Chapter Text
'Foolish.' A single word summed up his entire thought process as Greg Veder trudged down the grimy streets of Brockton Bay. The winter chill nipped at his exposed skin, a stark reminder of the cruel reality he lived in.
Greg was not a well-spoken child. When he tried to talk, words instead tumbled from his mouth like an engine sputtering to life, then. Like a car with balding tires, he'd continue onwards without even a second thought, completely oblivious to the looks of confusion or derision his ramblings often elicited.
'If only I spoke as well as I think,' he mused, his internal voice a stark contrast to his external fumbling. 'Then I might be able to obtain a friend or two, instead of being so confined like this…' His head shook, causing his semi-bowl-cut straight blond hair to wave about as he walked down the cracked sidewalk. He was in no rush to get to school, after all. Winslow High loomed in the distance, a true monument to mediocrity and broken dreams.
Greg couldn't pinpoint exactly when this change had occurred. When had his thoughts become so organized, so articulate? It was as if a thick fog had lifted from his mind, leaving behind a clarity that was both exhilarating and terrifying in equal parts. 'Maybe it's because I have to witness stupidity daily,' he pondered. 'Do I think I'm better than them? It's not the hardest thing to be, yet would I be too arrogant to perceive myself as such?'
He knew, deep down, that he was no better than his peers. In many ways, he was actually worse. His social awkwardness, his inability to read social cues, his tendency to ramble about topics no one else cared about, these were all strikes against him. 'So what if I am experiencing a higher education than them?' he thought, referring to the college-level computer science courses he'd been taking. 'Even my awakening can't make me better than them. If I was better, then… I wouldn't even have awakened in the first place.'
The concept of his 'awakening' his newfound powers was still a source of both pride and anxiety for him. 'So, is it a good or bad thing that I am worse than them?' he wondered, his mind circling back to his earlier train of thought.
It felt almost like he was pondering his mortality, a weighty philosophical question that seemed out of place in the mind of a high school student. One answer gave rise to another question, which was then answered by the reason the first question was asked. It was a circular, frustrating mental exercise he hated getting caught upon.
'I've been gone for barely three weeks, and my thoughts are already getting philosophical,' Greg mused to himself, a wry smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. 'Does this happen to everyone over winter break? If so, is there an opt-out button? I'd rather not; I'm way too young to be questioning my own existence.' He felt a bit of a chuckle build in his throat, yet it died rather quickly as he remembered just where he was heading.
The sound of metal hitting a solid surface pulled his eyes up from the cracked pavement. He was currently walking from Brockton University, where he'd been taking his advanced courses, to Winslow. It was early in the morning, and the area around the south docks was just as dirty and run-down as ever. Broken windows, graffiti-covered walls, and the occasional junkie huddled in a doorway painted a very bleak picture of urban decay. It was a sight Greg was getting used to seeing given how often he had to take this route to his school, but it never failed to remind him of the stark realities of life in Brockton Bay.
'Why did I even start this thing?' he wondered, thinking back to his decision to take college courses. 'Probably just to stay out of the school a bit longer, not like those skills ever really helped me…' His thoughts turned bitter. 'Congrats, you know how to code. Now just watch all these other people who are super talented and all these people who have literal superpowers based around this that can do everything you could never hope to do just because they want to.'
He felt himself bristle at the very idea, a familiar pounding headache returning. He raised a hand idly to feel his temple, the pressure of his fingertips momentarily distracting him from the dull pain. Moving his train of thought away from that particular sore spot helped ease the throbbing.
'Besides…' Greg's internal voice took on a more confident tone. 'I'm awakened now. I've got a good handle on my abilities. I'm more than just Greg Veder, I'm better!' He stepped finally over a bit of a hill, Winslow now clearly visible in the near distance. Its dilapidated facade seemed to mirror the surrounding neighborhood, a physical manifestation of broken dreams and lowered expectations of the city.
Greg thumbed the dollar coin in his pocket, a nervous habit he'd developed since his awakening. The cool metal against his skin was a constant reminder of his newfound abilities, a secret power hidden beneath his honestly unremarkable exterior. He smiled as he stepped towards the school, a mix of anticipation and anxiety bubbling in his chest.
'It's about time that everyone else saw that,' he thought, his internal bravado masking the very real fear and uncertainty that lay just beneath.
Greg Veder stepped into Winslow High School on January 3rd, 2011. The grimy hallways and indifferent faces that greeted him were the same as always, but something had changed. Whether it was the start of something great or terrible, well, that was for future debates. For now, Greg squared his shoulders, took a deep breath, and prepared to face another day in the unforgiving world of high school this time, with the secret knowledge that he was much more than what he appeared to be.
The halls of Winslow were just as filthy and packed as anyone would expect from this sort of school. The air was thick with the smell of unwashed teen bodies, cheap perfume, and the faint undertone of skunk-like marijuana smoke. Lockers lined the walls, their dented and graffitied surfaces a testament to years of neglect and vandalism they had weathered. Winslow was never the sort of school that would cultivate the greatest of minds. No, rather, it was where people came to take advantage of the great minds that couldn't make the list for Arcadia, the city's premier high school.
Gangs were an ever-present issue throughout Brockton Bay, their influence seeping into every aspect of life, but there were few places in the city where they thrived as openly as they did here in Winslow. It was no secret that the E88, a neo-Nazi group, thrived in the shadow of the rich, their white supremacist ideology finding rich and fertile ground among the disenfranchised youth. The ABB, or Azn Bad Boys, held sway in the docks, their pan-Asian membership a stark contrast to the E88's white supremacy values. And then there were the Merchants, the bottom-feeders who thrived wherever the other two didn't clean house in the cracks, which usually ended up being the Train yard and other places like it.
But if those areas were where the gangs grew, then Winslow was where they were planted, where the seeds sprouted into saplings before being transplanted to their respective territories. The hallways were a microcosm of the city's gang dynamics, with different cliques staking out their own territories near certain lockers or classrooms.
A place like this wasn't ruled by logic and reasoning, it wasn't ruled by authority or age. Two things ruled over Winslow: Power and Anonymity. Power came in many forms, physical strength, social influence, or the implied threat of gang connections. Anonymity was equally valuable, allowing students to blend into the background, avoiding the attention of bullies and gang recruiters alike.
Both of these currencies were foreign to Greg Veder. He possessed neither power nor anonymity, at least not in the traditional sense. His newfound parahuman abilities might have given him power, but he dared not reveal them. And anonymity? Greg's tendency to ramble and his general social awkwardness made him really stand out, though not in the way he would have liked.
As he walked through the crowded halls, his foot kicking a stray ball of paper that someone had tossed (likely some sort of note to a parent about a student's behavior), his head was on a swivel. He looked through the crowd of people he practically waded through, spotting familiar faces mostly those who were his bullies before everything had changed for him.
'I'm awakened, I'm not afraid of them,' he reassured himself, even as his eyes darted nervously from face to face. 'But I don't want to hurt them either. That's why I'm avoiding them, I don't want to kill someone on, accident or something.' His thoughts comforted him and affirmed his actions, but there was a deep undercurrent of uncertainty. He knew his powers were pretty dangerous, and the lack of control over them terrified him almost as much as the bullies once had.
Yet there was another reason he kept his head on a swivel. There was someone he wanted to see, someone who had occupied his thoughts more and more lately. As he looked through the crowds, he couldn't quite see what he was looking for. It almost worried him, until he bumped head-first into the very person he'd been seeking for this whole time.
He winced, but it was mostly out of habit. He hadn't even moved an inch, even though the other person had crumbled to the floor. He looked down, and his breath caught in his throat.
That beautifully glossy black hair draped over her head, cascading down her shoulders in graceful waves. She was looking up at him, giving him a good look into her large brown eyes, which seemed to glimmer with a mix of surprise and… was that fear? Her wide mouth trembled slightly, and Greg felt a pang of guilt. 'One of her more obvious tells has always been her face,' he thought. 'She's always so expressive. It hurts to see her so… scared.'
For a split second, Greg saw a superimposed image of her younger self, the girl he'd known before high school, before her bullying had started. But it faded rather quickly, and he realized his eyes had been wandering. Her baggy brown sweatshirt and simple jeans had no bright colors and showed nothing skin-wise leaving a lot to the imagination. In a way, Greg felt he preferred that. It felt simpler and more innocent, maybe it just enforced a button or picture he already had, but he enjoyed it.
'And you're standing there doing nothing, watching your crush, who fell due to you not seeing her, mind you, just sit and stare up at you.' Mortification met his mind as he stumbled forward, his face flushing red and burning with embarrassment.
"Ah! Taylor, sorry about that!" he blurted out, his words tumbling over each other in his haste to get out even just an apology. "I probably should have been looking where I was going. I wasn't focused on where I was going. But I was looking for you, so I mean I guess it worked out in the end and oh my god you're still on the ground here I can help you up." He babbled, knowing he was doing so but unable to stop the torrent of words. His hand jutted out rather quickly as he sort of grasped for her but tried to keep himself from being overbearing.
Taylor took his hand, but it was almost out of habit given she flinched so hard at his touch. 'Shit, did I forget to shower?' Greg thought, panic rising in his chest. 'No, I remembered that and deodorant. Or I'm just thinking wrong, and she's just flinching for some other reason.' The possibility that Taylor might be afraid of him, or disgusted by him, sent a cold shiver down his spine.
A second was all he needed to get his thoughts in order, but his mouth took a second longer, given he was still babbling a little bit. "So how was your break? Things went decently for me all things considered, but I can't call it the best, if you know what I mean."
He finally stopped talking, and Taylor looked at him as if he'd grown a second head before responding, her voice soft and hesitant. "I think I get what you mean. It went alright, I suppose. I didn't do much, but managed to get some progress on a few personal projects, I guess…"
She trailed off rather quickly, her eyes darting around the crowded hallway as if looking for an escape route. Greg, oblivious to her discomfort, felt a surge of excitement. 'That's fine though, I'm actually managing to talk to her. Now all you need to do is keep it together for long enough that you can ask her what those projects actually are.'
He observed her more closely, noting the way she seemed to lean from side to side, almost swaying as she stood there. While she was taller than him when she stood up straight, she now hunched over, making herself maybe an inch or so lower than him. It was a posture he'd seen her adopt more and more over the past year, and something about it bothered him, though he couldn't quite put his finger on why it did.
"I-uh, that sounds nice," he managed to say, mentally kicking himself for the stutter. "What sort of book did you read?" He asked with a bit of a tilt in his head, proud of himself for remembering her love of literature. 'Okay, could have done without the stuttering, but it could have been worse considering you were ready to comment on her posture of all things. You're doing alright,' he reassured himself.
Taylor's eyebrows knitted together in mild confusion. "Oh, it's an old book called The Metamorphosis. It's this German literature book- but how did you know I was talking about reading a book? I never mentioned that I was reading specifically, I only said I was working on projects."
The sudden shift in her tone caught Greg off guard. He frantically tried to come up with a reasonable explanation, his mind racing. But before he could fully formulate his thoughts, his mouth ran away from him as it often does in moments like these.
"I was trying to figure out what you meant by that and figured because you looked good it probably wasn't something physical, or you would have to take more time to fix your look, but you're here too early for that, and I remembered that you're always on top of our English class and your eyes have a bit of strain on the corners, so I thought it was something you had to look at a lot, so I thought of books!"
The words tumbled out in a rush, and Greg immediately wished he could take them back. 'You failure,' he berated himself silently. 'I take my time to think of a nice, reasonable explanation, and you skim me to give that sort of shit!' He silently cursed his panicked body as he rambled on about how he figured things out. Only he was able to keep just enough of himself restrained that he didn't go fully in-depth in the process of how he came to that conclusion.
Taylor stared at him, blinking rapidly as she processed his verbal onslaught. After a moment, she spoke, her voice tinged with a mix of confusion and what might have been some amusement. "I see… well, yeah, I was reading The Metamorphosis. It's a pretty cool book…" She said with a bit of a nod, her eyes moving away from him, drifting through the surrounding crowd as if keeping watch for something.
Greg, sensing an opportunity to extend their conversation, jumped in. "It sounds pretty cool. I wouldn't mind trying to find it in the library, but I can never figure out that place. Dewey decimal system my ass." He paused, realizing he'd just sworn in front of her, and quickly tried to salvage the situation. "But uh, if you're free, maybe you could help me out?" He almost cringed at a little tone of his own voice but he steadies himself.
It was far more subtle than most of his requests to hang out usually were, and he admittedly felt very odd asking about it right now. He could have asked more overtly, but he didn't have that much faith in himself at the moment.
Taylor seemed a bit distracted, looking around the two of them before coming back into focus. Her mouth screwed up in thought before she slowly nodded. "Alright, sure. I guess I'll be free after about third hour. I just need to get some stuff from my locker before then."
Greg's heart soared. 'Here it is! Victory has come to Greg Veder on this day!' he thought triumphantly. 'Alright, now it's just a cleanup. As long as you don't act too weird or excited, you can take this home easy. You just need to ease it in…' He ignored the light heartbeat in his ears, focusing instead on not messing up this golden opportunity he had in front of him.
"Oh, awesome," he said, his voice pitched higher than he intended. "I guess I'll see you then? Oh, um, I mean I'll see you in second period too, I mean, 'cause we have that class together too, but uh, yeah, I'll see you then!" His voice was chipper, more so than when they first started talking. He backed up, waving to Taylor as he walked away, feeling giddy as a schoolgirl.
As he made his way to his first class, Greg's mind was buzzing with excitement. 'Not the best comparison, certainly doesn't help with my perception of myself, but to hell with that, I'm on cloud fucking nine!' With a grin, he moved past the hefty crowds, his backpack resting squarely on his shoulders.
He let his mind wander a bit, since it was just a review day after all. 'I'd end up in the principal's office, then they'd send me back out, and I'd get a talking-to from the Empire, or some ABB thug would shoot me in the head. Or maybe a Merchant would try to stick me with a needle. Even if they didn't, everyone would suddenly see me as a parahuman, not just a person.' He shook his head like he was trying to get rid of the thoughts, the movement subtle enough not to draw attention from his classmates or Mr. Lincoln.
The reality of Brockton Bay's awful gang situation weighed heavily on Greg's mind. The ever-present threat of the Empire 88, the ABB, and the Merchants loomed over every aspect of life in the city, even more so for someone with powers. The thought of being outed as a parahuman sent a chill down his spine and ice through his veins.
'I could do it, but it'd be really stupid. I got other options.' The thought came with him going back into his head, his eyes glazing over as he retreated into his inner world.
Suddenly, he saw a hazy outline of himself laid over his vision, a strange manifestation of his power that he was still getting used to. Sitting in his middle was a small token he'd thought about using for a while now, but it was a one-time thing. He wasn't sure exactly how long it'd last, but if he used this token, he'd get the powers of the person he fought back then, for a little while.
The memory of that fight flickered through his mind the fear, the adrenaline, the sudden surge of power that had both terrified and exhilarated him. 'I wonder what happened to that guy. He's prob'ly having a hell of a time in jail. Whatever, I ain't gonna waste his power like this. If I'm gonna use it, it'll be when I really need it, maybe in a big cape fight.' With a small shake, he shifted his focus away from his own self-portrait, the image fading from his vision.
His hand had slid under the desk without him realizing it, and he could feel the thing he'd made a coin formed from hard light in his palm. The slightly warm, ethereal presence against his skin was a constant reminder of his abilities. This wasn't just any coin, but a physical manifestation of the token he'd seen within himself, a real and tangible connection to his power.
'I didn't even notice… Have I not been using my power enough? I just took it to the boat graveyard to test how sharp it was on some scrap metal. Was that not enough? It was enough a few days ago…'
His eyes narrowed, a furrow appearing between his brows as he pondered this development. The hard light coin seemed to pulse slightly in his hand, as if responding to his thoughts. 'Does it want more or somethin'? Powers don't want anythin', though; it's just a power. So why's it so touchy? Will it… will it do more if I give it what it wants? Will I wanna use it more and more?'
He snorted at the idea, the sound thankfully covered by the drone of Mr. Lincoln's voice. But the deep feeling in his stomach almost hurt, and the way he silently gritted his teeth said a lot about what he thought of it. The idea that his power might have a will of its own, that it might be influencing his thoughts and actions, was deeply unsettling. The hard light coin in his hand seemed to grow warmer, as if reacting to his inner turmoil.
The rest of the class passed in a blur of equations and half-heard explanations. Before Greg knew it, the bell was ringing, signaling the end of the first period.
The second and third periods went by almost too fast, with the second being his favorite so far. Usually, Ms. Dalton's class was his favorite of the two because she didn't often give much homework and stuck to just discussion.
'Which means I can typically either avoid that entirely or say something once or twice and let everyone else carry the topic from there, not much, but it got us by the classes,' Greg thought to himself, a small smile playing on his lips. But that wasn't the case this time. Whatever had been happening at the beginning of the day, Taylor had a real chance to show her grit in Mr. Mire's class.
A smile flitted across his face as he recalled the scene. 'She was awesome… held that discussion and ended up tying the bastard up in his own words.' He could feel a little chuckle coming from his throat at that memory. English class was a show today, and he couldn't help but not care about anything else.
'Not like Mr. Mire has done anything to make me care,' Greg mused, his grin turning a bit shark-like. 'Taylor finally putting him in his place was… satisfying.' Mr. Mire was one of those teachers who treated Greg like he was an idiot. Acting as if he was some sort of excuse to make the class drag on, which certainly hadn't helped his position in the social hierarchy.
Speaking of fire, though, he practically skipped through the halls from Ms. Dalton's room, his excitement palpable. 'I think normally it'd be a mood killer to be held back by your teacher for a bit of a talk, but I can just head Taylor off at her locker,' he thought, strategizing. 'How should I apologize for being late, though? Oh wait, maybe I can even use this as a chance to flirt!'
He had only processed the thought when his stomach twisted up and his tongue swelled, the cloud-nine smile shrinking to a small grimace. The physical reaction to his own idea surprised him, a stark reminder of his own social anxiety.
'Nope, okay 10-4 buddy, no flirting, just begging for her forgiveness.' He couldn't help the small snort that came from his nose as he walked down the stairs toward the hallway, but he was close enough for it to matter.
Yet as he entered the hallway, maybe twenty seconds from the locker, a scream echoed through the air. It was raw and shrill, and everything in him screamed that it was wrong. Immediately, his heart started to pick up, and he could feel the thrumming of his heartbeat in his ears.
Instinct alone had him panicked. He ignored the watering of his eyes that caused a dull sting in them, his body moving him on its own. But the crowd told him everything that he needed to know.
It was all surrounding a single locker that shook with a form inside of it. Bits of… something… and what looked like a dead bug were on the ground. Now only a handful of feet from the locker, he could smell the vile that sat confined by the metallic prison that held…
His body shook, everything felt wrong, and there was a crease in his mind. The world seemed to tilt on its axis as an awful realization dawned on him.
'How dare they laugh upon'r,' a voice in his head growled, slipping into an almost Shakespearean cadence. 'These fools, they circle as vultures towards the unsinew'd, how would they react to one who is firm-set? Would they find themselves banished from thy presence? They deserve so much more than just banishment, so thou should'st rip their chaps from their mouth.'
His hand twitched with every laugh, every giggle, and chuckle. Every scathing word that came second by second as he walked through the crowd, all cut off as he approached the locker, his mind a harsh whirl of rage and confusion.
Suddenly people were quiet as the buzzing grew louder in his ears. 'Today was going wonderfully, you were so full of hope, how goes't ,that emotions can change so apace, can I not have a day?' The stark contrast between his earlier joy and current horror made him feel dizzy.
Sophia was speaking, but the buzzing didn't let him hear her. She was even getting angry as he stood there unmoving, her face quickly contorting with rage. 'What do I even do here? Doth I rip the unsinew'd from piece to piece, that wouldn't end well, getting a teacher might help, they physically cannot ignore this incident. More than that, I just need to get her out of that locker.'
He had a plan now, or the bare-bones of one. 'Mr. Gladly is up next, I can just as easily go over to him and tell him.' The thought of involving a teacher, of following the proper channels, gave him a moment of stark clarity amidst the chaos.
Yet Sophia had moved forward by now, annoyed by his standing there unmoved. She was moving to hit him, and things just clicked. 'Maybe I was judging my line of thought too much, no way in hell, I just let them go.'
He moved just a bit left, remembering dodging too far the last time he fought, and how that made his retaliation too slow. They were able to block and turn the tables on him then, but that wouldn't be happening this time. 'I can't rip them from piece to piece, yet 'Tis no trial would I rip her chaps from her mouth.'
His fist came quick, faster than many would be able to react. In that split second, a moment of horror washed over him. 'That's a bad thought, shit, no, I can't out myself here. No fuck that I can't kill her because she's a bitch, hold back, hold back right the fuck now!'
Yet it was too late. His fist came and cracked against her face, the sound one that snapped the buzzing away, and suddenly the whispers became all the louder. Sophia stepped back a few steps, a growl on her lips as she made more distance between the two of them, aided by the fact that Greg didn't try to follow up on the punch to the face.
Suddenly thrown back into reality, Greg had time to go through things, his adrenaline pumping, and he wondered where that started. Giving his mind the power to think things over, aided by the fact that Sophia also wasn't doing anything.
'That punch was too strong,' he realized, horror dawning on him. 'I was too late to hold back on it, a hit like that should have snapped her jaw, no fuck that a punch like that should have spun her head right off of her shoulders. She should be dead right now, laying in a puddle of blood on the ground.'
Reality stared him in the face, cold and unforgiving. He pulled his hand back and got ready, feeling his muscles tense, ready for the moment he had once waited excitedly for, and that he now despaired against. The thought moved through his mind as he locked his blue eyes with her brown, and he knew that she had realized it too.
Both of them accurately identified the other, the realization hitting them like a physical blow. 'Parahuman. Sophia Hess is a parahuman.' The thought was poison in his mind that he couldn't afford to focus on.
'This complicates things so much.'