Greg Veder vs The World

Lag 6.18

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

9:50 AM

Docks - North

Sparky kicked off the ground, his skateboard connecting with the worn asphalt of the docks' back streets. The docks were still and quiet as they usually were, the empty silence of the dead shipping area comforting in their own way. The solitude gave him the space he needed to really think.

He had left his house half an hour earlier, the sun barely making its way into the morning sky, and now found himself carving a path through the empty streets at a blinding pace. The cool breeze kissed his face as he weaved in and out of alleyways, the world around him all too visible even as he kicked against the ground as hard as he could manage. Once again, he pushed off the rough pavement, the whisper of his skateboard wheels a faint, comforting murmur under the chilly morning sky.

He was moving fast, faster than he had ever been on a board, his feet barely touching the surface before they were off again, sending him darting forward. His balance was impeccable, his reflexes lightning-fast, his agility unprecedented.

But…

The olive-skinned teenager glanced at his surroundings, a sea of gray buildings and deserted lots, stark silhouettes standing against the early morning sky. He was pretty much alone, the only sign of life in this forgotten part of town after the ABB mostly went to ground. There were rumors that the Archer’s Bridge Merchants had started getting cockier, whispers they were planning to poke at the Trainyards and Docks after the ABB had disappeared from the public eye. Sparky didn’t see any sign of that anywhere. Instead, there was an odd tranquility in the emptiness, a quiet sense of peace that washed over him as he sped through the streets.

His mouth was barely more than a thin line, eyes focused on the path ahead as his mind moved faster than the board beneath his feet. Why isn't this fun anymore? He wondered, the realization creeping up on him as he performed a trick, his skateboard twisting in the air beneath him, the motion so smooth it seemed almost effortless.

Is it too slow? Is it too easy? His mind raced even as his body followed the familiar rhythm of the board, the feel of the rough texture beneath his feet, the wind rushing past him. Yet, something was missing. The thrill, the excitement, the adrenaline rush he used to feel when he pushed his limits on the board just wasn’t there anymore. It just felt too casual now, like he was going through the motions or something.

Still caught up in his own thoughts, Sparky approached a narrow alleyway. Without thinking, he angled his skateboard toward a haphazardly discarded crate, gaining more and more speed as he neared. With an effortless push, he launched himself into the air, board spinning underneath him as he executed a high-speed 720 flip. The world was a blur as he rotated, the skateboard spinning synchronously beneath him. With a fluidity that would have stunned almost anyone, he landed back on the board, its wheels touching the ground with a satisfying clatter. Without even raising his eyebrows, he continued his high-speed skate, his thoughts still consumed by the uncanny ease of it all.

Am I just bored? He mused, furrowing his brows as he grappled with the perplexing feelings. Skating had always been his escape, his solace. It was the one thing that truly made him feel alive, feel free. But now, it felt like just another activity, still fun, but not quite as thrilling as it used to be.

As he zipped past the docks, the murmur of the waves crashing against the shore reached his ears, a rhythmic lullaby that blended seamlessly with the hum of his wheels on the pavement. He allowed the sound to wash over him, his mind quieting for a brief moment.

His focus drifted back to the board beneath his feet, the cityscape speeding past him. It was as if he was observing everything from a distance, detached and indifferent. It hadn’t even crossed his mind for a single moment that the trick he had executed moments ago was perilous, even deadly for an ordinary skateboarder, something he’d only ever thought about trying.

But I'm not ordinary, am I? The thought crossed his mind, like it had several dozen times in the last twenty-four hours.

The memory of last night’s coming out to his parents intruded upon Sparky's thoughts as he took a sudden, sharp turn without slowing down. His father, a picture of stoic calm, his face an unreadable mask. His mother, a whirlwind of worry and panic, barely contained. He had laid it out as simply as possible, his parents already shocked by his change in appearance: he was empowered, he had been kidnapped by Empire 88, but he had triggered when they kidnapped him, escaped before they could hurt him and he was okay now.

“See, not a mark on me,” he had said with a smile. “Literally.”

They were caught off guard, understandably. Sparky had expected a slew of questions, probing and prodding, but it was as if they were both stunned into silence. His dad had eventually regained his composure, his characteristic cheery calmness returning.

"Sparky," he had started, his voice steady but carrying a hint of concern, "We're glad you're okay."

His mom, though, was less convinced.

“My baby!”

The fear in her eyes hadn’t really eased up even after he did his best to let her know he hadn't actually been hurt. It was a lie, sure, but it was a comforting one, and it was enough to calm her down, if only a little. She had eased up a bit, the wateriness in her eyes going away, and stopped smothering him in an insanely tight hug but he knew his mom well enough to try to lie to himself that she was completely at peace..

His dad seemed to pick up on that too. Despite his usual calm demeanor, there was more than a glint of suspicion in his eyes. He didn't question Sparky's story, but there was a clear understanding between the both of them as he locked eyes with the old man over his mom;s shoulder: he wasn't buying what his son was selling.

That was when Sparky decided to leave out Greg's involvement in everything that went down, pushing it to a general later. His friend tearing through the Empire was a tale for another day, something that was sure to make it to the news soon enough. Besides, he didn't want to put his parents through more shit, they had plenty to freak about with just him. They were just glad he was okay, and that was enough.

The following morning, he left his house, ignoring the lingering tension and the concerned glances from his parents. It was uncomfortable, this newfound fear they held for him, but he understood it. His world had shifted drastically overnight, and theirs had too.

Yet, even with their worry, he could see that they were okay, accepting even. His little demonstration of what his new body could do probably had a lot to do with making sure they felt a lot better about his safety. After all, when your son picks up the couch over his head, it’s hard to feel all that scared about the average person doing much to him. Honestly, whatever made them sleep better was fine with him.

As Sparky coasted down the deserted streets of the docks, he couldn't help but replay the scene with his parents over and over. He had told them about his powers, about his whole new deal, but he had left out the details about anything involving Greg. Something big like granting powers… he didn’t feel like that was something he could just put out there. It didn’t feel like his secret to tell.

Still, it was something that he was still struggling with as he tore through the city streets, his mind a whirl of uncertainty. Am I gonna have to keep lying forever?

As he neared his location, he coasted to a stop, the momentum carrying him over a dozen meters more before he finally came to a halt at the end of a street, the signs above him clueing him that he was at the right intersection. He stood there for a moment, skateboard under his feet, and dug his phone out of his basketball shorts.

“Okay… where are you?” The morning sun began to cast long shadows around him as he raised his head from his messages to cast searching glances at the empty warehouses around him, looking for the right one.

He didn’t have to look for long.

Sparky released a low, sardonic whistle, his gaze sweeping over to the hulking warehouse to his right. The building stood in solidarity with the rusting, forgotten industrial landscape around it that represented the Docks to a T. The outside bore the battle scars of a war against time—paint peeling away like sunburnt skin, the bricks underneath coated with grime. It sat there like an old lion, crumbling but still kinda beautiful. You could tell this was something at one point, a real place where shit happened. Not like some of the real horror show buildings Sparky knew were sprinkled around this part of town. Gotta hand it to Greg, Sparky thought, the guy's got a knack for picking prime real estate. If this superhero/supervillain thing doesn’t work out, brah should become a Scooby Doo villain.

A moment later, his eyes dropped to the warehouse’s entrance. Twin doors, as gray and lifeless as the rest of the building, were emblazoned with a garish letter "H." A mess of jagged lines and errant drips, the graffiti was a vivid splash of red against the dull monotony. Its edges were faintly outlined in black and white, like some kind of comic book detail. Sparky raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Subtle as a fucking brick, G.”

With a dismissive shake of his head, Sparky kicked his skateboard off the ground, catching it mid-air with practiced ease. He tucked it under his arm and advanced towards the building, his footsteps echoing in the morning silence. As he walked, his eyes darted around, taking in the surroundings.

Since the chaos two nights ago, he’d been on high alert. Twitchy.

Paranoid, even.

His previously quiet world was now filled with imagined threats lurking in the shadows. The simple, basic fact that he could easily lift a grown man off the ground by their neck didn't make the creeping sense of unease any easier to shake. Honestly, his brush with death had left more of a mark on him than he’d like to admit.

Near death, my ass. I got stabbed and shot fucking twice. And not even a fucking mark on me the next morning, he scoffed inwardly, his eyes narrowing as a fleeting movement caught his attention. He snapped his head to his right, only to let out a sigh as his heightened senses recognized it for what it was—an overgrown rat scurrying away.

"Get it together, Sparks," he muttered to himself. It was a fun little fact that he had learned about his senses since yesterday; the more things demanding his attention, the less they seemed to bother him. Being in a mostly silent, small, dark room with nothing but his thoughts sent them on overdrive. Going outside… not so much. Weird, he knew, but he’d take any relief at this point.

As he neared the warehouse’s entrance, he noted the doors were slightly ajar, just wide enough for a couple people to squeeze through side by side. He glanced around and behind him once more as hesitation tiptoed around the edges of his bravado for a split second.

“Fuck it.” Shaking his head, Sparky squared his shoulders and stepped in.

The gloom inside the warehouse was thick, barely any light coming in through the grime-covered windows, yet his eyes adjusted almost instantly. Those same eyes came in handy, allowing him to see all the way to the back of the warehouse with perfect clarity as he scanned the area. This was unfamiliar territory, yet he felt an odd surge of adrenaline as he navigated through it. “Greg?” His voice was louder than he intended, bouncing off the walls and ceiling, filling the space with echoes.

He ventured further into the belly of the warehouse, head swiveling, eyes unblinking. His heart pounded slightly in his chest, the silence and the darkness making it even more obvious and annoying. Deep breaths, Sparks, he reminded himself. Then, in an effort to shake off the growing unease, he called out again, his voice stronger this time. "Greeeeg? You there, brah?"

Sparky froze, his eyes darting to the left as a faint noise wafted to his ears. His breath hitched as paranoia crawled under his skin, worming its way into his thoughts. Each creak and groan of the warehouse played in high definition, amplified by the pounding in his chest.

"G-man?" His call out for Greg sounded shaky, even to his ears, and he berated himself for letting his fear seep into his voice. Something rustled nearby, a low, grating sound that shot ice through his veins. A desperate gasp for breath hitched in his throat, his chest tightening with the suffocating grip of fear.

A rustle. A scratch. The warehouse seemed to come alive, the huge building suddenly far too close and tight. Sparky whirled around, gaze scanning the building for the source of the sound, eyes darting around and straining to catch any movement. His fists clenched at his sides, knuckles bleached white under the strain. He could feel the cold bite of adrenaline in his veins, sparking his senses into overdrive. Why couldn’t he see anything, though?

"Boo."

A soft whisper tickled his ear, causing an instinctive, totally manly shriek to tear itself from his throat. Fear fueled his jump, panic propelling him almost two entire body lengths away from the disembodied voice. Landing with only a slight backward stumble, he raised his fists again, hearth thrumming a rapid drumbeat against his ribs.

The adrenaline rush gradually receded as his senses finally caught up. His racing pulse slowed, but his breaths still came in short, ragged bursts. His gaze finally focused on a figure rolling around on the grimy warehouse floor, a blond head shining faintly in the dim light. As the fog of fear began to recede, the familiar sounds of uproarious laughter filled the warehouse. Sparky's bloodshot eyes honed in on the source of the annoying sound—a blonde-haired menace convulsing in laughter on the warehouse floor.

That absolute fucking moron.

"What the fuck, brah?" Sparky demanded as his voice wavered, irritation replacing the spike of terror. His heart was still racing, body still on high alert, breaths still coming in heavy bursts, but he forced himself to steady, eyeing Greg with heat in his gaze.

In a swift, almost fluid motion, Greg was on his feet again, still shaking with laughter as he dusted off his clothes. "Jesus Christ," he wheezed out between gasps, slapping his knee as he succumbed to another fit of laughter.. "You should have seen your face. Screamed like a girl, I swear."

Sparky was still catching his breath when he asked the question that was spinning around his brain. "Where the hell did you come from?" he finally spluttered out, voice edged with irritation and disbelief.

Greg, the casual bastard, paused for a moment, and held up a hand, fingers splayed open. Then, with an infuriatingly smug grin…

"Well, first, I was on the wall behind you," he started, dropping one finger. "Then, I crawled up the wall," he continued, a second finger joining the first. "Then the ceiling," a third finger, "swung on some rafters," a fourth, "and then I dropped down behind you." He finished, closing his thumb into the rest of the fist.

Confusion etched its lines on Sparky's face as he tried to picture the blond's acrobatic journey. His brow furrowed, disbelief flickering in his eyes as he stared back at Greg silently. “Huh.”

Greg, for his part, only nodded sagely as if he'd just imparted some grand wisdom. "Yeah, people don't really look up. I don't know why."

Sparky's incredulous gaze remained on his friend, fear a fading echo in the back of his mind. He shook his head, barely able to muster up a coherent response. "But m-my... my senses... How did I not see you? Hear you? Anything?"

A single snort left Greg’s lips. "You sure about that? You actually noticed when I was moving around. That's not normal. Average person barely notices me, especially when I'm above them. I've gotten pretty good at stealth missions, you know." A moment later, he clicked his tongue and added, “Clearly something you need to work on, partner.”

The snide comment brought a flush of annoyance to Sparky's face, irritation long having replaced fear. His entire body vibrated with a burning cocktail of emotions - anger, embarrassment, relief, and a bright burning desire to punch his best friend right in his smirking face. He let out an exasperated sigh, rolling his eyes as he bit his tongue rather than curse out the other boy. Not. Cool.

"So funny. Wish I recorded that, though," Greg said with a chuckle as he placed his hands behind his back, both of them cupping his head.

Sparky smirked back, irritation quickly melting away as his usual relaxed demeanor popped its head back up. He shot back, tone laced with a mocking threat, "It'd be the last wish you ever made."

“Oooh, Mr. Girly Scream is so scary,” Greg snickered, hair bouncing with his movement. His fingers came up to adjust the frames of his glasses, the lenses catching the overhead light.

Glasses? Wait. Sparky's brain stuttered.

His gaze narrowed on his friend, really taking in him properly. His eyes traveled from the blue-and-white tracksuit to the oddly thick, geeky glasses perched on Greg’s face, the mirrored lenses shimmering in the dull light in a way that clearly wasn’t prescription.

“Glasses!” Sparky found himself blurting out, the question spilling out before he could stop it. “I mean,” he paused to cough, trying to sound uninterested and chill, “why are you wearing glasses, dumbass?”

Greg, unbothered by the insult, flashed a grin. “Eye issues,” he replied cryptically. As he lifted his head, the light above ricocheted off his lenses, making them seem to glow from within. “Better not to ask, honestly.”

Sparky could only blink at that vague explanation. Yeah, I’m gonna need more facts on that but… later. "Okay. Can I ask why am I here, then? What is this about anyway?"

His question hung in the air as his gaze swept over the interior of the warehouse. He had expected a grimy, cobweb-covered mess typical of abandoned buildings. But this place…

No, this place was not like that.

The concrete floor was visibly freshly cleaned, the only sign of a mess being the caked-in stains that one would expect of years and years of use and hard regular work. Still, it was far from the decades worth of dust and grime that he'd thought he would see. The walls bore fresh coats of paint, a stark contrast to their weather-beaten exterior. The ceiling, too, looked surprisingly intact, unbothered by leaks or rot. Yet, the windows looked just as neglected, the outside grime making the washed insides pointless. "Also, follow-up, aren't these buildings abandoned? How the hell is this place so clean?"

At the barrage of questions, Greg’s eyebrow arched higher, amusement glinting in his eyes. He let out a snort, the sound echoing in the spacious room. "Well, in reverse order, I have a guy for that."

"A guy?" Sparky interrupted, his brow furrowing in confusion.

"Yeah, a guy. He has a small business doing power washing and building renovation. Name's Glen. Glen Yang," Greg elaborated nonchalantly, pausing for a moment as he tilted his head to the side, seemingly caught in thought. Then, he added, "with three Ns."

Sparky blinked, taken aback by the random trivia. "Three?"

"Yeah."

"But, where?"

Greg’s expression shifted into one of pure bewilderment as he parroted back, "What do you mean where?" His gaze swept over Sparky, almost pitying, as if he were dealing with a particularly slow student. "In his name, dude."

The sullen teenager looked at Greg, mouth opening and closing like a goldfish out of water. After a moment of silence, he managed to choke out a sound, somewhat resembling a strangled cat. Then, he managed to form words, "I mean, where in his name, Glen or Yang?"

His question was met with a dismissive scoff from Greg. "Obviously the first name, dude," he retorted. "Don't be silly."

Sparky could only stare, his expression caught between incredulity and irritation. He managed to mimic Greg's tone, pitching his voice higher as he said, "...don't be silly," his hand flapping in imitation of his friend’s mouth. "Bringing up fucking Glennnn and I'm the silly one. Fucking hate your ass, I swear."

At Sparky’s display of annoyance, Greg only hummed nonchalantly. "You done whining? Cause I can give you like five, ten more minutes to get it all out?"

Sparky glared at his friend, then sighed in resignation. "...just… just tell me why I'm here?"

"Well, okay. I'm gonna be real with you, Sparks. You're not my mom. I can't keep eyes on you all day,” Greg stated, his voice unusually low and sincere for a moment.

"Uhhh…" Sparky blinked, caught off guard by the wording and sudden tone shift. The hell was that about?

"But I do want you to stay safe. And now… well, now you have powers, so you can keep yourself safe," Greg paused, his gaze steady and intense, as if he was carefully measuring Sparky’s reaction. "I just gotta make sure you can use them right."

His eyebrows shooting up, Sparky shot back, "Oh, so you're just gonna teach me how to use my powers?" He couldn’t help but feel a little excited, honestly. Apart from the short run home yesterday, he hadn’t had a chance to really test drive what he could do. He definitely hadn’t got a chance to really go all out either.

“....mmm,” Greg only wiggled his hand from side to side, his boyish grin widening. "Basically, yeah."

"Huh, I figured this was just gonna be you trying to figure out how strong and fast I was, the way I did you way back when," Sparky replied, crossing his arms over his chest as he thought back to that long day that felt like it had been literal years back. Wild how that was only two months ago. Things had changed so quickly

"Nah nah," Greg dismissed Sparky's words, hand sweeping through the air with a dramatic flourish. "That's what I've got these babies for. I can do that with a quick look," he explained, jabbing two fingers back towards his eyes. "Nah, I'm just here to give you a real quick rundown on superhero life. 10 quick lessons."

"Huh?" Sparky frowned, his eyebrows shooting upwards in surprise. A sense of wariness crept into his gut as he noticed the broadening smirk on Greg's face. He opened his mouth to ask what the hell his friend was on about, but Greg was already on a roll.

"Lesson One," Greg began, his tone shifting as he glanced down at his right hand. He then curled his fingers into a loose fist. "You're not human anymore."

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

“FUCK!”

Greg pulled his fist back, the sharp jab having sent his friend stumbling backward with a gasp of choked air and a curse from his lips. He held up the offending hand, lazily adjusting the frame of his glasses as he glanced over to see Sparky hunched over now, arms cradling his stomach like a gunshot victim. Such a drama queen. A moment later, he blinked behind his glasses. Oh shit, he is a gunshot victim. Might have to make this up to him at some point. Damn.

His friend’s head shot up, eyes wide with shock, a little betrayal and a healthy dose of confusion. “Wh-”

Pulling himself out of his thoughts, Greg decided to continue the bit, the blond letting out an huff of air that might have been mistaken for a sigh if it wasn’t so loud. Before Sparky could voice his confusion, he interrupted him for the second time in about five seconds, this time with words rather than fists, “Before you say anything, I want you to ask yourself something. ‘Did that actually hurt or am I just being a giant frickin’ baby?’”

He lifted his shoulders in a lazy shrug, a playful pout on his lips to make it even worse. If there was one thing he knew how to do, it was how to push people’s buttons. And Sparky’s? Well, his friend was like an old, worn-out gamepad, and just as predictable.

His words, as calculated as the punch, struck home. The look on Sparky's face was evidence enough. A smirk played at the corners of Greg's lips. Bingo.

Obviously pissed, Sparky straightened up, expression like the Bay during thunderstorm season. “Giant baby?" He shot back, taking an angry step forward, one hand clenched into a fist of his own. "You just fucking hi-” The words fell from his lips in a rush, only for the teenager to cut himself off this time, just as suddenly as Greg’s punch had.

A pair of golden eyes dropped to his stomach, one hand still cradling the punched area. A low, surprised, “...huh,” tumbled out.

Greg let out a playful hum, pout shifting into a white-toothed grin. “Giant baby says what now?”

“Wha…” The blond watched as Sparky glanced down again, lifting both his black t-shirt and the yellow long-sleeve beneath it. “But I felt that.”

“Yup,” Greg affirmed blithely.

Sparky looked up at Greg, still confused. “It knocked me back, though?”

“Probably did,” the other boy remarked with a smack of his lips.

“You-I-Wh…” The olive-skinned teenager let his stutter trail off into a raspy noise of exasperation, head thrown back as he let his shirts drop. “Why doesn’t this hurt?”

The blond’s grin stayed present as he took another step forward. “Simple. I’m only hitting you about as hard as a regular person could. Like this.” With only that sentence as warning, Greg rushed forward again with his fist raised. The world slowed down, the way it always did when he moved this fast, even in short bursts.

Slow enough for him to witness Sparky’s golden eyes widen.

Slow enough for him to see Sparky’s head inch back.

He’s already learning. Greg felt the grin on his face widen to a manic degree, as he took in his friend's reaction. Never felt so proud.

Whatever pride he felt in his heart watching the other boy adapt in real-time didn’t do a thing to stop Greg from blasting him square in the face. But he did feel all warm and fuzzy when he did it, that much was undeniable.

Sparky reared back from the blow as time sped up again and Greg stood still as he watched the other boy let out a sudden bellow. It was a shout that was more anger and frustration than actual pain, something the blond knew for a fact. Cradling his nose, the bronze-skinned teenager cradled his face with one hand while pointing an accusing finger at the blond, another shout on his lips. “What the actual fuck is wr-”

Time to start. Greg raised a single finger as if to shush the other boy. The gesture was followed up by a gust of wind so abrupt it actually did silence Sparky, forcing him to take an actual step back in surprise.

“The force exerted by an average human male punch can be placed into the ballpark of roughly three-hundred-and-twenty-five pounds,” Greg recited aloud, drawing from something he had read a few weeks ago on one of his nightly patrols. He shifted his finger to adjust his glasses again, this time lowering them down his nose just enough to allow Sparky to see his eyes. “For another average human male, this would cause significant pain and possibly injury, depending on where the hit lands. However…”

He pointed a finger at Sparky, who was still cradling his nose, his expression a jumbled mix of confusion and outrage. the blond grinning as his lesson plan began to play out just like he pictured it. “You’re not human anymore.”

The words echoed in the silence, Greg’s aerokinetically-enhanced voice bouncing off the warehouse walls, each syllable slamming into Sparky’s brain like a sledgehammer given how he winced. His hand fell away from his nose as the realization sank in, his eyes widening with a sudden understanding. “...oh.”

“Oh, indeed, young padawan,” Greg ignored the knee-jerk grimace that flitted across his friend’s face as he dove right back into his lecture. “You’re not human. Your body is better — different but better. Bone density, muscle capacity, healing rate, nerve conductivity, pain tolerance... Everything from the cells up, you name it, it's all been upgraded. You’re running on next-gen hardware, dude. Meaning as long as I don’t hit you too hard, I can-”

In a rush of motion, he was on Sparky again, his leg snapping out in a controlled calculated kick that to any normal observer, would have been barely more than a blur. His foot made contact with Sparky’s ribs, and just like that, the other teenager reacted in a completely human way - groaning in pain, cradling his side, stumbling backward.

“Do that,” Greg continued, lowering his leg back to his side. “All day. And you’ll be just frickin’ fine and dandy. No matter how much you act like a pussy, all I’m doing is pretty much pushing you around.”

Greg watched as Sparky’s eyes narrowed at his words, the other teenager visibly bristling as he clenched his fists, both irritation and embarrassment clear as day on his face. “How do you even know that, huh?” He bit back lamely, wearing a frown that even Greg could tell was only there for the sake of pride instead of any real anger.

Greg responded with a sigh, drawn out and over-dramatic "Same way I know those arms can bench at least five of you and you can run fast enough to get a ticket in a school zone." He tapped a finger against the frame of his glasses again, the lenses once more reflecting the scant light in the warehouse. "I have really good eyes, dude."

Shaking his head, as if he were an exasperated teacher and Sparky his clueless student, Greg carried on, "...but like I said, lesson one: You’re-”

Without giving Sparky a chance to process his words, Greg blurred into action, the world around him dulling like an old photograph as he dashed forward. The back of his fist connected with Sparky’s mouth, the unexpected blow sending a spray of spit arching through the air and his friend’s head snapping back.

“-Not-” The second word was followed with another punch, this time to the gut. A gruff groan tore from Sparky’s throat as he instinctively doubled over.

“-Human!” Greg’s foot moved like a comet, a swift arc that hooked behind Sparky’s ankle, upending Sparky and sending him sprawling onto the cold, concrete floor.

Time slid back to normal, a slight hint of color returning to the world as Greg stopped his assault, gaze shifting to where Sparky lay, panting and staring at the ceiling.

"So, don’t fight like one,” he finished, punctuating his sentence with a click of his tongue.

A smirk played on his lips as he watched Sparky sit up, the boy's tan body moving fluidly despite the one-sided spar they'd just had. Man, is that what I look like when I move? the blond thought to himself, an eyebrow raised behind his glasses. So cool.

Apart from the way he moved, Greg also couldn’t help but notice that Sparky didn’t look so shocked anymore, resolute expression telling Greg that his friend was finally getting the hang of things. "Alright."

"Alright?" Greg tossed back the word playfully.

“Alright,” Sparky repeated again, a determined glint in his golden eyes. He sprung up, feet spread apart and hands guarding his face – a simple boxer’s pose. “I’m ready, teach. Show me how capes kick ass.”

Greg couldn’t help but laugh again. That’s more like it. He clapped his hands loudly, the echo bouncing around the vacant warehouse like a gunshot. “Good to see you taking your education seriously. But before we start, you know what day it is?”

Sparky looked puzzled, one eyebrow raised. “Uhhh… May 15th?”

“Nah.” With a simple shake of his head and a grin that was more predator than pal, Greg corrected him. “It’s gonna be the worst Sunday of your life. Lesson Two.”

With a casual flip of his hand upwards, a quick flash of pixel-like blue light gathered into a red rubber ball resting on his palm. "DODGE !"

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

Greg-Sensei’s 10 Lessons to Your New Life

You’re Not Human

DODGE

Move Fast

Strike Hard

But Not Too Hard

Pretend to Be Weak

Everyone has Weak Points

Be Unpredictable

Use Your Words

RUN