Greg Veder vs The World

Lag 6.23a

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May 19, 2010

3:35 AM

The night in Brockton Bay was rarely ever truly silent. Like most cities of any sizable population, someone was always going somewhere and there was always some degree of traffic. Truly, the streets never fully emptied. But above the streets, across the rooftops of Downtown, the skies were also far less empty than they usually were — they had at least one more occupant.

The figure in black and yellow pumped his arms and legs for all they were worth, pushing even harder as he bounded off the edge of a rooftop. Axel "Sparky" Ramon, a lean fifteen-year-old with a mop of unruly dark hair, was pushing his newfound abilities to their limits, his heart pounding in his chest with each death-defying leap.

He wore a sleek black tracksuit with bold yellow stripes running down the sides, the fabric clinging to his wiry frame like a second skin. A matching mask covered the lower half of his face, leaving only his intense brown eyes visible, gleaming with a mix of determination and exhilaration. His hands, encased in fingerless gloves, curled into fists as he pumped his arms, propelling himself forward with each powerful stride.

Sparky was jumping from rooftop to rooftop, concentrating as he attempted to pull off more and more dangerous leaps. Each one was more daring than the last, pushing himself harder and further than he'd ever gone before. The wind whipped through his slightly long hair, tugging at his clothes, but he barely noticed, his focus solely on the next jump, the next challenge.

His chest was pounding, not as much from exertion but from exhilaration. This was the rush he'd been chasing, the thrill that skating no longer seemed to give him. Out here, leaping and bounding across the rooftops in a way he never could have a week prior, he felt alive in a way he never had before.

He was supposed to be running with Greg - his best friend and the reason he even had these powers — but he had no idea where the blond dummy had vanished off to. For a second, he considered that he had outrun him before banishing that thought from his mind. Even holding back, Greg was effortlessly faster than he could manage.

Probably saw a mugging and went to stop it, Sparky thought with a mental eye-roll. But that wasn't what he was focused on.

Faster, he thought, gritting his teeth behind the mask. Gotta go faster. Gotta see how far I can push this.

The world blurred at the edges of his vision as he approached the lip of the rooftop, his sneakers pounding against the gravel. With a grunt, Sparky launched himself into the void, his body arcing through the night air like a comet.

For a moment, he hung suspended, weightless and free. The wind whipped through his hair, tugging at his clothes, and Sparky felt a fierce grin stretching across his face behind the mask.

This was what he lived for now. This rush, this thrill of pushing himself beyond the limits of what he'd thought possible. Ever since that night, since the change, nothing else came close.

Not even skating, his former passion, could compare to the sheer adrenaline rush of leaping from rooftop to rooftop, defying gravity with every bound.

Sparky hit the opposite rooftop hard, his knees bending to absorb the impact. He rolled with the momentum, coming up in a crouch, his eyes already scanning for his next target.

There.

A water tower, looming in the distance, its metal legs glinting in the moonlight. It was a good fifty feet away, the gap between buildings yawning like a chasm.

Perfect.

Sparky took off at a dead sprint, his arms pumping, his breath coming in sharp, focused bursts. He could feel the energy thrumming through his veins, the power coiled in his muscles, just waiting to be unleashed.

He hit the edge of the rooftop at full speed, planting one foot on the low wall.

With a grunt, Sparky launched himself towards the water tower, his body arcing through the air in a graceful twist. He reached out, fingers closing around the metal railing, and swung himself up and over, landing on the top of the structure in a single, slightly jerky motion. Not perfect, he thought, wincing as he felt the impact jarring through his bones, but getting there.

He didn't pause, didn't give himself a chance to catch his breath. Instead, he bounded off the top of the water tower, his sneakers hitting the gravel of the next rooftop with a crunch. The strain was starting to make itself known, his arms burning, his legs aching with each leap. But Sparky pushed through it, gritting his teeth behind his mask. Can't stop now. Gotta keep pushing, see how far I can go.

He scanned the surrounding rooftops, his keen eyes picking out the next obstacle. A narrow gap between two buildings, barely wide enough to fit a person. It was a precision jump, one that would require perfect timing and control.

Sparky didn't hesitate. He took off at a dead sprint, his feet pounding against the rooftop. At the last second, he leaped, his body stretching out like a diver, arms extended, reaching for the far ledge.

For a heartstopping moment, he thought he'd misjudged the distance. The ledge seemed to recede before him, tantalizingly out of reach. But then Sparky hit the rooftop hard, rolling with the impact. He grunted as the gravel dug into his gloved palms. His skin is thick, but the jagged pieces still manage to scuff up his uncovered fingers. His sneakers bite into the rooftop, skidding a single meter before stopping. He came up in a crouch, his chest heaving, his limbs trembling with exertion. Shit. That was close. Too fucking close.

But even as the thought formed, he felt a fierce grin tugging at his lips behind the mask. But I made it, didn't I? I fucking made it.

It was a small victory, but out here, in the dark of the night, with nothing but the rooftops and the rush of the wind... it felt like everything. That's what makes it fun, right? The risk, the danger. Pushing yourself to the brink, and then pushing a little further. It was a thrill like no other, a high that he couldn't get enough of. And now, with these new powers humming through his veins, he could push himself harder than ever before.

Sparky took off again, his strides long and powerful, eating up the distance between rooftops. He leaped from building to building, his body moving with a fluid grace that would have been impossible just a week ago.

He flipped in mid-air, twisting his body into a corkscrew, reveling in the sensation of the wind rushing past his face. He landed in a roll, coming up running, his heart pounding in his chest, his blood singing with adrenaline.

This is what I was meant to do, he thought, a fierce joy welling up inside him. This is who I was meant to be. God, he kinda felt like shit for ever telling Greg to pull it back some. This shit was like crack right to his veins. No wonder Golden Boy’s out here every night.

Sparky pushed himself to his feet, his legs protesting the movement. He knew he should probably call it a night, head back to the house and try to get some sleep. But the restless energy was still thrumming through him, the need to move, to push, to test his limits.

Just one more jump, he told himself, scanning the surrounding buildings for his next target. One more, and then I'll head back to look for Greg.

His gaze settled on a rooftop across the street, a good thirty feet away. It was lower than his current perch, the gap between them more of a downward slope than a straight shot. Perfect.

Sparky backed up, giving himself room to build up speed. He took a deep breath, feeling the night air filling his lungs, the anticipation building in his chest.

Then, with a burst of explosive motion, he took off, his feet pounding against the gravel, his arms pumping at his sides. The edge of the rooftop rushed up to meet him, and for a split second, Sparky felt a flicker of doubt, a whisper of fear in the back of his mind.

But then he was leaping, his body arcing through the air like a comet, and all thoughts of fear and doubt were lost in the rush of the wind, the thrill of the fall.

He hit the opposite rooftop hard, his sneakers skidding on the loose gravel. For a moment, he thought he might lose his balance, might go tumbling over the edge in a tangle of limbs.

But then he caught himself, his enhanced reflexes kicking in, and he was sliding to a stop, his chest heaving, his heart pounding in his ears. Fuck yeah, he thought, a fierce grin splitting his face behind the mask. Nailed it.

But even as the thought formed, even as the rush of victory surged through him... Sparky felt a flicker of something else, a nagging whisper at the back of his mind.

What am I doing out here? It asked, the question like a splash of cold water, jolting him back to reality. What’s the end-game of all this?

He didn't have an answer, not really. All he knew was that ever since that night, since the explosion that had changed everything... he hadn't been able to sit still, hadn't been able to go back to his old life like nothing had happened.

Because something had happened. He had happened. And now, with these powers humming through his veins, with this newfound strength in his limbs... he couldn't just go back to being plain old Axel Ramon, skater boy with a garage band made of near-Merchant losers.

No, he was something more now. Something different.

He was th-

"I'm Hardkour, hard-hitting, hard-spitting, hard-kicking. / Villains ain't got the heart cus they know I'm too wicked."

Sparky's grin fell off his face as a familiar voice made itself heard, the sound of a feather-light landing of feet on gravel following it just a second later. He held back a groan, his shoulders slumping as he recognized the terrible attempt at freestyle rap.

"I'm vicious, malicious, my powers are limitless. / I'm gifted and lifted, my prowess? Infinite."

That’s not even how you pronounce infinite. Sparky turned around, his expression a mix of exasperation and resignation as he faced his newly arrived friend. Greg stood there in his black leather costume, accented with red on his shirt, scarf, gloves, boots, and that weird helmet-mask with the white lenses. The blond teenager continued to jam to his own beat, seemingly oblivious to Sparky's growing irritation.

"I'm in it to win it, spin it, no gimmicks, I'm no mimic,"

Sparky shut his eyes, grunting internally before opening them again. "Hardkour," he said, trying to get his friend's attention.

But Greg was on a roll, his hands starting to move in what Sparky assumed was supposed to be some kind of rap choreography. "I'm authentic, frenetic, kinetic, poetic, copacetic…"

Oh, hell no, Sparky thought, watching the blond do a little dance that would probably unite both East and West Coast rappers against him if they ever witnessed it. This has to stop.

"Hardkour," he tried again, a bit louder this time.

"Pathetic crooks can't get with this, I'm too quick-witted, / I'm committed, acquitted, spitting the hard-hitting lyri-"

"Greg!" Sparky finally barked, his patience wearing thin.

The masked teen froze mid-motion, his head tilting to the side as he looked at Sparky. "Heyyyy, no names out in the field," he chided, wagging a finger.

Sparky raised his hands in apology. "My bad," he said, not sounding sorry at all. "But whatever you were trying to do there? That was just bad, brah."

Greg put his hands on his hips, striking a pose that Sparky assumed was meant to be heroic. "Hey, I can rap," he protested, sounding offended.

Sparky raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "I do garage rock, and even I know that was terrible," he said bluntly.

He stepped closer to Greg, giving him a once-over. The blond had been out running too, he knew that. But unlike Sparky, who felt like his lungs were about to explode out of his chest, Greg looked like he'd barely broken a sweat. Frickin' unfair, is what it is, Sparky thought, a flicker of envy sparking in his gut. Dude gets all the rad powers, and what do I get? Slightly-better-than-average everything.

But he pushed the thought aside, realizing it was just his usual bitterness and self-hate taking root. Brah saved my life with these powers and I’m acting like a little whiny bitch. "Where'd you run off to, anyway?" he asked, crossing his arms over his chest. "Thought we were gonna train together, work on our teamwork and shit."

Greg shrugged, the motion smooth and effortless. "Saw a carjacking on Twelfth," he said casually, like it was no big deal that he spotted a crime from almost two blocks away and was back in minutes.

“Mmm. Empire?” The word left his mouth in an unintended scowl, the thought of the Neo-Nazis far more personal recently, for obvious reasons.

“Nah,” Greg shook his head. “Just one of the no-name gangs around town. Didn’t even have any serious weapons on them, but I couldn't just ignore it, y'know?"

Sparky did know.

That was the thing about Greg — for all his goofball antics and there were many — the dude had a serious hero complex. Always had to be the big damn hero. Sparky knew how the ABB bombings had gone; even with all the craziness, Greg had focused on saving people, both as Hardkour and as White Knight (or “Prodigy”, as Greg often insisted).

Guess that's why he’s the big shot, Sparky thought, nodding to himself. Universe knows what it's doing, apparently.

But he didn't say that.

Instead, he just nodded, uncrossing his arms. "Right. Makes sense."

There was an awkward pause, the two of them just standing there on the rooftop, the distant sounds of the city filling the silence between them.

Sparky scuffed his sneaker against the gravel, feeling a sudden need to move, to do something. "So, uh... you wanna keep going?" he asked, jerking his head towards the next rooftop over. "I was thinking we could work on our leaps, maybe try some of that wall-running shit you were talking about."

Greg's mask might have hidden his face, but Sparky could practically hear the grin in his voice. "Hell yeah, dude!" he said, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Let's do it!"

And just like that, they were off again, two blurs of black and yellow and red, leaping and bounding across the rooftops like a pair of super-powered parkour enthusiasts.

Sparky let himself get lost in the rhythm of it, the pounding of his heart, the burn of his muscles. Out here, with the wind whipping through his hair and the city sprawling out below him, he could almost forget about how far he had to go to match his friend.

Almost.

But then Greg would pull off some crazy flip or impossible leap, and the reality would come crashing back down. To be perfectly honest with himself, Sparky really didn’t want to have to go through shit like getting blown up or having to scoop his own guts back into his own chest just to be able to do everything Greg was doing.

Sparky was fine just being along for the ride. Eventually, he’d catch up.

Right?

Right, he thought, gritting his teeth as he pushed himself to make the next jump, to close the literal gap between him and Greg. But he kept going, kept pushing, kept leaping. Because what else could he do? This was his life now, his reality.

And if he couldn't be the hero, well... at least he could be the sidekick.

With a grunt of effort, Sparky launched himself off the edge of the rooftop, his body arcing through the night air. For a moment, he let himself imagine that he was flying, that he was soaring above the city on wings of his own making.

But then gravity took hold, and he was falling, plummeting towards the unforgiving ground below.

Only to be caught at the last second by a pair of strong arms, a familiar voice laughing in his ear.

"Gotcha, bro!" Greg said, his masked face grinning down at Sparky as he held him bridal-style. "Can't have my sidekick going splat, now can I?"

Sparky just groaned, pushing himself out of Greg's arms and onto the rooftop. "I'm not your sidekick," he grumbled, brushing himself off.

But even as he said it, he knew it wasn't true.