” He slowly tilted his head Sparky’s way, the action taking a whole three syllables, while the rest of him barely even shifted an inch. “Here’s another fact for you: you like to bitch.”

Sparky’s eye twitched, voice going low as another hiss slipped out. “What.”

“That’s not an insult, Axel.”

“Could have fooled me, man.”

“Very easily, yes.”

Sparky twitched again, fingers twitching as the buzzing shifted deeper than his skin, and down into his muscles. “…wanna rephrase that?”

Theo was still smiling. “No. It’s not an insult. You can take it as one but it’s a fact. The same way Greg is an idiot, and I’m fat, and you’re a bitch, but it’s not who we are. It’s how we deal with things. Food was simply my old coping method. You should find a new one too.”

Sparky felt the buzzing ease up, unable to fully deny that. He tried to be the voice of restraint but half the time, he was just pushing back for reasons he didn’t even get other than he didn’t want his friend to change. Past a point though, it felt pointless, more and more leaving him with the sense that he was basically Greg’s little fairy telling him “Hey! Listen!” 

He even had the name for it too. 

Still, he wasn’t gonna take that without hitting back. “…I’ll take your advice when you can see your dick.”

The smile still refused to shift. “Here’s another fact for you. Of the three of us, I am the only one who has not taken a life… yet. Let alone, at least… what? Was it, Axel? Three?”

Sparky’s jaw tightened, a muscle twitching along his cheek as the words hit him as hard as any hit he’d ever taken from Greg or a gangster before. The warehouse vanished, Sparky suddenly blinking in a dim hallway, a dark stairwell, a warehouse roof, a dozen choices made in a split second flashing behind his eyes.

“…You’re a d-dick,” Sparky finally bit out, a new shudder running through him.

“I admit that, and that was uncalled of me, and I apologize for letting my feelings get the best of me, but again,” Theo said, his voice dropping a fraction as the smile finally vanished, “can you afford to throw stones?”

Sparky held his glare for another three seconds, the power humming under his skin begging for him to do something, anything, just fuckin do it!

The easy strength that Greg had poured into him was there, it was always there; every moment of every day. Breathe.

It would be so easy. 

It would be so so soooo fuckin’ easy.

Breathe.

To just let it out.

To wipe that calm, superior look right off Theo’s face.

Breatheeee…

Instead of letting it out, Sparky let it out.

With a sharp exhale through his nose, the golden-eyed teenager broke eye contact, turning away to stomp back towards the front door of the warehouse, suddenly not feeling like being in here all of a sudden. 

Theo didn’t say anything at his back and Sparky was glad he didn’t. Fucker…

He was halfway to the doors when the sound of something clicking hit his ears.

Sparky stopped, head snapping around to the right as a heavy insulated side door to the warehouse slid all the way open, Theo already landing on the ground beside him with a soft psshhh that definitely wasn’t right given his size.

A second later, Greg Veder walked in, munching on a chili dog. 

He held it in one hand, taking a deliberate bite, chewing loudly as his eyes swept over the two of them. Smak-Smak.

He wasn’t the same.

The thought hit Sparky with the force of a physical impact, sharp and immediate. It wasn’t one thing he could point to, it was everything. Two weeks. It had only been two weeks since he’d watched Greg leap into a storm to fight a god, but the boy who walked into the warehouse now was not the same one who had left.

He was bigger. 

Not just taller, though he might have been an inch or so, but broader too. 

And thicker.

He was a good bit wider across the shoulders, and way more dense through the chest and arms. The lanky, slightly awkward frame that Sparky had always known was gone, replaced by something denser, more solid. There was a coiled, easy power in his stride, a sense of weight and presence that hadn’t been there before, definitely not half a month ago. He walked like he owned not just the building, but the ground it was built on.

He was wearing a simple, slightly-too-tight Sega Genesis t-shirt and a pair of blue jeans but it couldn’t hide the new mass of muscle in his shoulders and chest, the kind of dense, powerful build that you didn’t get from a gym. 

His face was sharper, a bit more teenage softness edged away even as it stayed almost as round as before. Somehow, stronger cheekbones and a tighter jawline didn’t take away from the buff baby look that his friend had been maintaining since he got his powers. 

When he finished chewing and a slow, easy grin spread across Greg’s face, Sparky finally saw his teeth and flinched. They were too white, too perfect, and just a little too sharp.

The chili dog in his hand was the only thing that seemed normal, and even that looked somehow out of place.

But it was his eyes that made the air go thin in Sparky’s chest. 

Those eyes he had seen a thousand times before were the same brilliant blue, but there was something to them that was just outright wrong. It was more like they were windows into a furnace, and the fire was banked low, but it was always, always burning.

What the… Sparky glanced down at his arms, the hair on them standing up all of a sudden, before his eyes locked back on Greg.

His instincts, instincts he didn’t even know he had, were screaming at him that he was standing in front of a tiger, a bear, a gator; something bigger than him that could snatch him up and snack on him. He saw his friend, but his gut saw something else, something dangerous wearing his friend’s face as it stood there with the absolute certainty that nothing in this room could possibly hurt it.

A whispered voice slid into his ear, the tone flat as ever. “Do… do you feel that?”

Sparky realized his mouth was as dry as it had ever been all of a sudden. “ …I taste that.”

Greg swallowed the last of his bite, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he looked from Theo to Sparky to Theo to Sparky and then back again one more time.

“…Jesus,” Greg said, his voice the same, yet somehow more resonant. He took a final bite of his chili dog and licked his fingers clean. “It’s like cats and dogs with you two.”