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Greg Veder vs The World (Worm/The Gamer)
- Thread starter ZFighter18
- Start date
wigg55
I trust you know where the happy button is?
- Joined
- Apr 19, 2018
- Messages
- 556
- Likes received
- 7,268
Buff 3.2
New
ZFighter18
Versed in the lewd.
- Joined
- Jan 17, 2016
- Messages
- 1,569
- Likes received
- 157,676
Buff 3.2
– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –
As he ran several blocks past the Boardwalk, Greg began to enter a neighborhood that was as destitute as the Boardwalk was wealthy. The north part of the old ferry.
While he had heard of this place, he had never actually been here before, no one really having a business with the ferry anymore leaving the place to become abandoned by the general population of the city apart from those desperate enough for a roof over their heads to sleep in the decrepit buildings that lined the area.
That, and the Merchants.
The gang of homeless, drug dealers and assorted thugs that didn't fit in with the Empire or the ABB but wanted more legitimacy than any of the tiny street gangs that populated the city could provide had pounced on the place, quickly ensuring all knew that it was their territory.
As the Merchants tended to be scattered, rarely having too large a large group of them in one place, all this meant to Greg was that he was bound to find a few here.
Greg skidded to a stop near a bunch of half-demolished brownstones, a flickering orange light shining from outside of an alleyway catching his attention. As the yellow glow Creeping up against the wall, Greg slowly made his way around the building, creeping closer to the alley itself. As he reached the mouth of the alley, he poked his head in, blue eyes widening behind his mask as he spotted what exactly was making the flickering light.
A fire? Greg raised an eyebrow.
It actually was a fire. One that someone had lit inside of a tall metal trash can. It stood far from where Greg was, in the center of several alley paths, but just close enough that the light could reflect on this outer alley wall.
Before Greg could ask himself who could possibly have lit it, several figures stepped into view.
Eight of them, to be exact.
Even without being too close to them, Greg could tell they were Merchants and they, without a doubt, were Merchants. Compared to the normal homeless people you saw around Brockton Bay, and there were plenty, members of the Archer's Bridge Merchants had a particular style of hobo-chic that was very… distinct from most others.
Sparky told him something once, something he drew back up now. Homeless people don't like being dirty. They'd take better if they could. Merchants, though, those fucks love looking like trash.
"[Observe.]" The word fell from Greg's mouth almost instinctively, eight pop-ups appearing simultaneously in his field of vision, his mind somehow connecting the names to the bodies nearly half a block away.
Greg found himself smirking. "Easy as cake."
– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –
"Shit-shit-shit-shit-shit-shit!"
Greg's feet pounded against the concrete, garbage and random plastic bags flying through the air as he rushed past them. His legs moved on automatic as his neck swiveled from side to side, frantically searching the dreary alleyways north of the Boardwalk for an alternate path.
Anything.
Anywhere.
Just something he could use to get away.
Or at the very least, hide and recover all his health.
Seriously, where were all the waist-high fences, hiding spots or conveniently available handholds to climb buildings with? All Greg could think of, as he ran past another cutoff leading to a dead end, was that Brockton Bay needed to invest in better city planning.
Or a renovation.
Can you renovate a city? The idle thought passed through Greg's head as he continued running away from his attackers, waiting for the protein bar he just ingested to work him all the way back to full health.
"Fucking piece of shit!" "Skin the lil' fuck!" "Cut his dick off!" "Fuckin' catch the lil' faggot first!"
The sound of their angered shouts lit a fire under Greg and he kept moving, evading dumpsters and knocking over boxes to buy himself some much needed time.
Casting a glance behind him, he saw the glint of a long, sharp weapon and he gulped nervously before facing forward again, sweat beginning to form on his brow. How in the frick did this happen?
After observing all of the Merchants and noting that none of them were over Level 6 and their HP seemed low enough - considering only one of them had anything above 200 - that they wouldn't be much trouble, Greg had put together a simple yet kickass plan.
1. Surprise attack one of them with an [Angry Straight] for that sweet, sweet [Critical Hit].
2. Hit a few others while they were confused and send the rest running.
3. [Dash Straight] into them when they turn to run for more Crits.
4. Repeat Step 3 as needed.
In hindsight, maybe jumping a bunch of Merchants at once wasn't the best idea, after all. Although, he did use a surprise attack and surprise attacks were a pretty smart tactic to use, right? Of course, they are. That's like Strategy 101.
Surprise attacks were smart and a glowing yellow fist out of nowhere was kick-ass enough to ruin anyone's day. It was a simple plan.
Simple but effective.
And it was, actually. Well… kinda.
The first guy went down in a spectacular [Critical Hit]. So did the second, third and fourth Merchant in his sights, none of them prepared for a shining fist to the face.
Problem was, their buddies didn't run.
Second problem, they all had knives.
Third problem, one had a giant fucking machete.
Fourth and biggest fucking problem, they wouldn't give him a second to let his HP regen get back up.
Greg honestly hadn't expected they'd fight back and especially not that hard. I mean, he was a cape, right? They saw his fist go all glowy and everything! They were supposed to run!
This was a reversal of the natural order. He was the parahuman wolf on the hunt and they were the rabbits trying to survive his hunger. Rabbits weren't supposed to fight nature!
Or carry machetes.
Who even carries a freaking machete? Where would you hide that?
Frankly, this whole situation wasn't his fault. It was the Merchants' fault for not doing what they were supposed to do.
- 14 hp
"Motherf-" Greg let out a shout of pain as something hard slammed into the back of his hood-covered skull, the sound of glass raining onto the concrete behind him only confirming what he thought it was.
Stumbling forward, Greg caught himself before he wiped out into the garbage at his feet. He whipped around to face the four approaching thugs, a look of annoyance on his face.
"Good enough." Greg curled his hand into a fist and dipped into a stance. "[Dash Straight!] [Raging Combo!]" In a flash of yellow, he dashed forward ten meters in a literal second, his outstretched fist flying towards the chest of the closest Merchant thug.
With an audible impact, Greg's fist hit home, and he buried punches into the Merchant's open chest, sending him flying back with one final hard strike. The unconscious thug slammed into one of his buddies, his friend catching him as he fell. Another Merchant, a bald black man wearing a shirt so dirty the original color was a mystery, swung at Greg.
From the corner of his eye, Greg caught the flash of metal and jerked to the side, barely avoiding a switchblade to the face as the man's arm passed over his shoulder.
His fist slammed into the side of the thug's jaw with a picture-perfect left hook, the strike staggering the man.
Greg made to press his advantage with a powerful [Angry Straight] only for the words to die on his lips with a cry of pain as something cut into the side of his arm.
-36
Greg snapped his gaze to his side in time to see the Merchant with the machete about to swing his weapon again, trying his hardest to hack off his arm at the shoulder.
Whipping to the side, Greg backpedaled to avoid the bladed weapon coming down on him. "Fuckin' die!"
"Nuh-uh!" Ducking the weapon, Greg struck the machete man in his neck with a wild swing, sending him stumbling back. "You firs- Fuck!"
Greg's taunt was cut short as he took a hard punch to the chest from the Merchant he had staggered earlier with a hook to the jaw. The drug dealer had jumped back into the fight, already recovered and swinging wildly at Greg's chest.
-10
-10
-12
-11
"Shit!" A hand to his chest, Greg swung wildly as he stumbled back into the alley wall only to take another heavy hit to the side of the head, his blind spot continuing to bite him in the butt.
-15
"Goddamnit!" The blonde whirled around with a heavy uppercut, catching the Merchant at his back on the chin. "[Inventory: Bat!]" In Greg's other hand, an aluminum bat appeared in a flash of blue. The Merchant's eyes widened.
Greg swung.
The bat missed his target, the man's chest, and instead clipped his elbow. Despite that, the hit was solid, the crack of metal on bone audible.
"Aaaah!" The man visibly stumbled as he let out a scream, cradling his arm as he backpedaled. Greg took that as a cue to slam the bat hard into the side of his head before the Merchant could recover, sending him to the ground, his HP depleted.
Hearing movement behind him, Greg whipped back around, swinging the bat in a wide arc to dissuade anyone who would try to attack him from behind. Why isn't there a skill for Spidey-Sense or something?
The machete-wielding Merchant had been creeping up behind Greg, not expecting that he would take care of his friend so quickly and, by the wide-eyed-gaze he had as he stared at what was in Greg's hand, certainly not expecting Greg to pull out a bat out of literally nowhere. Next to him, the Merchant with the bald head and switchblade seemed to take a step back.
Under his mask, Greg couldn't hold back a grin as he stepped around the two thugs, both now obviously wary of him. "I'm gonna eat you rabbits like a hungry, hungry wolf."
Their cautious expressions only grew confused at Greg's non-sequitur, the one with the machete screwing up his face before replying, "What?"
Greg blinked as he realized he had said that out loud, his face reddening beneath the mask. "Sh-shut up! Nothing!" Eyes narrowing at the Merchant with the giant knife, Greg screamed out, "[Power Sprint!]"
Body flashing, Greg darted forward. He swung the bat out as hard as he could, slamming it into the thug's chest. The machete flew from his hand as the thug was launched back, the hit sending him into a pile of trash bags, knocking down the entire pile and sending him crashing up against a dumpster. Greg grinned. "That's what I call a grand slam!"
The bald Merchant didn't waste any time to appreciate Greg's humor, instead choosing to lunge with his switchblade. Greg's hand lashed out, the back of his wrist slamming into the thug's leading hand and sending him off-course.
[Moderate Bleeding] debuff removed.
The Merchant's lunge went wide, and Greg twisted, spinning to the side of the criminal and slamming the weapon into his ribs. "[Angry Straight!]"
The bat glowed blue, visibly flashing for an instant, as it slammed into the Merchant's side with an audible crack. Just like that, the last Merchant dropped to the ground.
Greg let out a tired huff as he stared at the four unmoving bodies around him, feeling the drain on his Will for running for so long and using multiple skills one after the other like that. Doesn't matter. Still won.
New skill? Yes! Greg's face lit up with a wide grin behind the mask, shaking his upper body in something of a victory dance. After a moment, he suddenly froze. Wait, seven out of fifteen? But I knocked out eig-
Greg whipped around, glancing at the fallen Merchants around him. From each one, he noted the text above their heads.
Donny Malko
Lv 4 Merchant Blade
0/130
Mike "Mickey" O'Connor
Lv 3 Merchant Blade
0/115
Ricardo Montez
Lv 6 Merchant Hacker
2/160
Jose Villa
Lv 5 Merchant Blade
0/130
Greg's eyes snapped to face the one with the 2/160 over his head. He seemed like all the rest, completely unconscious as his back hugged the graffitied dumpster propping his body up. Greg took a step forward in his direction and he saw the thug twitch, head visibly moving.
Blue eyes widened, and Greg gasped.
The thug scrambled into action as his head snapped up to face Greg, his breathing labored as the Merchant furiously pulled something from the pocket of his jeans.
Gun!
It looked old, that was Greg's second thought, the mix of wood and metal easily visible in the guy's hands. Also, it stood out as being slightly bigger than what he expected a gun to be. A hand cannon more than a gun, really.
Before Greg could so much as even try to dodge, the shaky Merchant raised the revolver.
He didn't see it.
How could he? After all, it was a bullet.
A searing hot hunk of metal moving at Mach oh-my-god that could rip through car doors like scissors through paper.
He heard it, though.
A crack of thunder that made him flinch, the sound echoing off the alley walls as white smoke exploded outwards from the weapon.
Searing pain tore through him as the bullet ripped through his chest, the force of the shot causing him to stumble backwards, his legs suddenly unable to handle his weight, as the slug slammed into him.
-120 HP
He felt himself falling back, the world disappearing in front of him as the edges of his vision began to darken.
No. No. Noooo...
Greg Veder hit the floor, eyes shut and and unmoving.
– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –
– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –
As he ran several blocks past the Boardwalk, Greg began to enter a neighborhood that was as destitute as the Boardwalk was wealthy. The north part of the old ferry.
While he had heard of this place, he had never actually been here before, no one really having a business with the ferry anymore leaving the place to become abandoned by the general population of the city apart from those desperate enough for a roof over their heads to sleep in the decrepit buildings that lined the area.
That, and the Merchants.
The gang of homeless, drug dealers and assorted thugs that didn't fit in with the Empire or the ABB but wanted more legitimacy than any of the tiny street gangs that populated the city could provide had pounced on the place, quickly ensuring all knew that it was their territory.
As the Merchants tended to be scattered, rarely having too large a large group of them in one place, all this meant to Greg was that he was bound to find a few here.
Greg skidded to a stop near a bunch of half-demolished brownstones, a flickering orange light shining from outside of an alleyway catching his attention. As the yellow glow Creeping up against the wall, Greg slowly made his way around the building, creeping closer to the alley itself. As he reached the mouth of the alley, he poked his head in, blue eyes widening behind his mask as he spotted what exactly was making the flickering light.
A fire? Greg raised an eyebrow.
It actually was a fire. One that someone had lit inside of a tall metal trash can. It stood far from where Greg was, in the center of several alley paths, but just close enough that the light could reflect on this outer alley wall.
Before Greg could ask himself who could possibly have lit it, several figures stepped into view.
Eight of them, to be exact.
Even without being too close to them, Greg could tell they were Merchants and they, without a doubt, were Merchants. Compared to the normal homeless people you saw around Brockton Bay, and there were plenty, members of the Archer's Bridge Merchants had a particular style of hobo-chic that was very… distinct from most others.
Sparky told him something once, something he drew back up now. Homeless people don't like being dirty. They'd take better if they could. Merchants, though, those fucks love looking like trash.
"[Observe.]" The word fell from Greg's mouth almost instinctively, eight pop-ups appearing simultaneously in his field of vision, his mind somehow connecting the names to the bodies nearly half a block away.
Greg found himself smirking. "Easy as cake."
– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –
"Shit-shit-shit-shit-shit-shit!"
Greg's feet pounded against the concrete, garbage and random plastic bags flying through the air as he rushed past them. His legs moved on automatic as his neck swiveled from side to side, frantically searching the dreary alleyways north of the Boardwalk for an alternate path.
Anything.
Anywhere.
Just something he could use to get away.
Or at the very least, hide and recover all his health.
Seriously, where were all the waist-high fences, hiding spots or conveniently available handholds to climb buildings with? All Greg could think of, as he ran past another cutoff leading to a dead end, was that Brockton Bay needed to invest in better city planning.
Or a renovation.
Can you renovate a city? The idle thought passed through Greg's head as he continued running away from his attackers, waiting for the protein bar he just ingested to work him all the way back to full health.
"Fucking piece of shit!" "Skin the lil' fuck!" "Cut his dick off!" "Fuckin' catch the lil' faggot first!"
The sound of their angered shouts lit a fire under Greg and he kept moving, evading dumpsters and knocking over boxes to buy himself some much needed time.
Casting a glance behind him, he saw the glint of a long, sharp weapon and he gulped nervously before facing forward again, sweat beginning to form on his brow. How in the frick did this happen?
After observing all of the Merchants and noting that none of them were over Level 6 and their HP seemed low enough - considering only one of them had anything above 200 - that they wouldn't be much trouble, Greg had put together a simple yet kickass plan.
1. Surprise attack one of them with an [Angry Straight] for that sweet, sweet [Critical Hit].
2. Hit a few others while they were confused and send the rest running.
3. [Dash Straight] into them when they turn to run for more Crits.
4. Repeat Step 3 as needed.
In hindsight, maybe jumping a bunch of Merchants at once wasn't the best idea, after all. Although, he did use a surprise attack and surprise attacks were a pretty smart tactic to use, right? Of course, they are. That's like Strategy 101.
Surprise attacks were smart and a glowing yellow fist out of nowhere was kick-ass enough to ruin anyone's day. It was a simple plan.
Simple but effective.
And it was, actually. Well… kinda.
The first guy went down in a spectacular [Critical Hit]. So did the second, third and fourth Merchant in his sights, none of them prepared for a shining fist to the face.
Problem was, their buddies didn't run.
Second problem, they all had knives.
Third problem, one had a giant fucking machete.
Fourth and biggest fucking problem, they wouldn't give him a second to let his HP regen get back up.
Greg honestly hadn't expected they'd fight back and especially not that hard. I mean, he was a cape, right? They saw his fist go all glowy and everything! They were supposed to run!
This was a reversal of the natural order. He was the parahuman wolf on the hunt and they were the rabbits trying to survive his hunger. Rabbits weren't supposed to fight nature!
Or carry machetes.
Who even carries a freaking machete? Where would you hide that?
Frankly, this whole situation wasn't his fault. It was the Merchants' fault for not doing what they were supposed to do.
- 14 hp
"Motherf-" Greg let out a shout of pain as something hard slammed into the back of his hood-covered skull, the sound of glass raining onto the concrete behind him only confirming what he thought it was.
Stumbling forward, Greg caught himself before he wiped out into the garbage at his feet. He whipped around to face the four approaching thugs, a look of annoyance on his face.
"Good enough." Greg curled his hand into a fist and dipped into a stance. "[Dash Straight!] [Raging Combo!]" In a flash of yellow, he dashed forward ten meters in a literal second, his outstretched fist flying towards the chest of the closest Merchant thug.
With an audible impact, Greg's fist hit home, and he buried punches into the Merchant's open chest, sending him flying back with one final hard strike. The unconscious thug slammed into one of his buddies, his friend catching him as he fell. Another Merchant, a bald black man wearing a shirt so dirty the original color was a mystery, swung at Greg.
From the corner of his eye, Greg caught the flash of metal and jerked to the side, barely avoiding a switchblade to the face as the man's arm passed over his shoulder.
His fist slammed into the side of the thug's jaw with a picture-perfect left hook, the strike staggering the man.
Greg made to press his advantage with a powerful [Angry Straight] only for the words to die on his lips with a cry of pain as something cut into the side of his arm.
-36
Greg snapped his gaze to his side in time to see the Merchant with the machete about to swing his weapon again, trying his hardest to hack off his arm at the shoulder.
Whipping to the side, Greg backpedaled to avoid the bladed weapon coming down on him. "Fuckin' die!"
"Nuh-uh!" Ducking the weapon, Greg struck the machete man in his neck with a wild swing, sending him stumbling back. "You firs- Fuck!"
Greg's taunt was cut short as he took a hard punch to the chest from the Merchant he had staggered earlier with a hook to the jaw. The drug dealer had jumped back into the fight, already recovered and swinging wildly at Greg's chest.
-10
-10
-12
-11
"Shit!" A hand to his chest, Greg swung wildly as he stumbled back into the alley wall only to take another heavy hit to the side of the head, his blind spot continuing to bite him in the butt.
-15
"Goddamnit!" The blonde whirled around with a heavy uppercut, catching the Merchant at his back on the chin. "[Inventory: Bat!]" In Greg's other hand, an aluminum bat appeared in a flash of blue. The Merchant's eyes widened.
Greg swung.
The bat missed his target, the man's chest, and instead clipped his elbow. Despite that, the hit was solid, the crack of metal on bone audible.
"Aaaah!" The man visibly stumbled as he let out a scream, cradling his arm as he backpedaled. Greg took that as a cue to slam the bat hard into the side of his head before the Merchant could recover, sending him to the ground, his HP depleted.
Hearing movement behind him, Greg whipped back around, swinging the bat in a wide arc to dissuade anyone who would try to attack him from behind. Why isn't there a skill for Spidey-Sense or something?
The machete-wielding Merchant had been creeping up behind Greg, not expecting that he would take care of his friend so quickly and, by the wide-eyed-gaze he had as he stared at what was in Greg's hand, certainly not expecting Greg to pull out a bat out of literally nowhere. Next to him, the Merchant with the bald head and switchblade seemed to take a step back.
Under his mask, Greg couldn't hold back a grin as he stepped around the two thugs, both now obviously wary of him. "I'm gonna eat you rabbits like a hungry, hungry wolf."
Their cautious expressions only grew confused at Greg's non-sequitur, the one with the machete screwing up his face before replying, "What?"
Greg blinked as he realized he had said that out loud, his face reddening beneath the mask. "Sh-shut up! Nothing!" Eyes narrowing at the Merchant with the giant knife, Greg screamed out, "[Power Sprint!]"
Body flashing, Greg darted forward. He swung the bat out as hard as he could, slamming it into the thug's chest. The machete flew from his hand as the thug was launched back, the hit sending him into a pile of trash bags, knocking down the entire pile and sending him crashing up against a dumpster. Greg grinned. "That's what I call a grand slam!"
The bald Merchant didn't waste any time to appreciate Greg's humor, instead choosing to lunge with his switchblade. Greg's hand lashed out, the back of his wrist slamming into the thug's leading hand and sending him off-course.
[Moderate Bleeding] debuff removed.
The Merchant's lunge went wide, and Greg twisted, spinning to the side of the criminal and slamming the weapon into his ribs. "[Angry Straight!]"
The bat glowed blue, visibly flashing for an instant, as it slammed into the Merchant's side with an audible crack. Just like that, the last Merchant dropped to the ground.
Greg let out a tired huff as he stared at the four unmoving bodies around him, feeling the drain on his Will for running for so long and using multiple skills one after the other like that. Doesn't matter. Still won.
New skill? Yes! Greg's face lit up with a wide grin behind the mask, shaking his upper body in something of a victory dance. After a moment, he suddenly froze. Wait, seven out of fifteen? But I knocked out eig-
Greg whipped around, glancing at the fallen Merchants around him. From each one, he noted the text above their heads.
Donny Malko
Lv 4 Merchant Blade
0/130
Mike "Mickey" O'Connor
Lv 3 Merchant Blade
0/115
Ricardo Montez
Lv 6 Merchant Hacker
2/160
Jose Villa
Lv 5 Merchant Blade
0/130
Greg's eyes snapped to face the one with the 2/160 over his head. He seemed like all the rest, completely unconscious as his back hugged the graffitied dumpster propping his body up. Greg took a step forward in his direction and he saw the thug twitch, head visibly moving.
Blue eyes widened, and Greg gasped.
The thug scrambled into action as his head snapped up to face Greg, his breathing labored as the Merchant furiously pulled something from the pocket of his jeans.
Gun!
It looked old, that was Greg's second thought, the mix of wood and metal easily visible in the guy's hands. Also, it stood out as being slightly bigger than what he expected a gun to be. A hand cannon more than a gun, really.
Before Greg could so much as even try to dodge, the shaky Merchant raised the revolver.
He didn't see it.
How could he? After all, it was a bullet.
A searing hot hunk of metal moving at Mach oh-my-god that could rip through car doors like scissors through paper.
He heard it, though.
A crack of thunder that made him flinch, the sound echoing off the alley walls as white smoke exploded outwards from the weapon.
Searing pain tore through him as the bullet ripped through his chest, the force of the shot causing him to stumble backwards, his legs suddenly unable to handle his weight, as the slug slammed into him.
-120 HP
He felt himself falling back, the world disappearing in front of him as the edges of his vision began to darken.
No. No. Noooo...
Greg Veder hit the floor, eyes shut and and unmoving.
– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –
Greg Lucas Veder
Student
Level 4
XP: 2230/3600
Age: 15 (and three-quarters!)
HP: 0/240
MP: 122/130
Will: 7/108
STR: 16
SPD: 14
VIT: 13
INT: 18
WIS: 8 (-6)
CHA: 2 (+9) (-10)
Unspent Points: 7
Cash: $153.50
Student
Level 4
XP: 2230/3600
Age: 15 (and three-quarters!)
HP: 0/240
MP: 122/130
Will: 7/108
STR: 16
SPD: 14
VIT: 13
INT: 18
WIS: 8 (-6)
CHA: 2 (+9) (-10)
Unspent Points: 7
Cash: $153.50
Cutscene: Ricardo Montez
New
ZFighter18
Versed in the lewd.
- Joined
- Jan 17, 2016
- Messages
- 1,569
- Likes received
- 157,676
Cutscene: Ricardo Montez
– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –
The revolver had fallen from his hand about a minute ago, his wrist too fucked-up to hold on to the pound of metal. The recoil was another bitch and a half to deal with, the sudden force of it making him take a deep breath that hurt like everything in the world at once. It was a vise, gripping his chest and tightening even more with each short, raspy gasp he gave as his body struggled for air.
I shot him.
Despite all that, his hand still shook at his side, his finger twitching uncontrollably as it continued pulling at the trigger that wasn't there. I shot him.
The gun lay at his side, spent.
He only had one shot.
One bullet to make it count.
Yesterday - or maybe two days ago, he didn't fucking remember - he held up a convenience store with that gun... took every damn thing he could. Enough food for him and his boys for a good month and enough money to keep all eight of them in product for a while.
Other than the change you made off dealin', you had to provide for yourself as a Merchant. Skidmark didn't do handouts.
He had used five bullets.
Five out of six of the last bullets he had left.
Shot the clerk. One in the head.
Served him right for trying to pull a gun on him when he thought he wasn't looking.
Shot two cops who showed up, the blue fucks making him waste two shots each before they went down in their own blood.
Down to his last bullet and he uses it to waste some Wards wannabe fuck probably still in middle school.
Ricardo fought to keep his eyes open, his gaze locked on the cape kid's unmoving body. He had to be dead, right? Blinking, the lone conscious Merchant tried desperately to assure himself of that despite so much telling him otherwise. I shot him.
His other hand twitched at his side, remembering how his machete had plunged deep into the boy's shoulder. The kid had screamed as the edge cut into the side of his arm, blood spraying from the jagged wound.
Yeah, the kid had definitely screamed.
Once.
After that, he just went back to the fight, throwing punches like nothing had happened. The kid didn't even try to stop the bleeding. He didn't even pay the wound any attention, using that same injured arm to punch him in the throat a moment later.
He was stronger than he looked. Not too fast, but fast enough to be tricky. They hadn't taken him too seriously at first, even after the kid had taken down four of their group with a surprise attack. The rest of them were surprised too, the young-sounding voice almost as big of a shock as the obvious powers the kid had thrown around.
They almost booked it until they saw the kid, eyes nervous and wide as he waited for them to make their move. When they didn't back down, the cape kid ran and they took off after him, smelling blood in the water. How fucking retarded.
The kid let them chase him for a couple minutes and then jumped back to meet them, not even out of breath after sprinting for so long. That was their first clue something was wrong.
Ricardo shivered, both from the cold of the night air and from remembering how the kid moved, taking a hit and then ignoring it a moment later to launch his own.
It was like fighting a fucking Terminator.
The gun had been his saving grace. He hadn't wanted to really use it. I mean, cape or not, it was a fucking kid he was talking about. He just… he didn't know what else to do.
A single shot, right through the chest, had sent the kid sprawling with blood splatter flying from his chest.
Ricardo was surprised, shock overriding the pained expression on his face as the boy fell to the ground, completely still.
At first, he had thought it hadn't worked. Why would it?
The kid had ignored knives and a machete tearing into him, none of them bothering him for more than a short moment.
What difference would one bullet make?
Yet over a minute later, the cape was as unmoving as he had been since he first fell.
Ricardo had actually let out a relieved sigh, despite how much it hurt, when he realized that it was finally over.
The Merchant took in another shaky breath, his chest screaming as he wheezed. Despite the uncomfortable position he was in, and the disgusting wetness that was liquid garbage seeping into his clothes and skin, he couldn't find it in him to move.
His chest stung with deep welts and bruises, forcing him to take shallow breaths that still managed to almost make him tear up in pain. His eyes slowly began to close, the dark hold of unconsciousness falling over him.
Then, he heard it.
Breathing, slow but steady.
Brown eyes forced themselves open with tremendous effort, locking onto the only one that could have made a noise like that. A rush of panic hit him, the fear itself jolting him back into full consciousness. No. No. I shot him.
The boy's body began to twitch, heavy breathing audible from where he lay just a few meters away.
No. Ricardo tried to stand, his arms trembling like a baby's as he tried to push himself off the ground. The cape's breathing came quicker, speeding up until he sounded like he was having a heart attack on the alley floor.
It was too late, anyway. No. I shot him. I shot him!
As if waking from a nightmare, the cape surged upwards to a sitting position, his body visibly trembling and eyes wide beneath his white mask as he heaved for breath. He gasped, a deep, trembling inhale of oxygen that Ricardo wished he could emulate without pain, and there was silence.
A moment later, the night was filled with a gut-wrenching scream, not of pain but fear as the cape stared at his own bloody hands, his voice a testament to his fear. Frenzied blue eyes snapped to Ricardo's. The Merchant desperately tried to crawl away as those eyes locked on to his, fear mixing in with anger as the cape stared at him.
The kid jumped to his feet as if he hadn't been shot, hand sweeping up the bat at his side without even looking. He rushed forward, still screaming fearfully as he swung the bat back over his head, the weapon gripped in his two gloved hands.
Ricardo trembled in his slumped position, unable to move and unable to breathe.
The Merchant closed his eyes. No.
The bat came down.
– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –
The revolver had fallen from his hand about a minute ago, his wrist too fucked-up to hold on to the pound of metal. The recoil was another bitch and a half to deal with, the sudden force of it making him take a deep breath that hurt like everything in the world at once. It was a vise, gripping his chest and tightening even more with each short, raspy gasp he gave as his body struggled for air.
I shot him.
Despite all that, his hand still shook at his side, his finger twitching uncontrollably as it continued pulling at the trigger that wasn't there. I shot him.
The gun lay at his side, spent.
He only had one shot.
One bullet to make it count.
Yesterday - or maybe two days ago, he didn't fucking remember - he held up a convenience store with that gun... took every damn thing he could. Enough food for him and his boys for a good month and enough money to keep all eight of them in product for a while.
Other than the change you made off dealin', you had to provide for yourself as a Merchant. Skidmark didn't do handouts.
He had used five bullets.
Five out of six of the last bullets he had left.
Shot the clerk. One in the head.
Served him right for trying to pull a gun on him when he thought he wasn't looking.
Shot two cops who showed up, the blue fucks making him waste two shots each before they went down in their own blood.
Down to his last bullet and he uses it to waste some Wards wannabe fuck probably still in middle school.
Ricardo fought to keep his eyes open, his gaze locked on the cape kid's unmoving body. He had to be dead, right? Blinking, the lone conscious Merchant tried desperately to assure himself of that despite so much telling him otherwise. I shot him.
His other hand twitched at his side, remembering how his machete had plunged deep into the boy's shoulder. The kid had screamed as the edge cut into the side of his arm, blood spraying from the jagged wound.
Yeah, the kid had definitely screamed.
Once.
After that, he just went back to the fight, throwing punches like nothing had happened. The kid didn't even try to stop the bleeding. He didn't even pay the wound any attention, using that same injured arm to punch him in the throat a moment later.
He was stronger than he looked. Not too fast, but fast enough to be tricky. They hadn't taken him too seriously at first, even after the kid had taken down four of their group with a surprise attack. The rest of them were surprised too, the young-sounding voice almost as big of a shock as the obvious powers the kid had thrown around.
They almost booked it until they saw the kid, eyes nervous and wide as he waited for them to make their move. When they didn't back down, the cape kid ran and they took off after him, smelling blood in the water. How fucking retarded.
The kid let them chase him for a couple minutes and then jumped back to meet them, not even out of breath after sprinting for so long. That was their first clue something was wrong.
Ricardo shivered, both from the cold of the night air and from remembering how the kid moved, taking a hit and then ignoring it a moment later to launch his own.
It was like fighting a fucking Terminator.
The gun had been his saving grace. He hadn't wanted to really use it. I mean, cape or not, it was a fucking kid he was talking about. He just… he didn't know what else to do.
A single shot, right through the chest, had sent the kid sprawling with blood splatter flying from his chest.
Ricardo was surprised, shock overriding the pained expression on his face as the boy fell to the ground, completely still.
At first, he had thought it hadn't worked. Why would it?
The kid had ignored knives and a machete tearing into him, none of them bothering him for more than a short moment.
What difference would one bullet make?
Yet over a minute later, the cape was as unmoving as he had been since he first fell.
Ricardo had actually let out a relieved sigh, despite how much it hurt, when he realized that it was finally over.
The Merchant took in another shaky breath, his chest screaming as he wheezed. Despite the uncomfortable position he was in, and the disgusting wetness that was liquid garbage seeping into his clothes and skin, he couldn't find it in him to move.
His chest stung with deep welts and bruises, forcing him to take shallow breaths that still managed to almost make him tear up in pain. His eyes slowly began to close, the dark hold of unconsciousness falling over him.
Then, he heard it.
Breathing, slow but steady.
Brown eyes forced themselves open with tremendous effort, locking onto the only one that could have made a noise like that. A rush of panic hit him, the fear itself jolting him back into full consciousness. No. No. I shot him.
The boy's body began to twitch, heavy breathing audible from where he lay just a few meters away.
No. Ricardo tried to stand, his arms trembling like a baby's as he tried to push himself off the ground. The cape's breathing came quicker, speeding up until he sounded like he was having a heart attack on the alley floor.
It was too late, anyway. No. I shot him. I shot him!
As if waking from a nightmare, the cape surged upwards to a sitting position, his body visibly trembling and eyes wide beneath his white mask as he heaved for breath. He gasped, a deep, trembling inhale of oxygen that Ricardo wished he could emulate without pain, and there was silence.
A moment later, the night was filled with a gut-wrenching scream, not of pain but fear as the cape stared at his own bloody hands, his voice a testament to his fear. Frenzied blue eyes snapped to Ricardo's. The Merchant desperately tried to crawl away as those eyes locked on to his, fear mixing in with anger as the cape stared at him.
The kid jumped to his feet as if he hadn't been shot, hand sweeping up the bat at his side without even looking. He rushed forward, still screaming fearfully as he swung the bat back over his head, the weapon gripped in his two gloved hands.
Ricardo trembled in his slumped position, unable to move and unable to breathe.
The Merchant closed his eyes. No.
The bat came down.
Buff 3.3
New
ZFighter18
Versed in the lewd.
- Joined
- Jan 17, 2016
- Messages
- 1,569
- Likes received
- 157,676
Major thanks goes out to my (hopefully long-term) Betas, Mannymcdude and BlueRose I also have to thank dzk87, who was also a great help at reading the chapter and making some notes for me to work on, especially on the previous interlude.
Buff 3.3
– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –
The sound of screaming stopped rather quickly.
Greg just wasn't sure how long it took.
His grip loosened around the now-dented bat, the brushed aluminum stained with blood, hair and bits of grey matter that he did his best to ignore. He stood in front of the Merchant's body, a collection of red and pinkish-gray splattering both the filthy exterior of the dumpster and his all-black clothing.
Greg shuddered, a strange sense of calm overriding his growing nausea as he looked away from his handiwork.
The Gamer's Mind skill had hung in his skill tab since he had first gotten his powers less than a week ago. He hadn't paid it much attention past the initial cursory glance, ignoring it much like he had Gamer's Body. He didn't really think much of either considering it was impossible to level them any further. If he had known…
Is this what this really does? He blinked, his chest rising slightly faster as his mind began to race with the implications. In the back of his mind, he felt the wave of calm wax slightly stronger in response. Masters me? My own powers Master me. It won't let me think certain ways? Shaking his head, Greg stepped backwards, the bat dropping from his fingers and clattering noisily against the wall before settling on top of a pile of garbage. That's… not terrible, right?
Greg hesitated, suddenly unsure of his own thoughts.
I mean, I don't mind… much. The words sounded right inside his head despite Greg's doubts, his mind wondering if that was him or just what his power wanted him to think. How… how would I even know? For a moment, Greg's eyes flickered from the menu back to the mutilated corpse slumped against a pile of torn garbage bags, a dumpster propping the body up.
All thoughts of whatever Master effect his power could be puppeting him with were washed away as a surge of nausea hit him, the urge to vomit wrestling with the subtle yet overpowering calm that both comforted and unsettled him. I killed someone.
Greg knew without a doubt that the Merchant was dead.
With a Capital D.
There was just no arguing the fact.
Even ignoring the fact that his head was little more than pulp, - and Greg was disconcerted by how easy it was for him to actually do just that - the former Merchant was drastically different in a way that told Greg all he needed to know.
Above his head… Greg shook his head as he stared at what he had done, a pit of revulsion forming in his stomach.
Above what remained of his head, the Merchant's corpse had no name, no level and no health meter, meaning that for all intents and purposes, it was just another item or background object like the dumpster the corpse was slumped against.
Unlike the rest of his friends still unconscious on the ground.
Greg let out a low gasp as the wave of calm rose against his swelling emotions. His vision moved to the item lying next to the merchant's body, the polished metal making it easy to spot. Greg took another step closer to it. "Ob- Obse…" Greg gulped, shuddering one more time.
Had he been that close to dying? Greg had assumed dipping below zero was an immediate death sentence, whatever power that was Gamer's Body failing on his death. His continued existence proved that wrong, but still…
The fact that it said "survive" implied he had been far closer to dead than otherwise.
The thought hung in Greg's mind as he wrapped his arms around himself, the confirmation reminding him of the darkness that had subsumed his vision as he fell. "Holy… holy sh…" I almost died.
"HP?" His voice came out slightly shrill, not the simple cracking he was used to, tinged with a quiet terror.
Pulling himself from the alleyway wall, Greg rolled his shoulders back, stretching languidly as he stared at the gun still lying on the floor. A tired expression crossed his face and he reached down at his side, picking up the bloody, gore-stained bat and walked over to the dumpster.
Lifting the bat with one hand, he gently touched the Merchant corpse with it, nudging the torso. After a moment, he stopped and simply stared at the body with an uncomfortable expression on his face. I did this.
Greg blinked slightly, raising an eyebrow. My first dead body. As if to confirm that this entire experience was real, Greg poked at the body again. I thought seeing a dead body would be more fun than this. He tilted his head, pulling the bat back from his curious prodding. Maybe that's only when you're not the one that makes it.
Greg stood up, casting another curious glance at the body before looking down at his bloodstained gloves and his own gore-covered body. Is this me? Or Is this The Gamer's Mind? Greg wasn't sure he wanted to know right now. What was worse, really? Him naturally not caring about killing someone or his power making him not care?
"I'd say they're pretty even-steven," Greg remarked to himself, a bemused smile on his face behind the mask as he let out a bitter chuckle. Part of him couldn't help but feel relieved at the fact that he wasn't in tears right now. The only problem with that was the rest of him had to wonder if that wasn't also his power making him feel so grateful. "Both pretty messed up, really."
"Yeah." An unfamiliar voice sounded off, shocking Greg with both its depth and clarity, somehow sounding like it was just behind his back. "This is one messed-up situation you got here."
What the- Bat clenched tightly in both hands, Greg whipped around to the mouth of the alley to face whoever had just spoken. The teen's eyes went from narrowed to resigned as he cast a glance at the figure in front of him, his body visibly slumping even as he held his weapon up.
"Oh, fuck me. What now?"
– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –
Buff 3.3
– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –
The sound of screaming stopped rather quickly.
Greg just wasn't sure how long it took.
His grip loosened around the now-dented bat, the brushed aluminum stained with blood, hair and bits of grey matter that he did his best to ignore. He stood in front of the Merchant's body, a collection of red and pinkish-gray splattering both the filthy exterior of the dumpster and his all-black clothing.
Greg shuddered, a strange sense of calm overriding his growing nausea as he looked away from his handiwork.
Gamer's Mind? The words hovered in his field of vision, reminding him of what had just happened. That actually does something?
The Gamer's Mind skill had hung in his skill tab since he had first gotten his powers less than a week ago. He hadn't paid it much attention past the initial cursory glance, ignoring it much like he had Gamer's Body. He didn't really think much of either considering it was impossible to level them any further. If he had known…
Is this what this really does? He blinked, his chest rising slightly faster as his mind began to race with the implications. In the back of his mind, he felt the wave of calm wax slightly stronger in response. Masters me? My own powers Master me. It won't let me think certain ways? Shaking his head, Greg stepped backwards, the bat dropping from his fingers and clattering noisily against the wall before settling on top of a pile of garbage. That's… not terrible, right?
Greg hesitated, suddenly unsure of his own thoughts.
I mean, I don't mind… much. The words sounded right inside his head despite Greg's doubts, his mind wondering if that was him or just what his power wanted him to think. How… how would I even know? For a moment, Greg's eyes flickered from the menu back to the mutilated corpse slumped against a pile of torn garbage bags, a dumpster propping the body up.
All thoughts of whatever Master effect his power could be puppeting him with were washed away as a surge of nausea hit him, the urge to vomit wrestling with the subtle yet overpowering calm that both comforted and unsettled him. I killed someone.
Greg knew without a doubt that the Merchant was dead.
With a Capital D.
There was just no arguing the fact.
Even ignoring the fact that his head was little more than pulp, - and Greg was disconcerted by how easy it was for him to actually do just that - the former Merchant was drastically different in a way that told Greg all he needed to know.
Above his head… Greg shook his head as he stared at what he had done, a pit of revulsion forming in his stomach.
Above what remained of his head, the Merchant's corpse had no name, no level and no health meter, meaning that for all intents and purposes, it was just another item or background object like the dumpster the corpse was slumped against.
Unlike the rest of his friends still unconscious on the ground.
Greg let out a low gasp as the wave of calm rose against his swelling emotions. His vision moved to the item lying next to the merchant's body, the polished metal making it easy to spot. Greg took another step closer to it. "Ob- Obse…" Greg gulped, shuddering one more time.
Greg stumbled slightly as he read the description of that perk, leaning further back against the wall in a bid to keep himself standing as he tried to process the words. Zero HP? Near-death situation?
Had he been that close to dying? Greg had assumed dipping below zero was an immediate death sentence, whatever power that was Gamer's Body failing on his death. His continued existence proved that wrong, but still…
The fact that it said "survive" implied he had been far closer to dead than otherwise.
The thought hung in Greg's mind as he wrapped his arms around himself, the confirmation reminding him of the darkness that had subsumed his vision as he fell. "Holy… holy sh…" I almost died.
"HP?" His voice came out slightly shrill, not the simple cracking he was used to, tinged with a quiet terror.
Greg shook his head, letting out a sigh as he leaned further into the wall, hands twitching at his sides. The thought was terrifying in the worst ways, a step forward into a line of thinking Greg didn't want to pursue. No. That… that doesn't make sense. I almost died? But I'm fine now. I'm… fine. He blinked, his breathing somewhat heavy despite his lack of exertion. Right?
Frenzied eyes relaxed instantly and twitching fingers stilled, a sudden shift that must have been almost as strange to see from the outside as it was to experience. "That is still…" Greg let out an annoyed breath, "really frickin' weird."
Pulling himself from the alleyway wall, Greg rolled his shoulders back, stretching languidly as he stared at the gun still lying on the floor. A tired expression crossed his face and he reached down at his side, picking up the bloody, gore-stained bat and walked over to the dumpster.
Lifting the bat with one hand, he gently touched the Merchant corpse with it, nudging the torso. After a moment, he stopped and simply stared at the body with an uncomfortable expression on his face. I did this.
Greg blinked slightly, raising an eyebrow. My first dead body. As if to confirm that this entire experience was real, Greg poked at the body again. I thought seeing a dead body would be more fun than this. He tilted his head, pulling the bat back from his curious prodding. Maybe that's only when you're not the one that makes it.
Greg stood up, casting another curious glance at the body before looking down at his bloodstained gloves and his own gore-covered body. Is this me? Or Is this The Gamer's Mind? Greg wasn't sure he wanted to know right now. What was worse, really? Him naturally not caring about killing someone or his power making him not care?
"I'd say they're pretty even-steven," Greg remarked to himself, a bemused smile on his face behind the mask as he let out a bitter chuckle. Part of him couldn't help but feel relieved at the fact that he wasn't in tears right now. The only problem with that was the rest of him had to wonder if that wasn't also his power making him feel so grateful. "Both pretty messed up, really."
"Yeah." An unfamiliar voice sounded off, shocking Greg with both its depth and clarity, somehow sounding like it was just behind his back. "This is one messed-up situation you got here."
What the- Bat clenched tightly in both hands, Greg whipped around to the mouth of the alley to face whoever had just spoken. The teen's eyes went from narrowed to resigned as he cast a glance at the figure in front of him, his body visibly slumping even as he held his weapon up.
"Oh, fuck me. What now?"
– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –
Greg Lucas Veder
Student
Level 4
XP: 2534/3600
Age: 15 (and three-quarters!)
HP: 96/250 (Hoodie: +10 HP [260])
(PowerBar: +5 HP per 5 seconds) (+ 1 HP per 15 seconds)
MP: 130/130
Will: 89/111
STR: 16
SPD: 14 (Shoes: + 1 SPD [15])
VIT: 15
INT: 18
WIS: 8 (-6)
CHA: 2 (+9) (-10)
Unspent Stat Points: 7
Unspent Perk Points: 1
Cash: $718.50
Student
Level 4
XP: 2534/3600
Age: 15 (and three-quarters!)
HP: 96/250 (Hoodie: +10 HP [260])
(PowerBar: +5 HP per 5 seconds) (+ 1 HP per 15 seconds)
MP: 130/130
Will: 89/111
STR: 16
SPD: 14 (Shoes: + 1 SPD [15])
VIT: 15
INT: 18
WIS: 8 (-6)
CHA: 2 (+9) (-10)
Unspent Stat Points: 7
Unspent Perk Points: 1
Cash: $718.50
Buff 3.4
New
ZFighter18
Versed in the lewd.
- Joined
- Jan 17, 2016
- Messages
- 1,569
- Likes received
- 157,676
Buff 3.4
– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –
The figure crossed his burly arms over an equally burly chest, pale flesh rippling with tight cords of muscle just beneath the skin. Even beneath his mask, he seemed to give off an air of confusion. "Something wrong?" Yet again, that deep voice seemed to carry, almost echoing in the alleyway.
Greg considered the question. "Something wrong?" he echoed, humor evident in his tone.
"Yeah, that's what I said." The cape's mouth tilted up at the side in a slight smile, visible below a partial face-mask. He tilted his head, his gaze clearly noting the gory figure that Greg stood next to. "After all, I see you got a little bit of a mess on your hands."
Greg abruptly let out a snort of laughter, his hood falling off as his head dipped back. Said snort quickly turned into an uncontrolled high-pitched laugh at the absurdity of the statement, as well as who it was coming from.
Taking out the trash? Who actually says that? Greg nodded slowly as he kept his eyes on the cape's body, watching for any sudden movement. This was not someone he wanted to fight. At least not yet.
His eyes widened as he realized the cape was patiently waiting for him to say something. Blinking, he hurriedly spat out, "I-I-I… I guess so."
"The name's Stormti-"
"I know who you are," Greg interrupted, words leaving his mouth in a rush.
Greg really didn't need the introduction, already knowing plenty about the cape in front of him. Stormtiger, like the majority of capes in the Bay, was a villain and a rather high-ranking one. One of Kaiser's right-hand men in the E88, he was relatively popular on PHO but neither as well-known, feared or as dangerous as Hookwolf, Kaiser's other right-hand. In fact, the only reason Greg knew so much about him was because his powers were kinda cool. After all, he was pretty much a discount Airbender.
The cape tilted his head slightly, the smile under his white mask shifting to something much less predatory. "You've heard of me?" The hint of pride in his tone was more than a tad obvious. "What am I talking about? Of course you've heard of me." Now, it was super obvious.
"Well," The villain unfurled his arms and took a few steps forward into a ray of light, allowing Greg to note that buff was a bit of an understatement when describing Stormtiger. "It's nice to meet a fan."
Blue eyes widened behind his hockey mask as Greg processed the words, his shock powerful enough to make him take a step back. "A f… fan? Wow… uhh," Greg let out a hiss of air, one hand moving up to rub the back of his head as he tried to find something to say, "no offense but… uhh, fan is a really, really strong word."
Greg swallowed, nervous sweat forming under his mask as he waited for Stormtiger to say something.
Stormtiger's head tilted to the side, his arms moving to his sides. "Well, I just assumed…" he began, his voice tinged with slight confusion.
"Assumed?" Greg echoed again, only to flinch the moment the word left his lips. Why do you keep interrupting him?
Stormtiger let out a short bark of laughter. "Your hair, your eyes… I only assumed you would be a fan of the Empire," Greg's eyes widened, "and by extension, me."
Greg blinked, surprised by the statement. Shocked as he was, his mouth simply said the first thing that came to mind. "Wow, that's kinda racist."
The warmth in Stormtiger's smile dimmed, the tiger-masked cape gaining an intense look in his eyes as he took a few steps into the alley. "What?" the cape snarled, his voice little more than a growl.
Frick on a stick. "Uhh… well, the thing about that is… uhh, what I meant to say was," Greg took a few nervous steps back, nearly stepping on a few downed Merchants in his hurry. "It's just kinda weird that just 'cause I'm a tad Aryan-looking, you assume I'm down with the Empire and the 'Hey Hitler' and all that."
There was silence between them for a good five seconds as Stormtiger simply stared at the younger cape. Sensing that he may have gone too far in the wrong direction, Greg tried to pull back his statement. "N-n-not that I don't think you guys aren't cool or anything, cool names, cool costumes, really cool powers, especially you, Mr. Tiger. Just... wow, you know, real awesome air-bending and stuff, right?"
Blinking furiously, Greg tried to get his thoughts in one place. "Wow, okay, so not that I'm not in awe of your, you know, skills, It's j-j-just… that… uhh… the whole Nazi shtick is kinda… you know... " Greg's sentence trailed off as he noticed that Stormtiger's muscles seemed to tense, the Nazi cape's fingers twitching slightly as they curled inwards.
Think of something, you idiot. Greg shook his head before continuing again, words flying out in a flurry. "I mean, you see, I'm a fan of 80's music, I'm a fan of Frosted Flakes cereal. It doesn't mean I still d-d-don't listen to other stuff, you know? Or eat other b-breakfast foods, right?" What are you saying? Shut up!
After a few tense moments, Stormtiger let out a sort of grunt, folding his muscular arms over his chest again. "Well, fan or not, it's always good to meet a cape that's friendly toward the Empire, especially one who shares the same…" his head tilted slightly, gaze moving over the field of fallen Merchants, "understandings about the trash infesting this city."
Unconsciously, Greg's fingers curled tighter around the handle of the bat. "Understandings? If you mean the Merchants, then yeah, not a fan." Underneath his breath, Greg let out a whispered "[Observe.]"
Stormtiger Lv ?
HP: 450/450
"So, kid, you got a name?" The bare-chested cape asked as he moved forward, stepping just a bit closer to Greg while wearing that same feral grin.
Greg, in turn, scrambled backward, never lowering the bat in his hands or taking his eyes off Stormtiger. "A name? Not.. really." His voice came out in a squeak even as he did his best to stand his ground.
"Relax, kid, " Stormtiger let out a belly laugh, the sound almost making Greg jump. "I can't even see your face and I can tell you're damn near about to piss yourself. I'm not gonna hurt you." He let out another booming burst of laughter, the loud sound forcing another flinch out of Greg.
Right next to my ear, again! He has to be doing that on purpose! Rather than say that, Greg replied with a simple, "Really?"
"Really." Stormtiger gestured at the headless corpse with his chin, the movement so subtle Greg almost didn't notice it. "You might be green as all hell but you got a killer instinct." He flashed Greg a grin again, this one far more predatory than the last. "If you weren't one of us, I'd have to take care of someone like that before they make trouble."
One of us? Greg blinked, nearly taking another step back as he realized what the older cape meant. Oh. Ohhh. Huh, I've never been so happy to be white. He blinked again. Does that make me racist?
Unaware of Greg's internal dilemma, Stormtiger gave Greg a wink before turning his gaze to the three remaining Merchants with their heads intact. "No one really heads down here other than Merchants but I wouldn't recommend hanging around just in case, especially after all this..." The cape let out a deep chuckle before gesturing towards the headless corpse still slumped against the dumpster. "I'd take care of that if you don't want the Protectorate on your ass."
Greg spared a glance at the body before pursing his lips beneath his mask. I mean, it is an object now, right? Not a person. He turned back to Stormtiger. "I… think I have something for that."
"Do you, know?" There was that grin again, stretching wider than it really should. "Well then, I don't have anything else to do here."
Without warning, Stormtiger leaped up and over Greg's head, forcing the younger cape to duck in fright a sudden burst of wind kicked up in the alley. Whipping around, Greg's mouth dropped behind his mask as he saw Stormtiger's motions. Twisting mid-jump, the cape's feet made contact with one side of the alley wall before kicking off as a miniature tornado around his feet propelled him further. In a burst of motion and a flurry of air around his legs, he bounced off the alley walls one by one like some kind of… Nazi ninja.
In no time at all, Stormtiger had landed gracefully on top of the building to the right of Greg. The cape brought two fingers to his head, giving Greg a sort of weak salute and flashing him another grin. "See ya, newbie. I'll let you off easy this time but a friendly warning; Next time, I'm gonna make you an offer. I think you know what it is. It'd be in your best interests to take it." Just like that, the cape vanished over the mouth of the roof, the sound of rushing wind a sign of his exit.
After a few long moments, Greg let out a tired sigh, his shoulders slumping as he lowered his bat. "That guy was such a drama queen. I'll make you an offer," Greg mocked, rolling his eyes. "I'll make you an offer. My foot. In your face. I'll make you take that. Stupid Nazi Ninja."
"Now, let's get this over with." Opening his eyes, Greg grinned widely under his mask. "Stats."
Greg nodded, raising a hand to his chin. "Mmmmhmmm. Okay, fuck WIS and CHA. Bullshit stat modifiers make them a sunk cost anyway." Scratching his chin, Greg raised a hand as he began to mentally calculate what he was looking at.
"Okay, I can easily train VIT so fuuuuck that, too," he continued with a flourish of his finger. "SPD, oooh, SPD looks good but I was way faster than those Merchants, anyway. Plus, I have Power Sprint so… that leaves INT and STR. INT… yeah, " Greg nodded to himself. "Can't really do much with INT right now. I can probably study harder stuff to level INT faster anyway."
Other than the new Aerokinesis skill he got from not getting murdered by Stormtiger and that Weapon Charge one from earlier, Greg didn't really see what use he had for more MP right now. On the other hand, more MP meant he could level that Aerokinesis skill faster and… Being an airbender does sound pretty dang cool. So, yeah.
His eyes fell back on STR, a grin still strong on his face. "You, my little buddy, are getting the biggest bonus. Okay, I have fourteen points so how about… eight to STR, three to SPD and three to INT?
"Yes."
His arms weren't exactly bulging with muscle but the gains were… well, they were visible, that's for sure. He was still the same size and everything and he hadn't really bulked up or out, but the definition was definitely visible. "Wow, if this is 24 STR, what the heck is 100 gonna be like?"
With a grin, Greg looked back up at the screen, "Let's get on with it, then. Perks."
Closing the screen, Greg turned to face his current problem. He stared at the headless body, the thing still splattered with pieces of brain, skull and blood, much like his own body. "Now, let's see if this works."
A pensive frown formed on his face behind his hockey mask as he cast another glance down at the dead body. Thank Gamer God for Gamer's Mind. "Inventory."
– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –
A/N: Just an Author's Note. I'm sure many of you saw the skill that Greg received as a bonus for avoiding a fight with Stormtiger as a result of the quest. I simply want to inform you that Greg isn't going to get a skill simply for talking to parahumans. No, that was simply as a result of the Bonus Quest and Bonus Quests don't have the same completion criteria every time. Now, if he beats them up, he might get a skill but that's an entirely different situation.
Anyway, the skill Greg got was a [Minor Aerokinesis] skill. Minor Skills, max out at Level 5 instead of Level 10 like Basic Skills. Higher Skill levels have higher skill caps as well. Now, if Greg wanted to unlock Basic Aerokinesis and the higher levels, he'd have to beat Stormtiger or someone with a higher level of Aerokinesis than Stormtiger. It's the same thing with Basic Fighting. Till then, he's stuck with the Minor skill.
I hope this cleared up any misconceptions. If also like to thank Flood and Mannymcdude for being bros and beta-ing this chapter on short notice.
– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –
The figure crossed his burly arms over an equally burly chest, pale flesh rippling with tight cords of muscle just beneath the skin. Even beneath his mask, he seemed to give off an air of confusion. "Something wrong?" Yet again, that deep voice seemed to carry, almost echoing in the alleyway.
Greg considered the question. "Something wrong?" he echoed, humor evident in his tone.
"Yeah, that's what I said." The cape's mouth tilted up at the side in a slight smile, visible below a partial face-mask. He tilted his head, his gaze clearly noting the gory figure that Greg stood next to. "After all, I see you got a little bit of a mess on your hands."
Greg abruptly let out a snort of laughter, his hood falling off as his head dipped back. Said snort quickly turned into an uncontrolled high-pitched laugh at the absurdity of the statement, as well as who it was coming from.
"On my hands, yeah," Greg inhaled as the urge to laugh left him immediately. As he felt the calm return to him, he nodded slightly, eyes locked on to the cape. "I... I guess you could say that."
The cape stepped forward slightly, the chains around his pants jangling somewhat as he moved. His smile morphed into a vicious grin. "Don't worry. That can happen sometimes when you're taking out the trash." His grin widened enough to border on a grimace, causing Greg to blink at the sight.
Taking out the trash? Who actually says that? Greg nodded slowly as he kept his eyes on the cape's body, watching for any sudden movement. This was not someone he wanted to fight. At least not yet.
His eyes widened as he realized the cape was patiently waiting for him to say something. Blinking, he hurriedly spat out, "I-I-I… I guess so."
"The name's Stormti-"
"I know who you are," Greg interrupted, words leaving his mouth in a rush.
Greg really didn't need the introduction, already knowing plenty about the cape in front of him. Stormtiger, like the majority of capes in the Bay, was a villain and a rather high-ranking one. One of Kaiser's right-hand men in the E88, he was relatively popular on PHO but neither as well-known, feared or as dangerous as Hookwolf, Kaiser's other right-hand. In fact, the only reason Greg knew so much about him was because his powers were kinda cool. After all, he was pretty much a discount Airbender.
The cape tilted his head slightly, the smile under his white mask shifting to something much less predatory. "You've heard of me?" The hint of pride in his tone was more than a tad obvious. "What am I talking about? Of course you've heard of me." Now, it was super obvious.
Are you fucking kidding me? "...Kinda hard not to," Greg replied, eyebrows shooting up at both the quest alert and the cape's words. "I mean, I live in this city. I have the Internet. I just like to keep up-to-date on capes."
"Well," The villain unfurled his arms and took a few steps forward into a ray of light, allowing Greg to note that buff was a bit of an understatement when describing Stormtiger. "It's nice to meet a fan."
Blue eyes widened behind his hockey mask as Greg processed the words, his shock powerful enough to make him take a step back. "A f… fan? Wow… uhh," Greg let out a hiss of air, one hand moving up to rub the back of his head as he tried to find something to say, "no offense but… uhh, fan is a really, really strong word."
Greg swallowed, nervous sweat forming under his mask as he waited for Stormtiger to say something.
Stormtiger's head tilted to the side, his arms moving to his sides. "Well, I just assumed…" he began, his voice tinged with slight confusion.
"Assumed?" Greg echoed again, only to flinch the moment the word left his lips. Why do you keep interrupting him?
Stormtiger let out a short bark of laughter. "Your hair, your eyes… I only assumed you would be a fan of the Empire," Greg's eyes widened, "and by extension, me."
Greg blinked, surprised by the statement. Shocked as he was, his mouth simply said the first thing that came to mind. "Wow, that's kinda racist."
The warmth in Stormtiger's smile dimmed, the tiger-masked cape gaining an intense look in his eyes as he took a few steps into the alley. "What?" the cape snarled, his voice little more than a growl.
Frick on a stick. "Uhh… well, the thing about that is… uhh, what I meant to say was," Greg took a few nervous steps back, nearly stepping on a few downed Merchants in his hurry. "It's just kinda weird that just 'cause I'm a tad Aryan-looking, you assume I'm down with the Empire and the 'Hey Hitler' and all that."
There was silence between them for a good five seconds as Stormtiger simply stared at the younger cape. Sensing that he may have gone too far in the wrong direction, Greg tried to pull back his statement. "N-n-not that I don't think you guys aren't cool or anything, cool names, cool costumes, really cool powers, especially you, Mr. Tiger. Just... wow, you know, real awesome air-bending and stuff, right?"
Blinking furiously, Greg tried to get his thoughts in one place. "Wow, okay, so not that I'm not in awe of your, you know, skills, It's j-j-just… that… uhh… the whole Nazi shtick is kinda… you know... " Greg's sentence trailed off as he noticed that Stormtiger's muscles seemed to tense, the Nazi cape's fingers twitching slightly as they curled inwards.
Think of something, you idiot. Greg shook his head before continuing again, words flying out in a flurry. "I mean, you see, I'm a fan of 80's music, I'm a fan of Frosted Flakes cereal. It doesn't mean I still d-d-don't listen to other stuff, you know? Or eat other b-breakfast foods, right?" What are you saying? Shut up!
After a few tense moments, Stormtiger let out a sort of grunt, folding his muscular arms over his chest again. "Well, fan or not, it's always good to meet a cape that's friendly toward the Empire, especially one who shares the same…" his head tilted slightly, gaze moving over the field of fallen Merchants, "understandings about the trash infesting this city."
Unconsciously, Greg's fingers curled tighter around the handle of the bat. "Understandings? If you mean the Merchants, then yeah, not a fan." Underneath his breath, Greg let out a whispered "[Observe.]"
Stormtiger Lv ?
HP: 450/450
"So, kid, you got a name?" The bare-chested cape asked as he moved forward, stepping just a bit closer to Greg while wearing that same feral grin.
Greg, in turn, scrambled backward, never lowering the bat in his hands or taking his eyes off Stormtiger. "A name? Not.. really." His voice came out in a squeak even as he did his best to stand his ground.
"Relax, kid, " Stormtiger let out a belly laugh, the sound almost making Greg jump. "I can't even see your face and I can tell you're damn near about to piss yourself. I'm not gonna hurt you." He let out another booming burst of laughter, the loud sound forcing another flinch out of Greg.
Right next to my ear, again! He has to be doing that on purpose! Rather than say that, Greg replied with a simple, "Really?"
"Really." Stormtiger gestured at the headless corpse with his chin, the movement so subtle Greg almost didn't notice it. "You might be green as all hell but you got a killer instinct." He flashed Greg a grin again, this one far more predatory than the last. "If you weren't one of us, I'd have to take care of someone like that before they make trouble."
One of us? Greg blinked, nearly taking another step back as he realized what the older cape meant. Oh. Ohhh. Huh, I've never been so happy to be white. He blinked again. Does that make me racist?
Unaware of Greg's internal dilemma, Stormtiger gave Greg a wink before turning his gaze to the three remaining Merchants with their heads intact. "No one really heads down here other than Merchants but I wouldn't recommend hanging around just in case, especially after all this..." The cape let out a deep chuckle before gesturing towards the headless corpse still slumped against the dumpster. "I'd take care of that if you don't want the Protectorate on your ass."
Greg spared a glance at the body before pursing his lips beneath his mask. I mean, it is an object now, right? Not a person. He turned back to Stormtiger. "I… think I have something for that."
"Do you, know?" There was that grin again, stretching wider than it really should. "Well then, I don't have anything else to do here."
Without warning, Stormtiger leaped up and over Greg's head, forcing the younger cape to duck in fright a sudden burst of wind kicked up in the alley. Whipping around, Greg's mouth dropped behind his mask as he saw Stormtiger's motions. Twisting mid-jump, the cape's feet made contact with one side of the alley wall before kicking off as a miniature tornado around his feet propelled him further. In a burst of motion and a flurry of air around his legs, he bounced off the alley walls one by one like some kind of… Nazi ninja.
In no time at all, Stormtiger had landed gracefully on top of the building to the right of Greg. The cape brought two fingers to his head, giving Greg a sort of weak salute and flashing him another grin. "See ya, newbie. I'll let you off easy this time but a friendly warning; Next time, I'm gonna make you an offer. I think you know what it is. It'd be in your best interests to take it." Just like that, the cape vanished over the mouth of the roof, the sound of rushing wind a sign of his exit.
After a few long moments, Greg let out a tired sigh, his shoulders slumping as he lowered his bat. "That guy was such a drama queen. I'll make you an offer," Greg mocked, rolling his eyes. "I'll make you an offer. My foot. In your face. I'll make you take that. Stupid Nazi Ninja."
"Oh, thank God," Greg swallowed thickly, nodding his head as he closed his eyes. "A level up, a new skill and a buttload of stat points. No premium loot box could compare. It's just so beautiful. Thank you, Gamer God, up in your Gamer Heaven, for granting me this Gamer Goodness. In any game of any genre, buff me with thy glory. Grant me plus one to all attributes, as I pwn in thine holy name. GG no re, Amen."
"Now, let's get this over with." Opening his eyes, Greg grinned widely under his mask. "Stats."
Greg Lucas Veder
Student
Level 5
XP: 1434/6180
Age: 15 (and three-quarters!)
HP: 196/260 (Hoodie: +10 [270])
MP: 140/140
Will: 114/114
STR: 16
SPD: 14 (Shoes: + 1 [15])
VIT: 15
INT: 18
WIS: 8 (-6[2])
CHA: 3 ((+9) (-11) [1])
Unspent Stat Points: 14
Unspent Perk Points: 2
Cash: $718.50
Student
Level 5
XP: 1434/6180
Age: 15 (and three-quarters!)
HP: 196/260 (Hoodie: +10 [270])
MP: 140/140
Will: 114/114
STR: 16
SPD: 14 (Shoes: + 1 [15])
VIT: 15
INT: 18
WIS: 8 (-6[2])
CHA: 3 ((+9) (-11) [1])
Unspent Stat Points: 14
Unspent Perk Points: 2
Cash: $718.50
Greg nodded, raising a hand to his chin. "Mmmmhmmm. Okay, fuck WIS and CHA. Bullshit stat modifiers make them a sunk cost anyway." Scratching his chin, Greg raised a hand as he began to mentally calculate what he was looking at.
"Okay, I can easily train VIT so fuuuuck that, too," he continued with a flourish of his finger. "SPD, oooh, SPD looks good but I was way faster than those Merchants, anyway. Plus, I have Power Sprint so… that leaves INT and STR. INT… yeah, " Greg nodded to himself. "Can't really do much with INT right now. I can probably study harder stuff to level INT faster anyway."
Other than the new Aerokinesis skill he got from not getting murdered by Stormtiger and that Weapon Charge one from earlier, Greg didn't really see what use he had for more MP right now. On the other hand, more MP meant he could level that Aerokinesis skill faster and… Being an airbender does sound pretty dang cool. So, yeah.
His eyes fell back on STR, a grin still strong on his face. "You, my little buddy, are getting the biggest bonus. Okay, I have fourteen points so how about… eight to STR, three to SPD and three to INT?
"Yes."
Greg shuddered slightly, his body overcome by a tingling sensation as a flash of blue light emanated from him for an instant. "...Ugh, super weird." Greg glanced down at his free arm, bending it forward as he flexed. He curled the other arm, lifting the suddenly much lighter bat and giving it a test swing. "Wow, I feel way stronger. Holy crap, I can see a bicep!" Greg flexed again, feeling brand-new muscle where there was little before.
His arms weren't exactly bulging with muscle but the gains were… well, they were visible, that's for sure. He was still the same size and everything and he hadn't really bulked up or out, but the definition was definitely visible. "Wow, if this is 24 STR, what the heck is 100 gonna be like?"
With a grin, Greg looked back up at the screen, "Let's get on with it, then. Perks."
Blinking in surprise, Greg stepped back, unsure of what to choose. "Oooookay. I have two points and a buttload of perks to choose from." As his eyes roamed the list again, Greg found himself with nothing to say, overwhelmed by the multitude of choices in front of him. "Maybe I'll just… take care of this later."
Closing the screen, Greg turned to face his current problem. He stared at the headless body, the thing still splattered with pieces of brain, skull and blood, much like his own body. "Now, let's see if this works."
A pensive frown formed on his face behind his hockey mask as he cast another glance down at the dead body. Thank Gamer God for Gamer's Mind. "Inventory."
– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –
A/N: Just an Author's Note. I'm sure many of you saw the skill that Greg received as a bonus for avoiding a fight with Stormtiger as a result of the quest. I simply want to inform you that Greg isn't going to get a skill simply for talking to parahumans. No, that was simply as a result of the Bonus Quest and Bonus Quests don't have the same completion criteria every time. Now, if he beats them up, he might get a skill but that's an entirely different situation.
Anyway, the skill Greg got was a [Minor Aerokinesis] skill. Minor Skills, max out at Level 5 instead of Level 10 like Basic Skills. Higher Skill levels have higher skill caps as well. Now, if Greg wanted to unlock Basic Aerokinesis and the higher levels, he'd have to beat Stormtiger or someone with a higher level of Aerokinesis than Stormtiger. It's the same thing with Basic Fighting. Till then, he's stuck with the Minor skill.
I hope this cleared up any misconceptions. If also like to thank Flood and Mannymcdude for being bros and beta-ing this chapter on short notice.
Greg Lucas Veder
Student
Level 5
XP: 1434/6180
Age: 15 (and three-quarters!)
HP: 260/260 (Hoodie: +10 HP [270])
MP: 155/155
Will: 119/119
STR: 24
SPD: 17 (Shoes: + 1 SPD [18])
VIT: 15
INT: 21
WIS: 8 (-6 [2])
CHA: 3 ((+9) (-11) [1])
Unspent Stat Points: 0
Unspent Perk Points: 2
Cash: $718.50
Student
Level 5
XP: 1434/6180
Age: 15 (and three-quarters!)
HP: 260/260 (Hoodie: +10 HP [270])
MP: 155/155
Will: 119/119
STR: 24
SPD: 17 (Shoes: + 1 SPD [18])
VIT: 15
INT: 21
WIS: 8 (-6 [2])
CHA: 3 ((+9) (-11) [1])
Unspent Stat Points: 0
Unspent Perk Points: 2
Cash: $718.50
Buff 3.5
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ZFighter18
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Buff 3.5
– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –
"I just need you to be honest with me, sweetheart."
Greg held back a groan as he stood in the foyer, the feeling of damp clothing pressing against his chest another annoyance to add to his ever-growing list. "Mom, that's the third time you've said that already."
Susan nodded, her arms crossed as she sat on the couch armrest. "Yes, I might have, but you know why."
Greg's gaze shifted, moving away from his mom's eyes to focus on her mouth. "No," he lied, the word sliding out much easier without eye contact. "No, Mom, I don't."
"Sweetie," his mother's tone shifted almost imperceptibly. "I just want to know what you were doing this morning."
Still avoiding eye contact, Greg raised a hand to scratch the side of his face, the action belying his nervousness. "I already told you."
"And I already told you," Susan retorted, the soft tone laced with the brittle edge she always used when trying not to seem angry, "I don't believe that you woke up at 6 am just to go for a run,Greg." The fingers of her hand tapped out a steady beat on an arm.
Greg frowned. "Mom, i don't know what you want me to say." He pulled at the sleeve of his long-sleeved white shirt with his other hand, the sweat-covered fabric clinging uncomfortably to his skin.
"What?" Susan made a frustrated gasping sound, as if trying to draw breath but hesitating. "I want you to say the truth, Greg." She rose to her feet, her body leaving the armrest of the couch to stand almost level with her son.
Greg took a deep breath through his nostrils, tipping his head back to further avoid looking his mom right in the eyes. Lying was hard enough when it came to his mom. Doing it with eye contact was asking for a miracle. All that considered, he couldn't exactly give his mom the truth.
– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –
The events of last night… this morning… a few hours ago were simply insane, the climax of the night being fucking Stormtiger of all people showing up. Compared to everything before the Nazi Airbender showed up, the rest of the night was relatively calm.
Of course, he went hunting for seven more Merchants. He did have a quest to complete. Insane night or not, he wasn't going to just ignore an easy six-thousand xp. He wasn't stupid. Finding any more Merchants was the real problem. While they were the most prolific gang in the Bay, they weren't exactly the most obvious. He couldn't exactly keep an eye out for their gang colors - purple and black -, because as disorganized as the Merchants tended to be, they were rarely seen wearing them. After a couple hours of searching, enough time for him to finally decide which perks he wanted, he finally managed to take down a few more individual Merchants.
With the boosts to his stats and liberal uses of his skills, the rest he found went down rather quickly. Surprise attacks were always useful, after all. By the time 5:55 had rolled around, he had just finished [Weapon Charge]-ing his bat to bash the last one in the ribs, plunging the thug's HP to 0. By themselves, the Merchants gave up around 185 XP each and 15 bucks each, bringing him one-third of the way to level six (+ 1295 XP, + $105). Greg knew that upon completing the mission, he'd be bound to hit the next level but what ended up happening was a surprise and a half.
However, that happy mood didn't really last all that long once he realized exactly what the time was, the knowledge making him wince as soon as he remembered his mom's habit of waking up shortly after six AM. Running home using the main streets would get him home much faster but that wasn't really an option, considering that the morning commute had already started. Greg didn't really feel like getting pulled over by Armsmaster for suspicious activity, especially considering his clothes still had blood all over them.
With several [Equip]s and [Unequip]s, Greg put away his combat gear and his bat, replacing them with a white long-sleeved shirt, a pair of grey sweatpants and white running shoes. That done, he began running home, taking special care to avoid any main streets. Within an hour, he had made it home, only to face his mom in a nightgown on the other side of the door, a scowl on her face.
– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –
"Mom," Greg began again, letting out a slight whine with the word. "I don't know what you want me to say. I told you, I've been running since six this morning. I didn't feel like the treadmill would do me much good, so I decided to go out for a workout."
"Greg…" Susan sighed, raising a hand to her face to massage the bridge of her nose, "I really don't know how you expect me to believe that. You never just go outside. That's just… not you."
"Mom, look." Without hesitating, Greg peeled the sweat-covered shirt from his body, leaving his chest bare. "Does this look like I'm lying?"
"Oh…" The scowl fell from her face, replaced by a look of shock as she stared at Greg's stomach. "Oh my goodness, Greg."
"You can't say that I haven't been working out." Greg flashed his mom a weak smile, stretching his arms out wide to offer an unobstructed view of his chest. The added points from last night had only served to enhance the appearance of his body, adding another layer of definition to what was once an unimpressive torso. "You've seen me working out every day, right?"
Susan blinked. "I… yes. I just… I didn't… I didn't know…" Greg watched as his mother closed her mouth, her head tilting to the side as if trying to resolve some incredible puzzle. "...how?"
"I don't know. I just started working out recently and my body just… changed, I guess." Greg shrugged, letting the sweaty shirt in his hand drop to the floor. "You always said I was a late bloomer. Just like you." The grin on his face was only partly faked, Greg simply happy to have a reason to show off. "I guess it just started hitting me."
"So… the fighting, the girls…" Susan trailed off, a pained look on her face.
"The working out," Greg added with a nod.
"...yes. The nonstop working out," Susan shook her head as she sat down on the armrest again. "Why? Why the working out anyway? It's all so… sudden. You're perfectly fine just the way you are."
Oh boy. "I've just… you know, been thinking of trying out for the football team," Greg replied with a shrug, glancing down at his feet as he spoke.
"The f… The football team?" Susan's hand went to her chest, her pained expression becoming slightly forlorn.
"Maybe… uhh… maybe…" He scratched the side of his face again, keeping his gaze away from his mother's. "Maybe try out for quarterback, I dunno."
"Like your father?"
"Um, well," Greg blinked at the sudden retort, surprised at the speed of his mother's response. "Not really. I didn't exactly think of Dad when I had the idea." His mind honestly hadn't even gone to his father, the man the farthest thing from his mind most days. Even when his dad was around, he had long given up trying to get his son interested in sports.
"Football… all this," His mom's gaze visibly dropped to his chest again, that look of pained dismay still present. "I'm glad that you found something new. I just… I don't know what to say, Greg."
"Umm, Mom?" Greg's grin dimmed slightly, confused by his mother's reaction. "Something wrong? You're acting like you're sad or... something." He stepped away from the door, taking a step closer when his mother hesitated to respond. "Mom?"
"No!" Susan let out a gasp and quickly stood up, advancing towards her son. Arms spread out wide, she engulfed him in a tight hug. "No, Greg. Not at all."
Okaaaaaay, that was unexpected. Greg blinked as his mother squeezed him even tighter as the hug went on, seemingly unwilling to let go. "Mom?"
His mother didn't reply, instead cupping the back of his head with a single hand and pulling him in even tighter. "I'm sorry, sweetie. I… was so hard on you and…" Greg heard a sniffle from his mom as she paused, "...and you're just changing and growing and… I'm so sorry."
"Mom, are… are you okay?" Greg replied. His hand came down in a repeated, jerky movement as Greg did his best to pat his mother on the back. This wasn't the first time he'd done it. In fact, a few years ago, it was almost routine for him to calm down his crying mom but doing it while lying… that was new.
"I'm…," Susan inhaled, pulling back from her son just enough to look him in the eye, "I should be the one asking you that. I yelled at you, I punished you, I took away your toys..." A hand rose up to wipe at her wet eyes. "I've been so terrible. Are you okay, sweetie?"
I killed someone.
I think I'm okay with killing people.
I think I died.
These thoughts and more raced through his head but Greg knew better than to give them a voice. Instead, he flashed his mother a smile. "Honestly, I," Greg shrugged, the smile on his face becoming slightly sincerer, "I feel fine." How messed up is it that that is the first honest thing I've said this morning?
Susan pulled him back into a hug again, her head resting on his shoulder and vice versa. "You don't know how happy I am to hear that."
For a long moment, she was silent, content to hug her son. Greg was just happy that there were no more awkward questions to dodge. Then, head still on her son's shoulder, Susan spoke.
"Sweetie?"
"Yeah, mom?"
"Are you on steroids?"
Pulling back, Greg gave his mom a look. "Mom!"
"Just a random thought. You don't have to answer, of course." Susan shook her head, letting go of her son. She patted Greg's cheek with one hand before turning around and heading toward the kitchen.
Steroids, really? Greg stared at his mom's retreating back, a befuddled expression on his face. After a moment, he flexed an arm and shrugged, nodding slowly. Honestly, I can see where she's coming from.
As Susan reached the threshold to the kitchen, her hand gripped the doorway and she looked back over her shoulder at her son. Like before, her gaze fell to his bare chest. She let out an audible sigh before speaking again. "Greg, sweetheart, not that I think you are doping, or whatever it's called, but you didn't actually give me an answer."
"Mom!"
– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –
– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –
"I just need you to be honest with me, sweetheart."
Greg held back a groan as he stood in the foyer, the feeling of damp clothing pressing against his chest another annoyance to add to his ever-growing list. "Mom, that's the third time you've said that already."
Susan nodded, her arms crossed as she sat on the couch armrest. "Yes, I might have, but you know why."
Greg's gaze shifted, moving away from his mom's eyes to focus on her mouth. "No," he lied, the word sliding out much easier without eye contact. "No, Mom, I don't."
"Sweetie," his mother's tone shifted almost imperceptibly. "I just want to know what you were doing this morning."
Still avoiding eye contact, Greg raised a hand to scratch the side of his face, the action belying his nervousness. "I already told you."
"And I already told you," Susan retorted, the soft tone laced with the brittle edge she always used when trying not to seem angry, "I don't believe that you woke up at 6 am just to go for a run,Greg." The fingers of her hand tapped out a steady beat on an arm.
Greg frowned. "Mom, i don't know what you want me to say." He pulled at the sleeve of his long-sleeved white shirt with his other hand, the sweat-covered fabric clinging uncomfortably to his skin.
"What?" Susan made a frustrated gasping sound, as if trying to draw breath but hesitating. "I want you to say the truth, Greg." She rose to her feet, her body leaving the armrest of the couch to stand almost level with her son.
Greg took a deep breath through his nostrils, tipping his head back to further avoid looking his mom right in the eyes. Lying was hard enough when it came to his mom. Doing it with eye contact was asking for a miracle. All that considered, he couldn't exactly give his mom the truth.
– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –
The events of last night… this morning… a few hours ago were simply insane, the climax of the night being fucking Stormtiger of all people showing up. Compared to everything before the Nazi Airbender showed up, the rest of the night was relatively calm.
Of course, he went hunting for seven more Merchants. He did have a quest to complete. Insane night or not, he wasn't going to just ignore an easy six-thousand xp. He wasn't stupid. Finding any more Merchants was the real problem. While they were the most prolific gang in the Bay, they weren't exactly the most obvious. He couldn't exactly keep an eye out for their gang colors - purple and black -, because as disorganized as the Merchants tended to be, they were rarely seen wearing them. After a couple hours of searching, enough time for him to finally decide which perks he wanted, he finally managed to take down a few more individual Merchants.
With the boosts to his stats and liberal uses of his skills, the rest he found went down rather quickly. Surprise attacks were always useful, after all. By the time 5:55 had rolled around, he had just finished [Weapon Charge]-ing his bat to bash the last one in the ribs, plunging the thug's HP to 0. By themselves, the Merchants gave up around 185 XP each and 15 bucks each, bringing him one-third of the way to level six (+ 1295 XP, + $105). Greg knew that upon completing the mission, he'd be bound to hit the next level but what ended up happening was a surprise and a half.
With the bonus added on top of the XP he got from completing the quest, he shot right past level six as well as the threshold for level seven. The increases to his skills after everything was said and done were just icing on the cake (+2 Reflexes, + 2 Slashing Resistance, + 1 Piercing Resistance, + 1 Blunt Force Resistance, +2 Cold Resistance, + 2 Weapon Charge, + 1 Angry Straight).
However, that happy mood didn't really last all that long once he realized exactly what the time was, the knowledge making him wince as soon as he remembered his mom's habit of waking up shortly after six AM. Running home using the main streets would get him home much faster but that wasn't really an option, considering that the morning commute had already started. Greg didn't really feel like getting pulled over by Armsmaster for suspicious activity, especially considering his clothes still had blood all over them.
With several [Equip]s and [Unequip]s, Greg put away his combat gear and his bat, replacing them with a white long-sleeved shirt, a pair of grey sweatpants and white running shoes. That done, he began running home, taking special care to avoid any main streets. Within an hour, he had made it home, only to face his mom in a nightgown on the other side of the door, a scowl on her face.
– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –
"Mom," Greg began again, letting out a slight whine with the word. "I don't know what you want me to say. I told you, I've been running since six this morning. I didn't feel like the treadmill would do me much good, so I decided to go out for a workout."
"Greg…" Susan sighed, raising a hand to her face to massage the bridge of her nose, "I really don't know how you expect me to believe that. You never just go outside. That's just… not you."
"Mom, look." Without hesitating, Greg peeled the sweat-covered shirt from his body, leaving his chest bare. "Does this look like I'm lying?"
"Oh…" The scowl fell from her face, replaced by a look of shock as she stared at Greg's stomach. "Oh my goodness, Greg."
"You can't say that I haven't been working out." Greg flashed his mom a weak smile, stretching his arms out wide to offer an unobstructed view of his chest. The added points from last night had only served to enhance the appearance of his body, adding another layer of definition to what was once an unimpressive torso. "You've seen me working out every day, right?"
Susan blinked. "I… yes. I just… I didn't… I didn't know…" Greg watched as his mother closed her mouth, her head tilting to the side as if trying to resolve some incredible puzzle. "...how?"
"I don't know. I just started working out recently and my body just… changed, I guess." Greg shrugged, letting the sweaty shirt in his hand drop to the floor. "You always said I was a late bloomer. Just like you." The grin on his face was only partly faked, Greg simply happy to have a reason to show off. "I guess it just started hitting me."
"So… the fighting, the girls…" Susan trailed off, a pained look on her face.
"The working out," Greg added with a nod.
"...yes. The nonstop working out," Susan shook her head as she sat down on the armrest again. "Why? Why the working out anyway? It's all so… sudden. You're perfectly fine just the way you are."
Oh boy. "I've just… you know, been thinking of trying out for the football team," Greg replied with a shrug, glancing down at his feet as he spoke.
"The f… The football team?" Susan's hand went to her chest, her pained expression becoming slightly forlorn.
"Maybe… uhh… maybe…" He scratched the side of his face again, keeping his gaze away from his mother's. "Maybe try out for quarterback, I dunno."
"Like your father?"
"Um, well," Greg blinked at the sudden retort, surprised at the speed of his mother's response. "Not really. I didn't exactly think of Dad when I had the idea." His mind honestly hadn't even gone to his father, the man the farthest thing from his mind most days. Even when his dad was around, he had long given up trying to get his son interested in sports.
"Football… all this," His mom's gaze visibly dropped to his chest again, that look of pained dismay still present. "I'm glad that you found something new. I just… I don't know what to say, Greg."
"Umm, Mom?" Greg's grin dimmed slightly, confused by his mother's reaction. "Something wrong? You're acting like you're sad or... something." He stepped away from the door, taking a step closer when his mother hesitated to respond. "Mom?"
"No!" Susan let out a gasp and quickly stood up, advancing towards her son. Arms spread out wide, she engulfed him in a tight hug. "No, Greg. Not at all."
Okaaaaaay, that was unexpected. Greg blinked as his mother squeezed him even tighter as the hug went on, seemingly unwilling to let go. "Mom?"
His mother didn't reply, instead cupping the back of his head with a single hand and pulling him in even tighter. "I'm sorry, sweetie. I… was so hard on you and…" Greg heard a sniffle from his mom as she paused, "...and you're just changing and growing and… I'm so sorry."
"Mom, are… are you okay?" Greg replied. His hand came down in a repeated, jerky movement as Greg did his best to pat his mother on the back. This wasn't the first time he'd done it. In fact, a few years ago, it was almost routine for him to calm down his crying mom but doing it while lying… that was new.
"I'm…," Susan inhaled, pulling back from her son just enough to look him in the eye, "I should be the one asking you that. I yelled at you, I punished you, I took away your toys..." A hand rose up to wipe at her wet eyes. "I've been so terrible. Are you okay, sweetie?"
I killed someone.
I think I'm okay with killing people.
I think I died.
These thoughts and more raced through his head but Greg knew better than to give them a voice. Instead, he flashed his mother a smile. "Honestly, I," Greg shrugged, the smile on his face becoming slightly sincerer, "I feel fine." How messed up is it that that is the first honest thing I've said this morning?
Susan pulled him back into a hug again, her head resting on his shoulder and vice versa. "You don't know how happy I am to hear that."
For a long moment, she was silent, content to hug her son. Greg was just happy that there were no more awkward questions to dodge. Then, head still on her son's shoulder, Susan spoke.
"Sweetie?"
"Yeah, mom?"
"Are you on steroids?"
Pulling back, Greg gave his mom a look. "Mom!"
"Just a random thought. You don't have to answer, of course." Susan shook her head, letting go of her son. She patted Greg's cheek with one hand before turning around and heading toward the kitchen.
Steroids, really? Greg stared at his mom's retreating back, a befuddled expression on his face. After a moment, he flexed an arm and shrugged, nodding slowly. Honestly, I can see where she's coming from.
As Susan reached the threshold to the kitchen, her hand gripped the doorway and she looked back over her shoulder at her son. Like before, her gaze fell to his bare chest. She let out an audible sigh before speaking again. "Greg, sweetheart, not that I think you are doping, or whatever it's called, but you didn't actually give me an answer."
"Mom!"
– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –
Greg Lucas Veder
Student
Level 7
XP: 35/14520
Age: 15 (and three-quarters!)
HP: 295/295 (Hoodie: +10 HP [305])
MP: 165/165
Will: 125/125
STR: 24
SPD: 17 (Shoes: + 1 SPD [18])
VIT: 15
INT: 21
WIS: 8 (-6 [2])
CHA: 3 ((+9) (-11) [1])
Unspent Stat Points: 6
Unspent Perk Points: 0
Cash: $826.00
Student
Level 7
XP: 35/14520
Age: 15 (and three-quarters!)
HP: 295/295 (Hoodie: +10 HP [305])
MP: 165/165
Will: 125/125
STR: 24
SPD: 17 (Shoes: + 1 SPD [18])
VIT: 15
INT: 21
WIS: 8 (-6 [2])
CHA: 3 ((+9) (-11) [1])
Unspent Stat Points: 6
Unspent Perk Points: 0
Cash: $826.00
Natelord28
Know what you're doing yet?
- Joined
- Jan 1, 2023
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Ooh neat stuff, looking forward to more!
NightmareWarden
Playtest Results: *happy chirping*
- Joined
- Oct 14, 2015
- Messages
- 1,464
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- 6,671
So he didn't loot the old gun. Plan "Stealth Archer" is not being prioritized. Also, he didn't use one of their cell phones to call 911. I wouldn't want to get a reputation based off my first cape fight, but he technically could have blamed Stormtiger for the dead merchant during the phone call.
I had a hot second of fear with that last chapter, wondering if I'd wandered into a fic where the protagonist actually got Taylor to fall for them. "Sweetie" is more of a Mom nickname, but it also feels like the kind of thing Pre-Skitter Taylor might try, if she was fumbling her way through a relationship. A Taylor who's actually happy.
I wonder if Greg had a scar from the bullet. If he didn't feel any pain from it post-healing, then his Mom would notice without directly voicing it. In some fics, Stormtiger has enhanced hearing as a trick related to his aerokinesis. Here, his Mom might have noticed a few things that Greg hasn't. It'd be neat if each of the two were noticing things Greg won't figure out for a long, long time... It could also be neat if he eventually gets a mentor for cape stuff.
The Basic Skills system makes sense to me. The best way to make use of it would be to learn which of your other skills and miscellaneous items can work with it. You also want to test if you can utilize it perfectly with your feet, or if you get a bigger burst if you use it while blowing air at someone (from your mouth or a leafblower). Lots of opportunities with air manipulation, compared to air-magic, with the latter requiring a hand or two (I assume).
He will want to try draining himself to 0 mana with the new skill. You need to know whether there are any debuffs for using all of your mana. A smart person might also try meditating to recover mana. But if Greg isn't going to get magical crafting skills or mana-bombs he can prep for fights with, then it would be a waste. Outside of protected battles like crises.
I had a hot second of fear with that last chapter, wondering if I'd wandered into a fic where the protagonist actually got Taylor to fall for them. "Sweetie" is more of a Mom nickname, but it also feels like the kind of thing Pre-Skitter Taylor might try, if she was fumbling her way through a relationship. A Taylor who's actually happy.
I wonder if Greg had a scar from the bullet. If he didn't feel any pain from it post-healing, then his Mom would notice without directly voicing it. In some fics, Stormtiger has enhanced hearing as a trick related to his aerokinesis. Here, his Mom might have noticed a few things that Greg hasn't. It'd be neat if each of the two were noticing things Greg won't figure out for a long, long time... It could also be neat if he eventually gets a mentor for cape stuff.
The Basic Skills system makes sense to me. The best way to make use of it would be to learn which of your other skills and miscellaneous items can work with it. You also want to test if you can utilize it perfectly with your feet, or if you get a bigger burst if you use it while blowing air at someone (from your mouth or a leafblower). Lots of opportunities with air manipulation, compared to air-magic, with the latter requiring a hand or two (I assume).
He will want to try draining himself to 0 mana with the new skill. You need to know whether there are any debuffs for using all of your mana. A smart person might also try meditating to recover mana. But if Greg isn't going to get magical crafting skills or mana-bombs he can prep for fights with, then it would be a waste. Outside of protected battles like crises.
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