Greg Vs: Raid 9-3

“-ne question echoes from the rebuilt streets to the halls of power. The miracle has a name, a face seen in blurry cell phone footage and praised by the heroes who fought alongside him. Everyone in Brockton Bay is wondering…  What is White Knight doing now?”

The television clicked off with one manicured hand and Susan Veder let out a long, tired sigh.

“He is wasting my time, that’s what he’s doing.”

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

“Gregory Lucas Veder!”

Blue eyes blinked up, flicking to the left. Oh wow, full government.

Mom Mode was fully active, and the threat level was creeping toward Orange, judging by the way she said her ‘R’’s. A little too hard.

A bright blond head of scraggly wet hair poked out of the bathroom, brighter than it had been two weeks ago, and not looking to dim any time soon. Those same blue eyes blinked down the hallway and looked over at the stairs.

Both hair and eyes belonged to the damp sixteen-year old who bore the name Gregory, his preferred title two syllables shorter than that though. Greg was currently in nothing more than a white fluffly towel, said towel hanging low around his hips because modesty was for people who didn’t have superpowers. “I’m coming, mom! Just got out of the shower!”

“What did I tell you about getting ready? That was an hour ago already!” Her voice carried that particular motherly exasperation that had become the official soundtrack of Casa Veder since… well, since he told her the big secret. “We can’t be late for this!” 

A whole week of this. A whole week of mom treating every social obligation like a military operation just because she had found out a little about his extracuricullars.

Not like she didn’t even suspect, but after he broke the Don’t Tell part of their little agreement, she was cracking down way harder.

“I was busy, Mom!” 

“Busy with what?” She yelled back up. “Staring at yourself in the mirror again?”

“No, mom! Just busy!” Liar. 

“Howdsheevenknowhonestly,” Greg muttered under his breath as he closed the door, turning back to said mirror because apparently his mom had unlocked psychic powers along with her newfound talent for perfect timing. He leaned forward, palms pressing against the porcelain counter, water still beading on skin that had… expanded. 

He wasn’t fat, no.

That was all Theo.

But it wasn’t exactly muscle either. If anything, it was more like someone had taken his character model and bumped the scale slider up to 1.2x while he wasn’t paying attention.

Or when I was half-dead, he turned to the side, one hand on the towel as he glanced at his back in the mirror.

Broader shoulders, thicker frame, the kind of density that made clothes fit weird and doorways feel smaller. Two full weeks since the City-Killer, and his body was still figuring out what the hell it wanted to be when it grew up. On top of that, he had a whole rack of abs now.

Like eight of them.

Greg honestly didn’t even know you could have that many. Would like it more if I wasn’t putting a hole through a wall when I lean on it.

Yeah, that was also a problem, but he would learn to deal.

A Grin stretched across his face, baring teeth to check the damage. ….yeah, not liking that either. 

It was a subtle thing, sure, and nothing anyone else would clock unless they were looking for it, yeah. but every tooth had gotten just a little too sharp, edges filed down to something that was edging a bit too close to apex predator. “That’s not good.”

Changes kept piling up day after day and nothing he did seemed to slow them down.

One night he’d go to sleep and then the next, he’d wake up with another couple teeth just a hair sharper or… or more obvious things.

Greg’s hand went to the left, and the light switch clicked off, the bathroom plunging into near-complete darkness. 

Near-complete didn’t account for him, though.

Greg blinked in the mirror, the dark completely visible to his eyes, eyes that were shining faintly with a blue glow he could pick up in the dark. He wasn’t sure if it was just him who could notice it, but whether that was the case or not, it was still faint enough to pass for a trick of the light in the light. Suppressing it took almost no effort, thankfully, but it was another warning sign for the truth he already knew. 

The dragon hadn’t gone back to sleep after the fight; it had just gotten quieter.

Pushing his body that hard against an Endbringer had left marks that didn’t heal when everything else did. Scars on his soul, maybe. Or just side effects of punching physics in the face until it gave him what he wanted.

“Greg! I’m serious!”

A groan spilled out of his mouth, pure teenage suffering echoing off freshly-redone bathroom tiles. “I’m comiiiiiing!” Christ. Acting normal was exhausting when normal kept shifting underneath him.

With a sigh that felt older than all his sixteen years, Greg pushed off the counter and waved a hand over his torso. Blue pixelated light washed over him, the white towel vanishing to be replaced by a crisp white dress shirt (unbuttoned because he wasn’t a complete square), a yellow sweater vest worthy of prep school, freshly-pressed khakis, and blue boat shoes because he was trying to look fancy tonight.

Man, inventory is clutch for laundry day. Also for maintaining secret identities. 

“I’m coming down the stairs right now,” Greg called out as he yanked the bathroom door open.

One hand running through his hair, Greg stomped down stairs as lightly as he could, trying his best not to stomp down and send his feet all the way through the stairwell. Sure, I could pay for it, but then I’d have to explain about the money and that’s just another issue… 

Telling the truth and not the whole truth was pretty much the only thing saving his bacon, because his mom was still thankfully sticking to the Don’t Ask portion of their old deal.

As he landed in the living room, Greg threw out a pair of stage-worthy jazz hands because if you were gonna be dramatic, commit to the bit. “Ta-daaaaa! Ready for my public debut.”

Mom stood by the door in a neat blue dress, purse clutched like a weapon, giving him a look that probably sent the milk in the fridge curling. “We are running late.”

“We’re like, thirty minutes early, Mom. Maybe more. The invitation said seven.”

“Well, half the city’s traffic is cutting through neighborhoods, like ours, meaning thirty minutes can be at least forty-five,” Mom shot back, tone edging toward Mom Mode Red. “You forget traffic exists when you can just… just… do what you do.”

Oh. Greg blinked. Huh. Right, normal people had to deal with… roads. And cars. And other cars being in the way of their cars. “… detours.”

Mom’s sigh could probably power a small wind turbine, her shoulders dropping like someone cut her strings. “Detours, he says. Such a smart boy, and he forgets everyone can’t jump over small buildings in a single bound.”

Small buildings… “Eh, honestly, pretty sure I can do more than just a small building now. Not a skyscraper, obviously… not yet,” he muttered the last two syllables under his breath, muscle memory from testing sessions kicking in. “But probably a medium-sized office building? Maybe eight to ten stories straight up, I think. And that’s just at base, without any real kinetic assistance from my aerokinesis, or even doing anything with Reinforcement, if I’m really thinking about i—”

“Greg.”

The word hit stopped him solid like a concrete wall, stopping the train of thought halfway through the second chugga-chugga. Blue eyes flicked up, caught mid-processing like a browser tab that hadn’t finished loading. “Huh?”

Greg grinned awkwardly as his mom stepped forward and looked up at him, expression shifting from a Code Orange to something way closer to a Blue, maybe even a Green. “Sweetheart, I love you, and I love that you’re… you,” Her fingers cupped his face and she patted him on the cheek a couple times. 

Greg felt the frown almost form on his face. Okay, once is fine. Twice is just patronizing. 

Those hands finally dropped back to his shoulders. “But can we place the full PowerPoint presentation on why it’d be unfair for you to compete in the Olympics when we’re not in danger of being rude.”

Unable to help himself, Greg rolled his eyes. “It wouldn’t be a problem if you’d just let me run us there. I could carry you. We’d be there in, like, ten seconds.”

“Absolutely not.” Zero negotiation room in that tone met his offer, a complete shutdown of alternative transportation options. “We are taking the car, like normal people.”

Normal people. “We’re not normal people!” Despite his complaints, his feet were already trudging right toward the door his mom was holding open like some kind of domestic traffic controller. He threw his hands up as he crossed the threshold of Casa Veder, turning on his heel as he continued his line of already-failed argument. “Normal people don’t get invited to the home of New Wave for a ‘thank you’ dinner!”

“You are not normal people. Until I can breathe fire, I am still normal,” she answered back as the door closed behind her, the twist of a key making sure it was locked tight. Mom logic was apparently its own kind of superpower. “So, we are going to act like normal people. And you are going to be on your best behavior.”

Best behavior. Sure. 

Because acting normal at a dinner party was totally a thing that happened in real life and not just in really bad sitcoms.

The car ride carried that particular flavor of tension that made the air conditioning feel inadequate, Mom’s knuckles doing their white-grip thing on the steering wheel as they navigated toward Captain’s Hill.

Block by block, the houses got bigger, stupider and fancier. First, just nice; that was the house that used to be his parent’s and then legally became just his mom’s. Then, a little bit nicer like Emma’s. Then at a certain point, they suddenly became so big and expensive it felt like a crime to breathe on their hedges.

This was like, mayor territory. City council member country. The kind of neighborhood where people would gut you if you even dared bring down their property value.

Mom’s sedan felt increasingly out of place, the blue paint job slightly faded compared to the BMWs and Audis parked in pristine driveways. Well, they are rich, we already knew that. He didn’t even blink, eyes flicking to the right as Mom smoothed her dress for what had to be the tenth time since leaving the house.

“Remember your manners, okay?” As they walked up to the door, her voice carried that nervous edge that meant she was running worst-case scenarios in her head. “Please and thank you. Don’t talk about… villains, or fighting, or… any of it, unless they bring it up first.”

Greg’s hands shoved themselves deeper into his pockets, fighting the urge to roll his eyes for as many times as his mom had been twitching. “Mom, I’ve been here before. You haven’t. They’re just people.”

“They are not ‘just people,’ Gregory.” Back to full-name deployment, threat level climbing back up to orange. “They are New Wave. And I am meeting my son’s… super-powered associates for the first time. Just… just listen more than you talk. For me.”

The sigh slipped out of his mouth and earned him a hard glare, but the nod that followed it got her face to ease up. Okay, don’t have to act like you’re embarrassed of me, Mom. I get it. I’m still a spaz. He was always planning on toning it down, anyway, no matter what she thought. He knew this was important to her and Mom stress was worse than social awkwardness. 

With a held-back sigh, he leaned back to push the doorbel-

And the door swung open before the chime even finished its first note.

Victoria Dallon stood there in a sundress that looked like it was made for a celebrity, fancy and floaty an- Wait, no, she’s just floating.

Greg shook his head, aware of how pretty the most glorious of girls was but whatever, none of that mattered because the real issue was the emotional tsunami currently attempting to drown his nervous system. Victoria Dalon’s aura hit like walking face-first into a wall of pure concentrated awesome, brain chemistry immediately trying to recalibrate around the sudden influx of artificial joy and admiration.

Gamer’s Mind Rejects: Overwhelming Awe

He blinked slow, coming down from a dopamine rush stronger than skydiving. Christ, forgot how intense that was when she wasn’t holding back.

“Hey, Vix,” the words came out steady despite the biochemical onslaught, a smile on his face.

“You made it!” Glory Girl could do many things and squealing with the best of them was high on that list. And squeal she did, the sound accompanied by sudden forward momentum, because apparently Vicky operated on hug-first-ask-questions-later protocols.

The impact was surprisingly gentle even though it came from someone who could benchpress a city bus. Arms wrapped around Greg’s midsection with hydraulic press efficiency, strength toned down to merely superhuman instead of accidentally lethal. 

A month ago, this would’ve required at least a little bit of medical attention, maybe a few minutes of healing; now… well, it just felt like a really special hug from a really pretty girl.

“H-hey to you tooo,” he patted Vicky’s back slowly, unsure what else to do. It was especially awkward to be hugged by a girl he had a crush on. Definitely don’t mention you also had a crush on her cousin too. 

Greg blinked a half second later, realizing something else. Oh shit, she’s gonna be here too.

Finally, she pulled back, grin blasting his way still at maximum wattage, attention shifting to his mom who was still stuck halfway dazed from politeness and aura overload. “Hi! You must be Mrs. Veder! It’s so amazing to finally meet you! I’m V—”

“Vicky, come on,” The interruption felt necessary both out of politeness and for medical reasons, honestly. He had no idea how much more his Mom could take before her brain completely melted from concentrated superhero enthusiasm. “She knows who you are. And also, turn down the aura, please? It’s her first time.”

Vicky blinked, mouth falling open as confusion flickered across features like someone remembering they’d left the stove on. 

That overwhelming sense of artificial awesome receded instantly as Mom’s rapid blinking suggested her brain was coming back online as she cleared her throat, mouth closing right back up where Vicky’s was still open.

Pink crept up Vicky’s neck, a little flutter of embarrassment replacing her supernatural confidence. “Oh! Sorry. I just… I get excited.”

His mother’s composure reasserted itself through visible effort, a polite smile emerging despite slight tremor in her voice. “W-well, it’s very nice to meet you too… Victoria.”

“Call me Vicky, everyone does.” Vicky stepped back, one hand gesturing toward the interior that screamed expensive as she walked back into the Dallon house. “Come on, everyone’s in the living room. Aunt Sarah made appetizers. We’re all dying to hear what really happened.”