From Hated to Hero (Worm AU, Trump!Greg) [Complete]

[Distraktion]

AN: From Hated to Hero, my first worm fanfic! I'm hoping to keep updating this every Sunday. There will probably be about 12 chapters per story arc, and a couple interludes in each since the majority of this fic is from Greg's POV.

On that note, if our dear protagonist annoys you at the start, please bear with him for a few chapters. In canon he's kind of annoying as hell, and I can't just magically snap my fingers to fix him. Instead, I'm spending the first few chapters building up the world, letting him try things (and fail), and giving him incentive to learn and grow. Also, it gives me time to share just how this fic diverges from canon. Speaking of which, here's a huge Spoiler box of Warnings and TLDRs.

Spoiler: General Plot, Warnings, Powers Info, and AU Stuff...

General Plot TLDR: Greg Veder triggers just before Winter Break in Dec 2010, gaining parahuman powers that he immediately realizes he would...probably misuse. He tries to balance his new temptations and overcome his problems, but makes several mistakes along the way. At a certain point, he starts to wonder if maybe he should try to fix Greg Veder before he starts trying to make a cape persona...and that's when the real adventure begins.

Content Warning: I know that Worm is a world of abuse, fear, and hatred where society slowly slides towards the apocalypse as shadowy figures do shadowy stuff in the...shadows. There will be depression, anxiety, some self-loathing, and more than a few unhealthy thoughts as Greg and others fight to overcome...well, everything. Success is possible, but it's not going to be easy and it won't be fast. Still, it's that much more meaningful when they finally get there.

Journal/Text Warning: The first story Arc has a little excerpt from the Journal Greg is keeping at the start of each chapter, setting a tone for the chapter itself and because he's too afraid to ask for help. The second arc uses a chat conversation, since he now trusts one person. These are timeless, and are written separate from each actual chapter. Call them...food for thought.

Greg Warning: Greg starts this fic just as annoying, self-absorbed, and over-confident as he comes off in Worm canon (and fanon). This was on purpose, and I like to think the reasons he gives (hides behind self-deprecating humor, TMI, desperate for acknowledgement) were believable for someone who had been as desperate and lonely as he was. It may be annoying to read the first few chapters, even after my rewrites, but I had been trying to give him a believable learning curve. He does change, though, and for the better.

Powers: Though at first it may seem like he's just delusional, Greg does indeed have powers. He is able to see individual powers in parahumans, even some they may be unaware of with regards to their granularity. He can copy a single, weaker version, although it comes with...limitations and side-effects. At the same time, he does have a unique ability with regards to these copies, but it takes him a bit to figure it out. By the end of Arc 1 it's mostly all spelled out. Only downside is that he barely sees any parahumans until a few chapters in.

Main AU Parts: The E88 capes have jobs at Medhall. Kaiser/Max is spending more time in Boston lately for unknown reasons. Watchdog is working to undermine and gather info on the E88 and Medhall. Rather than pretend to ignore Taylor for a few weeks pre-Locker, Emma pretends to be sorry and re-friend her. Sophia is driven by a need to get stronger, not just "an asshole because her shard says so." Terry Hess has a role in the story! The Protectorate and Wards actually interact with each other positively (sometimes). Finally, gave civilian names to those who lacked them, and threw a whole pile of Minor characters in for fun. I mean, yeah there are some OCs, but what about Snubnose, Nutcracker, and Dovetail?

Whew, now that that's out of the way (assuming you read any of that huge spoiler box), let's go!

***

Arc 1 Prologue: Starting From Nothing

[Sunday, Dec 19, 2010, 3am]

Journal Entry 0: Mission Statement

Okay, here we go. Writing words. Super easy.

C'mon Greg, just take a breath and do it.

It's just a secret journal where I record my innermost feelings, worries, and growth as a human being. Nobody is ever going to see this, since I can't really trust anyone and don't have any friends...so that makes sense. This should be no problem at all, right?

...Maybe start with a bit about myself.

Hello there, only person who is ever going to read this (me). My name is Greg Veder, I'm 15 years old, and as of yesterday I...am a superhero.

Or at least I might be, if this journal works like I hope it does and helps me become a better person. For right now, I'm just a parahuman...I think.

It's complicated. Let me start at the beginning.

When I was a kid, my parents told me that I could be anything. That all it took was passion, a goal, and the will to stick to it. I could be an artist, a lawyer, a doctor, a politician, or anything else that I put my mind to. I believed them.

I mean, why wouldn't I?

Dad's a successful Podiatrist (foot doctor) known and loved by people of all ages who love to walk, run, or kick things. He tells terrible jokes, and could probably get a job doing stand-up comedy (or be paid not to do it, don't tell him I wrote that) if he really had to. He's huge, strong, tough, and no matter how badly I let him down he always has a kind word for me.

Meanwhile, Mom's a Librarian who has probably read more books that I'll ever see, does the Dewey Decimal system for fun, can organize anything, and speaks at least four languages. Seriously, I'm pretty sure she learned Latin just to help my brother study for his MCAT. She's an actual Judo Master, can cook better than anyone in the world, and somehow she believes in me.

Both of them had goals, they gave it their all, and every day they wake up wanting to do more. They're also supportive, to a certain degree. Dad is always trying to get me to talk about medical stuff and is the reason that all my writing has so many bad jokes in it. Mom loves the fact that I like to read (even if it's mostly comic books), and is the primary reason my English teacher is always praising my (over)use of parentheses. They're both deep into their passions, and passed that on to their kids.

Like my big brother, George. He worked his butt off to get where he is, and any day now he'll be putting the word "Doctor" in front of his name whenever he introduces himself. He's deep into medical research and always talking about cutting-edge stuff. Helping blind people see, making cures for diseases that don't even exist yet, and so on. Even in a world with capes, with parahumans, with people who can literally fly or lift cars, he's focused only on normal people.

...and then there's me.

Even though it may look like I'm about to spend the next page putting myself down...that's actually not the case. In fact, everything that follows is the Old Greg. This is just me loading him into a Viking Boat, so that I can shoot a flaming arrow and let the New Greg rise from the ashes.

It's a little over-dramatic, but this whole journal is about me overcoming my past. I can't do that if I shy away from it. I have to stare it in the face, figure out where I went wrong, and try harder!

So here we go. To start, I'm over-passionate, sometimes talking and rambling so much that I get breathless. I'm pretty skinny, with a scraggly blond bowl-cut and a frame that looks like someone slapped skin on a skeleton. Whatever good genetics Mom and Dad may have had, I didn't get any according to my bullies, so I've learned to just stop looking for compliments on that.

I used to like the idea of making movies about capes, but everyone at school made fun of me when I invited them to help. Eventually I just stopped asking, and all my videos became one-man shows. Since I can't be a part of reporting on or making media for cape culture, I've thrown myself into talking about it at school and online. I'm known on several forums for being in every conversation, with a huge post count.

Although, if I have to be honest, for all my online skills at conversation, I'm on far too many blacklists to really consider myself any sort of digital Socrates. I'm pretty sure that the reason people walk away from discussions with me (both online and IRL) is because I'm like a vehicle without brakes, rolling downhill. Once I get going it's hard to stop, and I bounce from tangent to tangent like a car running pedal to the metal on bald tires in the mud. I don't stop until I crash and burn, or run out of gas. Sometimes both.

But hey, I'm a human being, and we're made up of both good and bad. We surround ourselves with people who can make up for our weaknesses, and shore up our strengths. We make relationships that define us, growing as people until we're adults and ready to take on the world.

I mean, that's what every after-school special has told me, right? Surely for all my failings, I can trust the people around me to help me become a strong, responsible adult?

Wrong. See, I haven't got any people around me, despite my best efforts.

Yeah, I always go a mile a minute when it comes to talking. It's not just because I'm some kind of socially awkward nerd with boundary issues (although that is part of it). It's because of my bad habits, my anxiety, and my bad reputation, all of which make me afraid that I have to give every conversation my all or else it'll be my last with that person.

It's a problem, and it's one of the reasons I have so many other problems. I see that now.

I tried for a long time to hide from my problems. I read fantastic comic books, played cool games where I got to be the hero, and spent a lot of time on the ParaHumans Online (PHO) message boards. The latter was where I tried to reinvent myself, chatting with other nerds and pretending that instead of being myself (Greg Veder, human outcast) I was XxVoid_CowboyxX, cool guy!

Unfortunately, I spent so much time trying to impress people in my online persona that my desperation and loneliness once again bit me in the ass. I accused people of stupid stuff, called people names to get them riled up, trolled people who had different opinions from me, and even lied about being present for all sorts of events. By the time I realized what I was doing, I was in too deep, and my online persona was as much of a pariah as the real me.

But enough of that.

I can wallow in self-pity all day, but that's not what this journal is about.

This journal will be about me recording my thoughts, my fears, and my attempts to grow beyond the Greg Veder I had accepted. To become someone more than what my bad reputation makes me out to be. To rise above what the world has labeled me, and become someone who inspires people the same way the heroes I've idolized my whole life inspired me!

All it took was a near-death experience after I made the greatest mistake of my short life, and suddenly I had powers that made me wake the hell up and try to be better.

This isn't going to be easy. This isn't going to be fast. Heck, this probably isn't going to be smart.

Already I've made a pile of mistakes, and it hasn't even been a day! I could have died at any point today from my own dumb ideas. If it hadn't been for my excellent memory and need to write it all down I'd have never realized that a lot of this was my fault. I have to change myself, and that's practically impossible to do alone.

But right here and now, I'm making a pledge to try, because I've been giving up my whole life and it's gotten me nowhere!

This won't make my problems magically vanish, but maybe it will help me focus less on the Greg I am and more on the Greg I want to be.

...and after that, the Hero I want to be.

All this, so that someday soon I can put on a costume, give myself a fitting name, and go out into the world to make it a better place. So that at the end of each day, I can take my mask off, look in the mirror, and be proud of who I see. So that I know my family is proud of me!

My parents always used to tell me that we all start from nothing.

That if we have passion, motivation, and a goal, we can do anything we put our minds to.

Well, as of today, I'm starting!

I'll become a hero, instead of being the guy that everyone hates! No, wait, that sounds bad.

I may be the worst person to have powers right now, because I have nothing to lose...but I'm also the best, because I have everything to gain! Wait, no...that sounds kind of supervillainy as well. Um, what's a better way to put it?

Eh, I'll figure it out later. For now, the adventure begins!

************

Next time on From Hated to Hero: We roll time back a few days, meeting our hero wannabe in his natural habitat, learn a few reasons that he thinks people hate him, and find out that teenagers are pretty much terrible.

Edited 9Sept2020: Rewrote a lot of this prologue, taking lessons from my improved chapter plan and several great suggestions from readers. It may be shorter, but it fits the direction the fic goes a lot better. Also, I'm told it makes Greg 40% less annoyingly whiny and 70% more optimistically hopeful, and that's always a plus in my book. 😅

 

[Distraktion]

AN: Italics Note: The lines in italics are Greg's self-doubt, gut feelings, and inner monologue. I don't know about you, but as someone with anxiety...my own inner voice can be pretty loud.

*****************
1.1: Understanding My Classmates

Excerpt from Greg's Journal:
One of the most important parts of any story is the beginning, and in my case it's no different. I'm sure that years from now I'll look back on all this and ask myself how I went from a depressed, self-absorbed civilian to a parahuman teenager with dreams of being a hero, literally overnight. Maybe it'll be part of my memoir or something.

Many of my problems stemmed from the fact that I didn't really understand other kids my own age. I always just sort of assumed that they were like me. Worried about everything, reaching out for someone to understand them, and overall decent people. Sure, they made fun of me, but I'd seen friends tease each other all the time and figured it was just part of the game. It made me feel bad that I didn't 'get it,' and for a long time I assumed that was my fault.

But on the day that I triggered, I realized I had been wrong. It wasn't that I didn't understand them...it was that I had been willingly ignoring their faults because I was so desperate. I wanted to assume the best in them, that they weren't bad people, and even the ones I hated I always gave another chance.

As with anything people do while desperate, it led to a lot of pain. On the other hand, I learned a lot. Unfortunately, I learned far too late, and by then I was already neck-deep in problems.
-GregV.

***

[Friday, Dec 17, 2010]

Friday morning, the last day of school before Winslow's Winter Break started, I was having a great dream.

This dream was rudely interrupted by a sudden stabbing pain in my gut. I snapped awake and saw my brother George standing there, broom in hand and smile on his face. I reacted the same way any little brother would have.

First, I let out a manly cry (or shriek) at his transgression. Next, I whirled around to throw a perfect roundhouse kick in his direction. If he hadn't been several feet away and my legs hadn't been tangled in the sheets (and I'd had any experience doing a roundhouse kick), I'd have nailed him in the face. Finally, I flopped out of bed and landed on a pile of dirty laundry.

It took me a few moments to wake up, and as George fled my room I managed to put it all together. The pair of noise-canceling headphones I was wearing made it easy to recall. I'd overheard some kids at school talking about a hot new song by a Bad Canary cover band, and even though I didn't really care much about music I figured that listening to it would give me a chance to join in their conversations next time it came up.

I know that sounds kind of strange, but if I waited for people to invite me to their conversations then I'd spend all day waiting! If I'm an expert on a subject and hear someone talking about it, why not join in? Wouldn't it be rude to let them keep on talking without my sage advice?

Anyway, I must have fallen asleep with my headphones on, and had thus slept through my alarm, Mom's shout, and Dad banging on my door. It wasn't the first time this had happened, but normally George would have been much kinder with his wake-up call. He'd even used the bristle side of the broom!

Grumbling about older siblings, I managed to pull my limited-edition barely-worn Miss Militia sweatshirt off my face and struggle to my feet. My wardrobe can be summed up as "capes on clothing, usually with words nearby," so I didn't even bother to look as I got dressed in some of the clothes on my floor. They felt like an old pair of jeans and a faded sweatshirt.

I could have worn some of the amazing, limited edition clothing I had, but they were all still in plastic or boxes because of their collector's value. Honestly, it was a wonder the half-dozen outfits I always wore hadn't fallen apart. I made sure to smile at my collection of mint-condition cape figurines, clothing, and other merchandise before going out the door and heading down.

That's odd. No breakfast smells, no coffee smells, but Mom and Dad are still here.

I'd always had a sort of inner monologue, partially because I self-narrated for myself. Not having friends meant that I spent a lot of time alone with my thoughts. I'd love to pretend it was a super power, but really it was just my gut feelings, conscience, and self-doubt. Kind of like having my own personal contrarian, pointing out all my mistakes and making me second-guess myself.

Why are Mom and Dad just standing there next to suitcases? In nice clothes? What's going on?

Indeed, as I reached the bottom of the stairs, I noticed that both my parents were well-dressed and standing next to a small suitcase each, leaving me both confused and silent. George was adjusting his tie, looking for all intents and purposes like 'Greg plus a decade,' but in an actual suit, plus an inch of height and a better haircut. Then I looked at my parents...

Dad was also in a suit, his burly frame topping out at six feet, a single one of his biceps bigger than my thigh, with his dark hair and mustache neatly trimmed. Mom looked amazing in her favorite red dress, heels making her almost as tall as Dad, her blonde hair in a complex bun. Honestly, she looked like some kind of deadly assassin or secret agent from a movie I saw once.

"Finally, Greg has graced us with his presence," George said, waving a hand in my direction like some royal courtier presenting me to the kingdom of King Dad and Queen Mom. With everyone all dressed up, I was starting to think that something was going on here. "Can we go now? The opening ceremonies start at 4, and it'll be at least a 2-hour drive with the usual Friday morning traffic, plus we need to stop at our hotel…"

"In a moment, George, we just need to see Greg off to school first." Mom smiled at him, then turned to me, saw the expression on my face, and switched to a different tone. "You've totally forgotten what today is, haven't you, Greg?"

As my heart raced, I could almost feel my mind kicking into high gear.

Yes. But I can't say that or she'll trust me even less. I need to buy some time, get some clues.

"No, of course not! In fact, I'm insulted that you would even say such a thing on a day like today..." I blustered, desperately searching my mind for an answer. "It's...uh…today is...I mean, it may surprise you but today is actually..."

Fancy clothes, suitcase, George still here instead of having left for his job, Mom and Dad looking disappointed (not a new thing), c'mon Greg, think!

"Friday," George whispered, softly enough that I doubt Mom and Dad heard him. I smiled in his direction, and snapped my eyes back to my expectant parents.

"It's Friday!" As the words left my mouth, I immediately realized George's treachery and stammered as I tried to think of anything else to say...but came up blank. Instead I just repeated myself again. "Friday...is today."

"Yes Greg, it is Friday." Mom paused, as if waiting for more, and then finally let out a little sigh, rubbing her temples. In a tone of voice that said dear god, why didn't we wear protection that night, she slowly nodded and started to explain, "Your brother is one of several who won an award for their work in Medical Implants, and the three of us are going to Boston for a gala dinner and award ceremony. We told you about this last week, and you said that you'd be fine to stay home on your own until we get back tomorrow night. Remember that?"

"No. Yes. Yes!" I said louder, forcing a chuckle as though the 'No' had been a joke. I wasn't really sure if it worked, but Mom did glance at Dad and start gathering her things. To build trust, I decided to throw in a few extra words that would prove me a responsible adult that they could trust. "Don't worry, I'm a responsible adult that you can trust."

Nailed it.

George sighed and turned away to answer a call on his cell phone. My ears popped for some reason, and I scratched at one of them as he walked a few steps away, muttering to someone. Meanwhile, Mom and Dad looked at me like I was the furthest thing from a responsible adult.

I was pretty sure for a moment they were considering either calling a babysitter or dragging me along with them, and as much as missing a day of school would have been cool, doing it trapped in a car with my parents and brother was lame as hell. I decided to try one more time, lowering my voice and speaking carefully, "Look, I know I can be kind of immature sometimes, but it's only 24 hours. How much mischief can I really get up to in that time?"

"He's right, Sandra. He's going to be fine." Dad smiled at Mom, who sent him a look and waited for more reasons to trust me. Dad, ever the joker, continued to add, "Besides, he's the son of a podiatrist and a librarian, so he's well-read and not easily de-feet-ed! Eh?"

Mom just walked out the door to start loading up the car. Dad, never one for confrontation or challenging the woman who had given him an amazing son (and me), pulled a few bills out of his wallet and held them out to me. He cleared his throat, then patted me on the shoulder with his other hand. "Remember, Greg, don't throw any parties, don't leave the doors unlocked, and lights out by eleven o'clock. I trust you, son."

Better add in a joke as well, let him know how relaxed I am about the whole thing.

"I'm sure the fire department will be happy to hear that, huh?" I took the money and stashed it in my wallet, trying to smile and ignore the way Dad's smile faltered. I'd always tried to live up to Dad's example, always having a joke for any situation. Problem was, I had gotten in the habit of self-deprecating humor a while back, so instead of laughs I just got pity. I was a master-class at creating an uncomfortable atmosphere. "I mean, um...thanks Dad. I'll do my best."

"I believe you will, son." Despite obviously not believing me at all, Dad said it with practiced ease. With all the weights he lifted, he could have just picked me up...but instead of dragging me off and shoving me in the trunk he just smiled. Then, for lack of anything else to say, he patted me on the shoulder and headed out the door. "Be safe, Greg. Love you."

Now it was just my brother and I. Despite his little prank, I wanted to wish him well. He was my brother, so something nice should have been easy. What actually came out of my mouth was pretty mean. "Congrats on your award George, will you be getting the Iron Cross?"

...Greg, you idiot. You know how much he hates those rumors about his coworkers.

George's face froze, like water in Winslow's outdoor water fountains. It had been a dumb joke, but in my defense it was one I'd made before. There were rumors floating around PHO about the company he worked for, after a member of the E88 had been spotted near their main building a week back. I'd had fun teasing him about it, but had promised to stop when Mom and Dad found out. I knew it was mean, and apparently he agreed enough to fire back at me.

"I seriously wonder what the hell is wrong with you sometimes, Greg. Are you so used to talking on your stupid cape message board that you don't know how to talk like a human being? What, do you think you have to say something shocking so you'll look cool, or make yourself feel better?"

"I wasn't trying to-" He cut me off with a slash of his hand and power-walked out the door, slamming it behind him with a finality that no words could argue against. I wanted to run to the door and apologize, but just then my phone started buzzing with its 'leave for school NOW or you'll miss the bus, dumbass' alarm.

Grumbling, I grabbed my backpack, zipped it up, and rushed out the door in time to see the family car pull out of our driveway. George was ignoring me, but Dad looked at me with eyes that said he at least wanted to trust me. I nodded back at him, closing the door and running to the bus stop, knowing that I could just barely make it to the bus if I ran at full speed.

...a few moments later, I ran back to the house, locked the front door, and looked around. Nobody had seen me and my family was already gone. Okay, responsible adult starting now.

***

I made it to the bus just in time, and after a ride that was both loud and bumpy I was walking into the hallowed halls of Winslow High School. No wait, it was the other thing...accursed. Yeah, the accursed halls of Winslow.

A big crowd of kids was just inside, talking and laughing about one thing or another, and I carefully started maneuvering around them as I headed to my locker. They mostly ignored me. I wasn't one of the popular kids, since I didn't really fit into one of the three categories of Popular.

Popular kids at Winslow fit into three main categories: Beautiful, Social, and Strong.

Emma Barnes was a good example of a Beautiful person, as well as most of her coterie of friends and hangers-on. Not only was she always wearing the hottest fashions and getting invited to college parties (so she claimed), but the knockout redhead just carried herself with confidence. Nobody dared to mess with her, either, because most Beautiful people were also good friends with at least one Social or Strong person (she had both).

As for the second category, being Social wasn't just about talking a lot (otherwise I'd have that in the bag)...it was more about quality than quantity. Emma also fit into this category, but her friend Madison was a decent example as well. She could cut someone off with a word, tear them down with a sentence, and get a crowd on her side with a sigh. Social people had connections, knew where all the parties were, and knew everyone's weaknesses. They had the teachers in their pocket, the student body at their beck and call, and never got in trouble.

Finally, the Strong. Football players, sports kids, and other jocks fit into this category. They were also the ones who gave wedgies, stuffed kids into lockers, and got away with everything. I mean, nobody in their right might would bench the quarterback over something as silly as a black eye! Sophia Hess was the gold standard for this, even though lately she'd been a lot less into it. Unfortunately, Julia North had picked up her slack with a vengeance.

Anyway, these categories seemed to transcend the gangs that Brockton Bay (and Winslow, the armpit of its school system) was full of. For instance, our football team had Empire 88, ABB, and drug dealing kids on it who were all big, strong, and jerks. Some of them hated black kids, others hated non-Asians, and still others hated narcs, but they all had size and strength in common.

Honestly, given the amount of steroids in use, I feel like the drug kids were probably the most popular members of the football team. Half of our victories were probably thanks to them.

I pushed that annoyance aside as a member of the football team "accidentally" knocked me into a locker. I let out a laugh just in case he was doing it to be funny, knowing that trying to protest would only egg him on. Luckily, he was too busy talking on his phone to notice.

A hundred tiny conversations like his were going on as I moved through the halls, from talk about cape fights to discussion of fashion. Most of it flowed off me like water off Narwhal's back, but I did keep an ear out for subjects I could join in on.

Finally, I heard a familiar voice talking about a certain song I had spent the night listening to, and a smile split my face as I stealthily moved in that direction.

"I mean, the song was okay and their costumes were cool," Madison said, shrugging and adjusting her backpack as a dozen others nodded along. "But what really matters is that the money they made off it goes to people who were victims of the Simurgh. That's like...a really important charity. People having to suffer like that is wrong."

"Ha! I've seen the pictures online and their clothing is so gauche and last decade," Emma scoffed, and Madison looked down as her cheeks reddened at the indirect rebuke. Emma threw some hair over her shoulder and rolled her eyes. "They'd better spend that money on better costumes before their next release, or they won't last a month. Also, what's with the lead singer's accent?"

Now's my chance. "It's actually a funny story," I blurted, "her parents were born in Leeds, in the UK, but she was raised in New Jersey for most of her life. She has a Yorkshire accent that she's learned to cover up, but every now and then it sneaks out along with a slight twang that her singing coach imparted upon her." I paused, taking a breath. Their silence as they all turned to face me gave me the motivation I needed to continue. "I watched an interview with her coach, and he said that he actually had to send her to a different voice coach a year back because his Texas accent had somehow slipped into her own singing and it was making people say exactly what Emma did. It's very fascinating!"

Now, it may seem odd to most that I had just butted into a conversation, spat out a bunch of info rapid fire, and was only stopping when the lack of oxygen in my lungs forced me to. That's probably because most people had friends. Since I lacked friends, I'd learned to take more drastic measures and just kind of...sneak into conversations.

"But Greg," many would say, "why not start out small and make tiny contributions to a discussion? Why risk the alienation and disgust that comes from blathering out words nonstop like a laser printer created by Uber and Leet that time they did a robbery based off Typing of the Dead?"

The answer was simple: Quantity over quality, because all it took was one win.

With my reputation, I wanted to give people as many chances to like me in one go. It's like how some people played paintball and were good enough to hit their target with only a few squeezes of the trigger, while others (like me) needed every paintball in the gun to have a chance at hitting anything. Spray and pray!

Speaking of hitting things, it was at this point that a hand landed on my shoulder, and I'm pretty sure my eyes sparkled a bit as I began to think that I had finally succeeded.

This is it! Someone's about to agree with me and ask me to continue. Those hours of listening to accents and researching the band online were worth it! I've struck gold!

Speaking of striking things, that hand on my shoulder immediately shoved me and I practically flew through the air. I actually think my feet left the ground for a moment, and then someone caught me. Whoever they were, before I could turn around and thank them, I found myself falling down like a sack of bricks. I saw a pair of legs step away from me, and realized they hadn't so much caught me as had me fly into them and then deliberately not caught me.

Lying on my back, I looked to my right and saw that the thrower had been Julia North, who was now laughing at me with everyone else. The one who'd chosen not to catch me was Sophia Hess, beloved Winslow Track Star and Emma's bestie. Emma said something to her, pointing at me, but Sophia just rolled her eyes and walked away.

Guess I'm not worth her time anymore. A bully gave up on me after a few months. Victory?

I started to get back up, but Julia shoved me back down as the laughter grew. A second try was no more effective, and even glances at other nerdy-looking students showed me only laughing faces. I wasn't surprised at that, admittedly.

Despite there being three categories of Popular People, there was only one for people like me: Outcasts. It was a title that stuck like glue, with only the rarest of outcasts managing to slide into a new category. Going from nothing to something is as unlikely as a horse becoming a unicorn.

For example, I used to eat lunch with a fellow outcast named Allen. We rarely talked, but that was mostly because he barely said more than a few words a day, loved to read, and was only left alone because his brother was on the football team. Even the E88 kids left him alone, despite his skin color, because he had connections. Then one summer his brother helped him get totally ripped, he came back to school as a Strong kid, and made it onto the football team. After that, he had friends galore and his outcast past was forgotten entirely.

Outcasts don't fit into the other three categories, and so it was open season on us because we didn't really support each other. We knew better than to fight back, so we usually just kept our heads down and gave them the responses they wanted (you pushed me into the toilet, haha, so funny) and hoped they moved on to someone else. Worse, we turned on each other like rats in a sinking ship, and would gladly join in on the teasing and bullying of others to avoid the same fate.

Case in point, as I finally made it to my feet I was nearly knocked down yet again by a blond girl behind me. She hung out with the Empire kids, and I think her name was...Cassie or Tammi? She already used to get in trouble all the time for her attitude, but a few weeks ago she must have done something to piss her friends off. Suddenly, they started ragging on her, which just goes to show that the only thing worse than a nazi is a nazi teenager.

Anyway, after nearly knocking me down and stomping on me, she sneered at me (her favorite expression) and called me a very bad word. That made the popular kids laugh even harder, and then the bell rang. With the threat of class on the horizon, they started to clear out.

Just another morning at Winslow...and I haven't even been to my locker yet.

***

That pretty much set the tone for the rest of the day, which blurred by as time passed.

Winter Break was nigh, so we all got some easy homework projects, and some of us (like me) did it in class since we didn't have anyone to talk to. Lunch was nasty and may have actually been a science experiment gone wrong. The teachers all told us to be safe, but nobody really paid attention to them. Then one of my favorite classes of the day (Computers) came, and things really started to look up.

All it took was me spending most of the period trying to join in yet another conversation. I knew I was just asking for trouble, but without Sophia and Julia around I figured that at least this time I wouldn't be getting knocked onto the ground. I'm pretty sure that even Mrs. Knott, our dear computer sciences teacher, wouldn't allow that. She ran a pretty tight ship.

Anyway, I overheard Emma chatting with someone about a party she was attending, and how they just had to make sure they had enough drinks for everyone. Being a gentleman with several coupons for 2-liters of soda (thanks to my frequent purchases of gas station comic books), I waited until she took a breath and then kindly offered to bring some. It was so smooth that she was stunned into silence. Then her face turned red and she started to raise her voice.

"Look, you pasty-faced little…" Emma paused, seeing that Mrs. Knott had looked up from her romance novel and frowned in our direction. Emma closed her eyes for a moment, and then let out a little giggle and shook her head. "You know what? Sure. Why not. It'll be a party you'll never forget. Give me your number, and I'll text you the address later."

I tried not to let the surprise show on my face, and just wrote out my phone number on a bit of paper and handed it over. Sure, my hand shook so much that I had to grab my arm with my other hand so she could take the paper, but I think I played it off well.

The rest of class I was walking on air, barely able to finish the assignment. I kept glancing over at Emma, so certain that this was going to turn out to be a prank, but she just kept chatting with friends and looking at what seemed to be a map of Brockton Bay. She saw me looking at her and smiled back a few times, and I got a warm feeling in my body as I realized that all my efforts had finally paid off. It was like playing the lottery...all it took was one win to be a winner!

Hours later, as I was walking from my locker to the front door, a hand grabbed my arm. I whirled around expecting another jock...but instead I only saw Taylor Hebert. She was frowning, her long dark hair framing a face that looked equal parts determined and annoyed.

Taylor? What did I do this time? Why would she even bother to talk to me?

We had a...complicated relationship, the two of us. Well, maybe that's not entirely true. We didn't really have a relationship at all, honestly. Back in the day I thought that she was a cape geek like me, and I was always trying to talk with her about all manner of subjects and people. It was fun, because she always seemed to see an angle I didn't, and that made for amazing conversations. We were just two skinny, gawky teens, outcasts who were actually kinda-friends.

But as always, I sabotaged myself, and in this case it was my anxiety that did me in. I was constantly worried that Taylor was going to get tired of being my friend, afraid that she would move on or that I'd do something to piss her off. While I know now that I was being silly and overthinking it, back then...I panicked, and ruined my happiest pseudo-friendship.

I started becoming overly clingy, talking to her all the time, constantly trying to chat about everything from capes to videogames, even when she wasn't interested. I gave her gifts, tips, websites, movie suggestions, and more. I started trying to spend more time with her, slipping into group projects with her so that she wouldn't get bored of me, and even trying to get her to meet me out of school. In short, I was a creep, and the harder I flailed the more reasons she had to stay away.

So when Taylor grabbed my arm that day, it was a surprise to me. Apparently it was a surprise to other people too, because several other kids stopped to watch. Maybe they all wanted another of the many examples of Taylor shooting me down to brighten their day? Well, too bad for them, because I was walking on clouds and had no interest in starting anything.

"Greg, I heard about Emma. She's just messing with you," Taylor said, leaning in a bit. Her voice sounded rough, like she hadn't used it in a while. "You shouldn't have given her your number. She's just a bully, and only wants to hurt you. I may not like you...but nobody deserves..."

I knew just like everyone else that Emma, Sophia, and Madison had made it their mission to mess with Taylor for a year now, but like I said before...the outcasts didn't really stick together. It's dumb, I know, but the thought of bringing their wrath down on me by trying to stand up for her made me afraid. Rather than take her warning, though, I reacted with confusion.

"What are you talking about? Is this because you want to go to her party as well?" I looked around, and speak of the devil, there was Emma smiling innocently nearby. "You guys used to be friends, right? I'm pretty sure if you come with me she'll be okay with it."

"No!" Taylor twisted her backpack's straps in one hand and glared at me. I could see a hundred little stains of all different colors on her backpack, wondering to myself where they all came from. It had been brand new just a few months ago...was this all from the girls pranking her? Taylor shook her head and tried again, speaking slowly. "I was her friend, but that just means I know her better than you. This isn't her trying to be your friend. You need to-"

"Now, now, Taylor, don't go filling Greg's head with more of your lies and stories." Emma moved in, shoving Taylor a bit and then smirking as the other girl failed to retaliate. I was tempted to say something, one hand already reaching up, but the beauty before me took it in one of her hands (soft, but with such sharp fingernails) and started dragging me away. "C'mon Greg, let's leave this loser to stew in her juices. She already smells like she's been doing it all week. Her clothes are practically falling apart, she hasn't washed them in so long."

The class laughed, and I heard one of the other girls say something unflattering about Taylor's hair, causing more laughter. Another comment came, this one about her shoes, and more laughter. Then I realized they were all looking at me, and the terrifying specter of Peer Pressure began to bore into my very soul.

"Haha, yeah." I smiled nervously, then kept talking as I saw Emma's face light up with a smile. Emboldened by a sudden confidence and shoving down the part of me that had always hated when outcasts turned on each other, I raised my voice. "S-she's got more stains on her clothes than...than on that ratty backpack of hers!"

Emma laughed, as did everyone else. Except for Taylor. She just stared at me, almost hurt, as if this whole thing had been my fault, and pushed through the crowd to get away. Someone tripped her, but she caught herself on a locker and kept going. I wanted to go after her, but Emma's hand held me back. It was like being part of a group, like having friends…

...and all I had to do was hurt someone who used to be a friend to get it. Is this even worth it?

That day, I went home with an address on my phone from Emma. It also meant that I now had Emma's phone number, and she had even given me a hug as we parted. It made the feeling of being a Grade-A creep and jackass slightly less painful. Just barely.

I made a mental note to apologize to Taylor on Monday, but then remembered that our Winter Break started tomorrow and that I wouldn't see her again for 2 weeks. Well, maybe by then she would have forgotten?

Maybe she'd recognize that I was in a tough situation, and as a fellow outcast she should just let me have this little moment of happiness? Was I really so bad? Didn't I deserve to be happy sometimes, even if the cost was higher than I had expected?

Despite my attempts to rationalize my actions, my inner voice wasn't so forgiving.

Maybe before I try to understand my classmates, I need to figure out people.

***********

Next time on From Hated to Hero: Greg dabbles in foreign languages, takes up jogging for his health, has the worst day of his life, and gets all tuckered out trying not to die.

Edited 9Sept2020: Made sure this matched Arc 2 better. Improved descriptions of Dad, Mom, and George. Also, I started to integrate Greg's inner monologue and self doubt in italics. Call it a conscience, call it his self-doubt, call it whatever you want. Since it's happening now, pre-Trigger, it's unlikely to be mistaken for a Shard or anything. If nothing else, it lets me better explain why he starts to improve as the story goes on, since it represents his gut feelings.

 

[Twisted]

Ugh, dude wow...
I'm going to try and relate but, well I am not "greg"
Right so Australian🇦🇺 guy, no friends, school bullies but I was never the kind of person to go looking for attention from anyone, so whenever a situation like kids asking stupid questions to be mean to myself or others I'd tell em to go Die in a fire... 😐 (bit extreme, but the point isn't to be realistic but to make em shut up).

Like this one kid he stabbed me in the hand with a pen during class and I asked him "is that it?" 🤨
Not that it didn't hurt but, I'd been dealing with this particular meathead by denying him any response at all via disregarding his existance, dismissing him "yeah, good on ya f*cko" 😑 whenever he'd get uppity so this was the last thing he ever was did stabbing me with a pen, big angry grin on his face and I'm just dead panning "is that it?" 🤨
Wasn't fun at all but mate, I felt real bloody vindicated when he avoided being anywhere near me for the last two years of school.

Oh by the way, I'm a bit of an antisocial, if you hadn't noticed and in general I find most people to be aggravating for just existing in my general vicinity, it's not psrsonal I just don't enjoy speaking to people even if it's a topic I'm enthusiastic about more then ten minutes max and I'll probably just wander off looking for an excuse to leave.

But, I am also brutally honest should you ask me any question, mainly because I give zero F's about anyones feelings, so the siding with Emma thing Greg did would be the last thing on my mind.

I'd probably go to winslow and have a reputation as that one silent kid that when confronted will immediately tell you that they wouldn't piss on you if you caught fire, then start playing with a lighter. 🔥
Mind games are fun like that.
But otherwise I'm a live and let live kinda guy, honest.

Got sidetracked anyway tl;dr : Not Cool Greg, not cool at all.

 

[bigking321]

Yeah, it's a pretty crappy start for him. And poor Taylor still being a good enough person to try and help him.

Still. Interesting story so far. Looking forward to where it goes.

 

[Distraktion]

Yeah, it's a pretty crappy start for him. And poor Taylor still being a good enough person to try and help him.

Still. Interesting story so far. Looking forward to where it goes.

Click to shrink...

Yeah, teenagers can be pretty terrible. What makes this both easy (and kind of tough, sometimes) for me is that a lot of Greg's experiences are based partially off ones I either experienced firsthand or know about through friends in highschool/college. So on one hand, I know that this can happen because it has...but on the other hand it's a bit tough to try and look back 20 years later and try to make something positive (or funny) from it.

 

[Distraktion]

Italics Note: The lines in italics are still Greg's self-doubt, gut feelings, and inner monologue. I had someone asking me if that was his power talking to him, and wanted to be clear that it's not.

***************************

1.2: Understanding Exercise

Excerpt from Greg's Journal:
I've never been the most fit person in the world. I think a lot of that has to do with my actual lifestyle, more than anything else. I made videos, played games, read a lot, and lived a generally sedentary lifestyle. If it weren't for the great genetics I got from my parents, I probably would have been a lot worse...but they were still the foundation.

It's taken me a long time to understand it, but I'm starting to realize that my mistake has been assuming that I'd never need to be stronger, faster, or tougher than I am. That there'd never come a point where I needed to escape (be faster), lift something heavy (be stronger), or weather a difficult situation (be tougher). So I never tried.

That all changed the night I triggered. I was too slow, too weak, and too cowardly. If I'd been stronger, then things never would have gone the way they did. On the other hand, if I'd been stronger, then I wouldn't have needed something like this to motivate me.
GregV.

***

[Friday Night, Dec 17, 2010]

Of course, after school I spent several hours picking the perfect outfit and practicing pickup lines for the many girls I expected to meet there. I mean, it was my first party ever, so it paid to be prepared. Clad in my lucky underwear and a cool jacket (and other clothes, of course), I set out for the party. I was so nervous that I missed my bus, but had left an extra hour early just in case.

I was only halfway down the sidewalk when I started to worry, though. If I hadn't known any better, I might have started thinking that this was an Empire 88 neighborhood. The PRT had been making huge strides in cracking down on them lately, and I told myself that this was just one of the blocks that they'd once had a heavier presence in. Before they started getting so much resistance, I mean.

Many people in Brockton Bay had been surprised to notice in recent weeks that the parahumans of the nazi gang were appearing less often. Sure, they still tangled with the PRT and ABB all the time, but they weren't exactly walking around in public as much as a year ago. As a result, the civilian side of the gang had been forced to be more careful in their activities, a net positive for Brockton Bay as a whole.

The PRT claimed it was all because of an ongoing pressure campaign, but every time they started to brag like that a bank would get robbed or one of Brockton Bay's few synagogues would get set on fire by Rune or Crusader. So, they were still obviously here, but maybe this was because of some infighting? Perhaps someone was challenging Kaiser for leadership?

Still, back to the present, I tried my best not to think about the danger I was potentially in. I always overthought things anyway, and I was seeing Asian, Black, and other people all around me, so maybe it was just graffiti? I told myself it was an ex-E88 place, and they kept tagging it.

That in mind, I took a deep breath and approached the address Emma had given me. It was a solid apartment building with gang tags all over the place, but seemed to be in good shape. I mean, if you ignored all the swastikas and racial slurs on the walls. Damn E88.

I was already here, and there was music coming from inside, so I went ahead and moved forward. I climbed the stairs, juggled my sodas for a few moments, and then carefully knocked on the door. After nearly a minute of silence, I tried again with my foot. Much harder this time.

"What?" I heard a voice from inside, the music turning down a notch as someone pressed up against the door from the other side. The voice was slightly accented, but I couldn't quite figure out the origin. After last night's research, I could tell it wasn't someone from the UK, at least. "What the hell do you want, dude?"

"I'm here for the...uh...party?" Great, my voice cracked. I shook my head and cleared my throat, trying a second time. This time I nearly shouted, deepening my voice a bit. "Party time!"

His reply was not to open the door and let me in, welcoming me with open arms. Instead it was a certain four-letter word that I do my best not to use. Mom grounded me for a week after I screamed it (due to stubbing my toe) years back, at my cousin's 10th birthday party.

Worried, I texted Emma about my issues getting in the front door, and waited calmly (panicking the whole time) for her reply. Luckily, she got back to me pretty fast, texting me with the same phone number she'd sent the address from. I guess she had multiple accounts, because it was a different phone number than the one I thought she had. She was even using a screen name I didn't recognize, "RedHerring" for some reason.

Anyway, it was a quick conversation:

Me: Here. Door guy won't let me in.
RedHerring: New phone, who dis?
Me: ROFLMAO. But seriously tho.
RedHerring: Door guy's foreign and doing a password thing. He's Jewish, so it's Hebrew.
Me: Kk, what's the password? I dunno Hebrew.
RedHerring: Well, it's the start of the Sabbath, so say: "Shabbat Shalom"
Me: What's it mean?
RedHerring: Something like, "Greetings my Jewish brother."
Me: Um, but I'm not Jewish?
RedHerring: Well, don't tell him that!
RedHerring: I mean, if you want to just leave…
Me: NONONONO.
Me: Sorry caps. No, I'm cool, I can play it off.
RedHerring: Yeah, you're smart. That's why we invited you.
RedHerring: We're in the basement, hurry up!
Me: C U soon
RedHerring: <3

That little heart warmed me up a bit, and I practiced the words a few times before kicking the door again. When I heard the dude groan and lean on the door again I loudly yelled the password. I guess it worked, because I heard metal on metal almost immediately. The music turned way down, and in mere moments a blond head poked out of the door as it cracked open.

"What did you say, boy?" The guy was a few years older than me, and had a nasty scar on the side of his face. He opened the door a bit more and stepped outside, and I could see at least a few other guys behind him along with what looked like a few ladies. He closed the door, and placed one hand behind his back as he leaned on the door. "I didn't quite hear you."

"Shabbat Shalom, brother!" I repeated, a smile on my face as I held the sodas up. I made sure to say it slowly, and then repeated myself when he cocked his head to the side. I wondered if he wasn't a fan of the sodas I had brought, and was tempted to ask about it.

That temptation vanished when the hand behind his back whipped out, and something shiny slammed into my stomach. Well, it would have hit my stomach, but there were soda bottles in the way. I immediately dropped them all, my eyes flashing up to the guy as he began to shout and spit at me in a language that sounded a lot like German.

Wait, German language. Empire 88 neighborhood. Got mad at a guy speaking Hebrew.

Even with those thoughts dawning on me, my attention was drawn to the ground. It almost looked like someone had buried a knife in a 2-liter bottle of soda. A knife that the angry guy was bending down to pull out.

A bottle of soda just saved my life. That's...something alright. Time to go!

By the time he stood back up, I was already halfway down the street. Looking back, I could see him starting to chase after me, and I decided to duck into an alley. Movies had convinced me that doing so was the best way to lose a tail, and there was no reason to doubt them.

Now, I've never been one for running, jogging, or really any kind of physical fitness, but damn if I didn't give it my all to escape my murderous new pal...let's call him Knife Guy. Unfortunately, he showed no signs of giving up anytime soon, since every time I turned a corner, hopped a car hood, or ran into another alley he was right there at the edge of my vision.

Vision, by the way, that was starting to blur as my lungs reminded me that Running really wasn't something in the Greg Veder Skill List. It's too bad that my Diplomacy skill had already critically failed, or else I might have been able to try that again. You, know, if all my air wasn't going towards keeping my muscles and brain from shutting down.

Still, I kept at it, because by the time calling for help entered my mind it had become a choice between "call for help and hope someone does so before Knife Guy stabs me" and "keep running because Knife Guy wants to stab me."

Just as I was starting to consider "hide in a trashcan" he kind of...vanished.

I stopped in an alley, leaning against a brick wall and breathing so hard that all I could hear were my lungs screaming at me, my heart hammering in my ears, and...shouting?

Well, shouting means people. People I can talk to and warn of a knife-wielding nazi. So...

I stumbled in the direction of the shouting, my brain so starved for oxygen that I was pretty sure that was the only reason I hadn't pulled my phone out as well. At the very least, it was in the opposite direction from where I'd last seen Knife Guy, so I was still running (slowly) away.

***

Around the corner and down another alley, I came across a spectacular and (admittedly) fairly common sight: A cape fight. Brockton Bay's got capes for days, and I don't think a week goes by without the Wards taking down gang members, the ABB poking the PRT, or the E88 pulling off a big job or 'sending a message' to stay relevant and keep us all afraid.

Despite having just been chased by a Knife-wielding maniac, I also knew better than to interfere in a fight between capes. They were barely a hundred feet away in the middle of the street, so it was like having seats on the 50-yard line at a football game (not that I've ever been to one).

This was a matchup I hadn't seen before, Armsmaster vs. Crusader. Also there were some guys in security outfits, but they were hiding behind an armored car nearby, so they didn't really count as threats. From what I could see, Crusader had attacked an armored car and was using his powers to rob it, but was having trouble doing that and fighting off Armsmaster at the same time.

There were PRT guys at either end of the street and even some security guards (probably from the armored car) standing nearby, but none of them were interfering. I guess maybe they came to the same conclusion I had. They also kept looking up, and I heard someone shouting from above, so I started to creep forward a bit to get a better angle.

As I got a bit closer I could see that Crusader, the armored Empire 88 member who could summon ghostly versions of himself, was using half of them to fight Armsmaster and the other half to try and carry bags of money out of the armored car. He was holding his own, but seemed to be getting tired from having to resummon the ghosts every few moments.

The reason for his resummoning was Armsmaster, the ever-efficient Tinker and leader of the local Protectorate branch, resplendent in his awesome blue power armor. He was easily using his cool techno-halberd to deflect attacks from the ghostly projections and their ghostly spears, as well as finding time to fire small projectiles at a few of the money-grabbing ghosts. At this rate, another few minutes and he'd beat Crusader just by letting the guy exhaust himself.

"Looks like you should have stayed home, Crusader!" Apparently I wasn't the only one thinking that, as a voice from above called out and made me look up. There was someone crouching on the edge of a building on the other side of the street. Maybe two stories up, sitting on the edge with a uniformed security guard's neck in his huge hand, was a man in a metal mask. "Just say the word, and I'll drop this bitch and turn Armsmuncher into metal shavings."

Hookwolf, Empire 88 Lieutenant and Verified chainsaw wolf, was watching over this fight like some guy at Seaworld watching seals do tricks. There was a short woman in a security guard outfit up there with him, his hand clamped around the back of her neck as he watched.

It all started to fall into place for me. He had grabbed a hostage, hopped on the roof, and was keeping the PRT, security guards, and Armsmaster at bay by threatening to hurt her.

"If you had helped me in the first place, we'd already be gone!" Crusader yelled back, taking his eyes off Armsmaster for a moment. "You aren't even supposed to be out here, you idiot! Stop messing around and go. I've got this!"

Armsmaster took advantage of his distraction to take out two more ghosts and close in on the armored nazi. After that, it became a battle of dodges, swings, and some really cool moves that almost made me forget that I had been trying to warn them of a knife-wielding nazi who was chasing me. It had only been a minute, but I had enough breath to call for help now, and I took a deep breath.

Which was promptly used to let out a gasp as Hookwolf dropped the security guard. I'd always thought he was kind of interesting, even if he was a villain, but seeing him casually murder someone like that right in front of me was horrifying. Who could ever like something like that?

I was able to see why she'd been dropped. With Hookwolf distracted by the fight, someone had crept up behind him and struck him in the back of the head. Already I could see the man starting to Change, turning around...but my eyes were locked on the falling security guard.

I can't just let her die! But what can I even do? I'm nothing, too far away, too weak.

Luckily for both of us (but mostly her), a red blur collided with her in midair, and moments later I could see that Assault had caught her safely. She began to babble and sob, holding onto the man, and that made it easier for him to dodge out of the way as Hookwolf came down from above. There had been a mighty impact, and now his attacker was revealed to be Battery.

She glared down at him from the rooftop, already starting to glow as she prepared to attack the Changer. He glanced at Crusader, saw his fellow nazi losing, and must have decided that this wasn't worth his time. So he started to escape down an alley.

Unfortunately for me, it was my alley.

"N-no!" I choked out a feeble cry, turning and trying to stumble backwards. Hookwolf was coming right at me, his left arm already a nightmare of hooks and blades, and I saw him start to smile as he got ever closer. "Please d-don't...no!"

I looked around for escape, but I was trapped on both sides and hiding in the pile of trash to my left would only make my death a smelly one. I desperately looked to Battery, Assault, and Armsmaster, but they were engaged with Crusader, who was going all-out to cover his teammate's escape. They were all so close, and yet completely useless.

As I realized that I was going to die, I felt my life flash before my eyes.

It was...pretty disappointing, to be honest.

I spent most of my life just existing. No big dreams that I hadn't given up on. No parents who cared about me. No brother to have my back. No accomplishments for my obituary.

The last thing I had said to my parents was that I was responsible, and now I was getting killed.

The last conversation I'd had with my brother was to make fun of his job, and he'd told me off.

The last words I had said to the closest thing I had to a friend, Taylor...a girl who I had driven away and had still reached out to me...had been to make fun of her.

I'm going to die now, and nobody will care. Nobody will even know. I was nothing. Nobody.

I stared, Hookwolf so close that I could count the individual hooks on his left arm, see the hairs on his other arm glisten in the light, and hear him laughing about something. I was weeping, sniveling, sobbing, like a child. I closed my eyes, and took one last breath as I tried to dodge.

I felt a terrible impact, and was sent flying into the same trash I'd seen earlier. It closed over me, but my arms were grasped tightly around the horrible pain he'd inflicted on my torso. I could feel my sludgy innards spilling out of me, around me, and I panicked and started to hyperventilate.

I'm bleeding! All this is coming out of me...my organs, my blood...I'm going to die.

As I lay dying in the trash, all my fluids soaking my clothes, I cried and cursed myself.

I just watched them, watched their powers, because they were everything to me.

I had always felt small and worthless, and now I was dying. Alone. It was my fault.

I can't even dig myself out, my hands are the only thing holding me together! I'm scared.

I heard someone coming and let out a strangled cry, afraid to move, but they ran right past me.

Armsmaster, Battery, and Assault...all three ran right by me without even a glance. Not a word.

The heroes I adored had ignored me, a villain I had found interesting had killed me.

Of course they would abandon me. Saving me would do nothing. Catching him is better.

I'd always dreamed of being a guy who understood parahumans, and what made them special.

I just wanted to be someone like them, who was worthy of praise and respect.

Someone who could make friends, bring people together, and learn from them.

Someone who made enemies into friends, fixed his life and theirs...and was brave.

Someone who could change, and learn from his mistakes instead of dying from them.

Someone who isn't me. I'm sorry Mom, Dad, George. I'm...so...sorry.

As my exhaustion and panic finally overtook me, I closed my eyes and felt something.

Then I felt nothing.

***

I woke up in the trash, and it took me a minute to realize I wasn't dead.

I certainly smelled like it, and it was only after I pulled myself out of the trash that I realized something far more important. The lack of a gaping wound on my chest.

Why don't I have a huge gaping wound on my chest? Didn't Hookwolf hit me? Wait, did I...

It was fuzzy, but from the shape of the bruise covering my chest, it looked like the fleeing nazi had actually hit me with his non-blade arm. I'd been thrown into the trash, buried by it, and then had weeks of rotten garbage spill all over my body and clothing. It had felt nasty.

I swore to never tell anyone that I'd mistaken what smelled like someone's week-old takeout, maggots, and whatever this green stuff was for my own blood and internal organs. That I'd been so scared, I had been as easily fooled as one of those kids who went to haunted houses and mistook a bowl of grapes for actual eyeballs. The important thing was, I was alive!

I carefully made my way out of the alley, finding that I had almost acclimated to the horrible smell after a few moments. Maybe it was just built-in teenager abilities, or the fact that my own room was a pigsty and I just had a reduced sensitivity to stinky things. Either way, as the dizziness started to fade, I did my best to figure out which was home. Maybe I could ask for help?

Apparently the universe had decided that I hadn't suffered enough for one night, because after only a few minutes of tracing somewhat familiar streets and alleys, I found myself back where I'd started. Which also meant that I was unfortunate enough to run into a familiar face.

"Hey, it's the cowardly Jew!" Knife Guy shouted, having been sitting on the front steps of his place with a few of what I was pretty sure were more E88 kids. He started to walk towards me, drawing out his namesake and pointing it at me. "I think you owe me some money for wasting my time, boy. Also for stinking up this block with your-"

I pulled out my wallet, ripped the money Dad had given me out of it, and threw it in his direction.

Then I took off running. It was dumb...but as a teenager who had nearly died to this guy earlier and a much more dangerous parahuman version of him a bit later on, I focused on escape. This wasn't the time for negotiation, reason, or pleading...it was time for running.

On the plus side, none of his friends followed us, so I didn't need to worry about them cutting me off or something. On the other hand, one nazi was more than enough for a kid like me, because after only a few blocks he was close enough that I could hear his breath over my own.

I glanced back, seeing Knife Guy about 10 feet behind me.

Had I seriously survived Hookwolf only to get knifed on the sidewalk? Even after everything else, I still pushed myself to hold on. I could see a park just a few blocks ahead, and knew that if I could reach it I might be able to lose Knife Guy by...I dunno, climbing a tree or something.

Wait, what's that noise? Kind of a crackling, tapping noise. It sounds like that video I saw of...

I felt like the light of heaven was shining down on me as I looked past Knife Guy and saw a red-suited figure blur in our direction. In mere moments, running right alongside us, was the Protectorate's own Velocity, jogging normally as if he was merely out for a stroll. Racing stripes ran down his suit and met on his chest in a V, and he gave a little wave.

I must be hallucinating. It actually looks like the light of heaven is shining on him. He's glowing!

"Nice to see you kids jogging along, but don't stay out too late. E88's active tonight," he greeted us, missing the weapon Knife Guy was now hiding in his sleeve. I desperately tried to speak, but my lungs had long since given up. I let out a wheeze and motioned at Knife Guy, but Velocity mistook it as a wave and returned the gesture. "Hello. Well, I'm off. Have a good night, boys."

As he started to speed off, I felt like the life just went out of me. Velocity sped away in a blur, and I reached out, as if I could grab him and pull him back. His help, even for a moment would have been the difference between life and death for me. But I hadn't even managed to ask for it.

Just once...I wish things could go my way. Even when success is in reach, I screw it up.

I felt an emptiness in me, bigger than ever before.

Even now I could see Velocity like he was a glowing brand, a burning light in the darkness compared to the guttering candle that was Greg Veder. Unlike me he wasn't fading...he just kept burning bright no matter how far away he got. I could almost still feel his warmth, as if I could just reach out and touch his power.

He was so close I could have touched him. Even now, I feel like I can still grab him.

I daydreamed about reaching for him with an arm that was a hundred feet long, grabbing at him and pulling just a bit of his capability and success...pulling it back to me. The thought, the dream, warmed me inside. It was like one of those times where you wake up, and aren't sure whether real life or the dream was reality. I felt like maybe I could still win...

...and then Velocity turned the corner, and his light was gone. Too late. Some part of my brain felt like he was still right here, but that was just my wishful thinking. All I really felt was Knife Guy's breath on the back of my neck, a burning pain inside me, and the last bits of my adrenaline surging as panic began to set in.

I felt a burning in my gut, spreading through my whole body. It overtook my pain, my sadness, my everything...and even as my arms and legs got heavy and my organs felt like they were turning to stone, some part of me refused to give up.

With every ounce of motivation, fear, and willpower I had, I closed my eyes and gritted my teeth and gave one...last...push!

I felt something explode around me.

***

When I opened my eyes, I saw the world blurring around me. I was deafened by air blasting past my ears, and I couldn't breathe.

My feet hurt. My legs hurt. My chest hurt. Everything hurt.

I couldn't see! I couldn't hear! I felt like I was falling sideways and down and up all at once!

I tripped somehow, and knew that I was about to eat pavement or headbutt the curb. Instead, against all odds, it was like I was skimming along on the world's greatest waterslide.

I slowly slid to a halt, and found myself blinking up at the stars and moon, but there were...empty branches in the way? Everything was quiet, and even knowing that Knife Guy could appear at any moment...I couldn't stop myself from just wheezing and heaving.

I'm done. Body dead. Brain dead. Stick a fork in me. Just lie here and let him kill me.

Closing my eyes, I focused on breathing and getting my heart rate down. It was hammering like it was going to burst out of my chest. Breathing hurt, but I managed to slow myself down enough until it was less agony and more...really painful.

After minutes that felt like hours, I slowly rolled over and stood up. I then immediately collapsed to the ground again. Okay, going to have to take it slower. I carefully crawled across the ground, to a nearby tree that someone had left in the middle of this green street, leaned against it, and-

Was I in a forest? I looked around, my eyes finally adjusting without any streetlights, and saw that I was indeed in a wooded area. Was this the park I had been looking at a minute ago? The one a few blocks away? That meant...

I looked around, and indeed, a few blocks away from me was a street and some streetlights. I could just barely make out a tall blond guy with something shiny in his hand.

I should be happy, now that I'm safe, but all I can think about now is...

Through some strange confluence of fate and justice, Greg Veder finally had super powers!

There was no other explanation for how I'd managed to teleport from a few blocks away and escape Knife Guy just before he had been able to kill me. This was amazing news!

Closing my eyes as the dizziness continued, I pulled myself up to my feet using a tree, wincing as I felt muscles I didn't know I had screaming at me. Apparently I still needed more practice using my power, but time was something I had plenty of. Plus, as a Class-S Cape Geek, I had a wealth of knowledge, information, and skill at my hands.

Teleportation! Wow! This was like winning a power lottery, and pretty soon I'd be rubbing shoulders with people like Strider! Plus, it meant that I didn't need to ever worry about plane tickets or cars ever again. The possibilities were endless, and if I weren't already dizzy from all the oxygen deprivation and stuff I probably would have started jumping around and cheering.

Wait, am I really sure that this is teleportation? Eh, I can think about it later. Celebrate now.

Just for the heck of it, I tried a little hop and a cheer, but pain from many places (both internal and external) told me that was a bad idea. Instead, I took a slow and deep breath, groaning slightly as even my chest told me not to mess with it right now.

I felt a bit dizzy and turned around, but managed to catch my balance before falling over. No, I could do this. I was going to limp home, put ice packs all over my body, eat my weight in pizza, and then get to work on my new life as a hero.

Today may have been tough, but I could take it. I was truly a man now!

I opened my still-blurry eyes, and took my first step forward into my new life as a hero, responsible adult, and all around great guy!

...and immediately collapsed, scraping my face against a tree on the way down. I didn't even feel it, which really should have told me that something was wrong. I couldn't even catch myself this time, landing in a bush.

In retrospect, I should have realized that after running several miles on an empty stomach, going through all my adrenaline supply, and teleporting so hard I nearly died, there would be some costs.

As the world faded to black, I made a mental note to work on my cardio.

***************

Next time on From Hated to Hero: They say the best laid plans of mice and men often go awry. Since Mouse Protector doesn't show up until Arc 3, that probably means Greg's carefully-laid plans are about to crash and burn. It's one thing to daydream about what you'd do with powers, but another thing entirely to have them...and realize the danger of following through!

Edits 9Sept2020: As much as I loved kneecapping the E88, it was causing me way too many butterflies and brain-pain trying to make work. Add in the way I rewrote his trigger event to be more canon-compliant, and a lot of this chapter got a rewrite.

 

[Distraktion]

1.3: Understanding My Plans

Excerpt from Greg's Journal:
I started keeping a Secret Journal because of the pain I endured the day after I triggered. Pain that came from realizing how dumb I'd been, how mistaken about myself, and how foolish I'd been to trust only my own thoughts and dreams over what reality had been trying to teach me all along.

If I had just wallowed in those thoughts, spiraling ever downward into my own self-loathing, then that would have been it for my dreams of being a hero. But that's not what happened.

Instead, as I wrote the very first journal entry I began to realize that things weren't as bad as they'd seemed at the time. As each consecutive thought went onto the page, I was able to examine my feelings and see that I was blowing things out of proportion. That I could pick myself back up, try again, do it better, and that quitting wouldn't solve anything.

In a nutshell, I learned to handle disappointment because I was able to express myself and look back at how I'd felt before...and figure out how to improve because of it. I know it sounds easy, but with my anxiety even writing it down felt like I was exposing my deepest fears.

I hope that someday I trust someone enough to share it. Maybe even talk to someone, and have them talk back with good advice and ideas. A friend, a family member, a therapist...someday, when people have my back.

That's off in the future, thought. Right now, it's just me, and I'm going to keep trying things, no matter how much I'm afraid of what will happen..

Because if I don't try, I can't potentially fail. If I don't fail, I can't learn to do better.

Unfortunately, Saturday was a day where I failed a lot...but I'm stronger for it.

Because I was able to realize why.
GregV.

***

[Saturday, Dec 18, 2010]

I woke up to sizzling pain in my eyes, and rolled over to clap my hands to my face.

This actually caused more pain, but not from my eyes this time.

It took a minute, but eventually I calmed down and realized what had happened. Nature's version of a laser knife, a beam of sunlight, had cut through the trees above me, as well as my corneas. Some injury on my face had flared up when I clapped both hands over my eyes, making things worse.

My nap had restored my stamina a bit, but that was one of the few positives. I was sore all over, my clothes were muddy and torn, I had what felt like splinters in my face, and I had just slapped myself in that very same face. Last night had been...

Wait. Last night? Oh crap, last night! How could I forget...I'm a parahuman now!

I rolled to my feet and leapt into the air, thrusting both arms up as I let out a strangled cry.

Strangled, of course, because I had also forgotten that last night I'd wrecked myself running for my life (twice!), apparently teleporting 3 blocks, and then collapsing face-first into a tree before passing out. Still, I tried to put a positive spin on it, realizing that at least now I knew my limits.

Massive exhaustion is something I'm just going to have to get used to, now that I'm a hero!

Anyway, after a small amount of groaning and wheezing, I managed to lean up against a tree (the same one that had slapped me) and took stock of my situation. I did so mostly by examining my body, stretching and straining body parts, and making hissing noises as I rolled up sleeves and pant legs to examine myself.

On the plus side, the only parts of me that had actual bruising were my face and legs, though I could feel several scrapes and itchy grass stains on my back. Glancing in the direction I'd come from, I could actually see a line that traveled for about sixty feet through the long grass and had a strange swoopy part halfway through. Normally my shirt and jacket would have protected me, but I'd probably spun at that halfway point and been sliding feet-first after that.

On the minus side, my legs shared those grass stains and were a mess of bruises going from my thighs to my feet. It was easy to see without taking off my pants and shoes, because for some reason the seams on my pants had split and my shoes were...broken, for lack of a better word.

Finally, my face felt so bad that I was too afraid to even use my phone to take a picture of it. The whole right side of my face from the forehead to the cheekbone was throbbing, and putting a hand there made it sing with pain. There also seemed to be bits of bark there, and I felt little stabs whenever I poked at it. I probably had more than a few splinters, so for the time being I just decided to deal with it at home.

As I was examining the damage, I started to wonder what my power actually was. I mean, I was thinking it was teleportation, but now I was wondering if I'd blasted off or gone super-fast. It was tempting to go back to the sidewalk where I'd 'launched' from, but I wasn't sure what I'd do if someone asked me what I was looking for...or how I'd gotten hurt so badly.

Well, file it away for later. Right now I have to make sure I don't accidentally flash someone.

My shirt and jacket were in bad shape, but luckily I was able to fashion a sort of kilt with my jacket around my waist. It was early enough that there were only a few people even in sight, but it never hurt to be careful.

Anyway, with my stomach rumbling and my injuries not getting any better, I decided to start the trek home. I say trek because this was no walk in the park. I might have been in a park, but this was a limp at best.

I was sore as all heck, so much that even at half speed it felt like a bone was about to pop out of one of my legs. My face throbbed, my back itched (and hurt when I scratched it), and I had no money...so it wasn't like I could just take a cab. Oh, and my shoes were disintegrating.

Despite all that, I was still dancing on clouds and singing with joy (figuratively, of course).

Why?

Because. I. Had. Parahuman. Powers!

I mean sure, I'd had to nearly kill myself running for my life from a knife wielding Empire 88 goon, have my life flash before my eyes as I was nearly brain-stabbed in a dark alley, and a large assortment of whining and crying...but it was all worth it.

In retrospect, if I'd known that it took this much suffering to get parahuman powers I might have lived a lot less dangerously. Of course, if it became well-known, then helicopter parents would have gotten even worse, and mine probably wouldn't even have let me leave the house.

But seriously, what's up with this whole "suffering gives you superpowers" thing?

My mind wandered as I limped along, thinking about how people got powers in my favorite fiction. I wasn't sure if they were any better than this, but they probably hurt a lot less.

Why couldn't it be a special gene in a small number of the population that gave them amazing abilities when activated at puberty? Or maybe older capes recognizing the skills and passions of the younger, non-powered generation and gifting them powers as some sort of elaborate ritual. Maybe eating their hair or drinking their blood, for instance. I mean, yeah it sounded like something out of an anime, but at least that had some kind of rhyme or reason to it.

To distract myself from my sore body, and the embarrassment of knowing that people were looking at me like I was cosplaying as a car accident victim, I started to review my plans.

Back when I was younger, I had made a series of special Plans, capital P, for what I would do if I ever got superpowers. The dreams of a child, now made real by suffering and circumstance!

Even with all my pain and discomfort, the years-old plans came easily to me...

***

My first plan was the earliest one I could remember, made the day after some kids at school had teased me for my love of capes. I had been six, and while they'd liked superheroes as well, they always wanted me to play the villain because none of them were friends with me. When I had refused, they'd knocked me over and made me cry.

On that day, I had sworn revenge, and in a decade since then no bully had ever given me reason to rescind that need to revenge. That was why Plan #1 was:

Plan #1: Revenge!
Now that I had powers, I could finally get back at the bullies in my school, show them that Greg Veder wasn't someone to mess with. I could beat up all those jerks on the football team, challenge them in front of the whole school and take them out one by one. They'd all rue the day they-

Wait, maybe that's a bit too far? Exploding teleports probably make a fist fight...dangerous.

Okay, so maybe I wouldn't challenge them one on one, or publicly. Yeah, maybe start a bit smaller, with some pranks on the bigger fish? With teleport powers I could still troll the hell out of Sophia, Emma, and Julia, and they'd be so busy trying to figure out who was messing with them that they'd be exhausted in no time. I'd make them pay for...

Hmm, does that make me the bully? I'm basically using my power to pick on someone weaker...

Okay, so maybe I wouldn't just attack them out of nowhere. I'd have to pick my moment. Wait until they really deserved it, like while bullying someone. Oh, that was an idea! I could wait until I saw them picking on Taylor and swoop in, and she'd totally be thankful. I'd be a hero among the outcasts, and Taylor would forgive me and probably-

Hold on, would she really forgive me for the way I acted? Is that all it would take?

Plus, I knew from my own very recent experience with Emma that someone suddenly going from mean (or apathetic, in my case) to nice was suspicious as hell. This plan was...

This is a terrible plan. Why didn't I ever realize that before? It's so full of holes!

In comic books and cartoons, a character would sometimes realize that they were getting off track and slap themselves. In my case I relied on self-recrimination, since I'd always had a talent for putting myself down. I could sometimes ignore it, but now...I actually found myself embracing it.

With a sigh, I took a seat on a handy park bench and gently placed my hands on the sides of my head as I looked at my ruined shoes. Ostensibly, I was resting my sore legs, but I was also taking a moment to reflect on Plan 1 without any distractions.

For one thing, going straight for revenge would probably out me as a cape in no time. I mean, you don't just go from skinny loser to strong badass in a few weeks. Anyone would be able to look at me and realize that I was hiding something. Plus, they could just look at all the people being pranked, beaten up, and messed with to see that they all had me in common!

Worse, someone might even try to blackmail me, and that could lead to my family getting hurt. Given the number of gangs in Winslow, they might even force me to join one of them. The very thought of being forced into the E88 sickened me. How many more people would be hurt because of that?

That wasn't even including the trouble I'd get in for using my powers on non-capes. Like, jail trouble. Seriously, assaulting someone with a gun was one thing, but throwing a fireball at them was a whole pile of extra felonies and could even get you put in a special prison that you never got out of. Nobody wanted to go to the Birdcage, and this seemed like a sure-fire way to get on the path that would take me there.

Self-defense seemed like a nice excuse, but considering how much time I'd spent planning this there was no way I could say I didn't have means, motive, and opportunity. No, this would have been premeditated...I had seen enough police procedural TV shows to know how this would go.

I'm spinning myself in circles, trying to avoid thinking about the part that hurts the most.

But what had finally made me stop and want to slap myself was the whole "help Taylor and she'll forgive me" thing. Even if that wasn't the most hackneyed plotline in all of entertainment, it completely ignored the fact that one good deed couldn't undo a hundred bad ones! Especially after I'd spent the better part of a year watching her get bullied and not interfering, for fear that they'd do the same to me. Hell, I had even joined in yesterday!

I'm part of the problem. It has to be something more powerful than just one grand gesture.

I had a lot to make up for, and couldn't just use powers to get out of the hole I'd dug myself into.

I'm going to have to be better. Not just for her...but for everyone.

I was glad that I had considered Plan 1, even if I now understood that it was a terrible plan.

So many things could have gone wrong. With a smile that hurt, I reflected that following a plan made by a six-year-old probably wasn't the smartest choice I could have made. I'd have to remember that in the future.

With that determined, and with the understanding that I was not in a good headspace for plans...I climbed to my (still very sore) feet and started walking to the bus stop.

***

I got more than a few stares on the bus, and found that looking out the window wasn't really helping my self esteem. Wanting a distraction, I found my mind wandering to Plan 2. I had created it when I was 12 years old, so it was far more nuanced than simple revenge.

Plan #2: Rebirth!
By the time I was 12, I had already realized that Greg Veder was a loser at school and that my attempts to reinvent myself online were also doomed for failure. I decided that if I ever got powers I would be best off just starting 100% fresh. Indeed, this was an opportunity to finally toss my old personas away and start anew.

Today could mark the day that figured out my powers, and practiced them as I beat up criminals and took down the gangs terrorizing Brockton Bay. The ABB, Empire 88, anyone else who dared to challenge law and justice? Greg the creepy loser would be my secret identity, XxVoid_CowboyxX would sing my praises online, and my brand new cape persona would be someone that everyone loved.

A cool name, a cool costume, some catch phrases, I could make a new me! I could be whoever I wanted, starting fresh and being a hero that people could look up to! Best of all, the loser known as Greg would actually work out in my favor, since as far as secret identities went he was perfect. The New Me would be so different from Greg that nobody would ever suspect us of being the same person!

Except that he'd still be me. Greg is still Greg, even with powers and a costume.

The bus stopped and I quickly got off, hoping the pain from my legs would distract me from the painful and dream-shattering logic going through my head. I walked down the street, ignoring a blonde jogger who saw my angry (and ravaged) face and gasped loudly at me. Her reaction made it hard, but I struggled to get back into my happy mindset.

This was a good plan! My parents would see Hero Greg on the news and talk to Normal Greg about how cool this new guy was and ask "Why can't you be more like that hero?" My brother would be able to reduce his workload making special tech for medical use and instead become my gadget guy! My whole family would love the new hero, and the failures of Greg Veder would just fade into the background as I became a hero 24/7!

But he wouldn't really be me, would he? He'd just be another mask I wear. I'd still be under it.

I'd still be the same Greg. Bad plans, stupid decisions, and no friends. Some hero.

I stopped, the jogger swerving around me, and felt like I was going to fall over. I lifted one of my arms and stumbled to the side (luckily not the street side) until I found a brick wall. Soon my arm gave out, and found myself leaning against the wall.

"Are you okay?" The woman just wouldn't leave me alone, and I just nodded instead of answering her. Rather than leaving, she took that as an opportunity to keep talking. "I just wanted to make sure, because you look kinda...hurt. I know some first aid, I can help if you want."

"I'm fine," I rasped out, turning away from her, and just saying the first thing that came to mind. "It's just makeup. I was up all night with friends, and didn't get much sleep."

"Wow, it's really realistic," she chirped, taking a drink of the tiny water bottle she was carrying. She leaned in, then sniffed. "You really went all the way on this! My boyfriend is always talking about how creative some of his students are, but I'll bet you put them to shame!"

Luckily for me, her phone rang, and I was spared from further questions about my "costume." She wandered off, chatting with whoever was on the other end of the call, and I took that time to walk around the corner into an alley. With any luck, she'd go away soon.

Her conversation quickly faded from my range of hearing as I found a nice brick wall to lean against and have a minor breakdown.

At least with Plan 1, I would only have ended up in jail. Plan 2 would've erased my life entirely.

I slowly slid down it until I was sitting, and hugged my knees to my chest as it hit me just how horrible a life like that would have been. It had seemed so cool when I was a kid, so easy to just start all over and forget about what little I'd built in the past decade or so.

How pitiful am I, to dream of my own parents insulting me just to praise an ideal version of me?

What kind of person imagines just giving up on the life they've spent 15 years building in favor of a new one that hasn't even existed for more than a few hours? One that might not even happen if I couldn't figure out my powers, or if they turned out to be something lame?

...and with those realizations running through my head, Plan #2 died a painful, flaming death. I began to wonder if there was something wrong with me, if I should see a doctor. Like George.

I wish George was here. He'd know what to do. He always does.

***

Plan #3 burst into life, and I grasped at it as I closed my eyes and rested my forehead on my knees. I ignored the pain from my splinters, thinking instead about all of the many times when George had been right and I had been terribly, embarrassingly, horribly wrong.

Plan #3: What Would George Do?
He was the responsible one, and Mom and Dad never doubted him for a moment.

When he'd said he was going to take a large course load so he could finish college early and start helping people sooner, they just asked how they could help. When he'd said he'd be taking on a part-time job at Medhall while still working on his doctorate, they offered him his old room in the house. They loved him, always bragging to friends about his skills and knowledge.

He was never wrong, he never faltered, and his plans always worked.

Meanwhile, in the past 24 hours, the only thing I'd managed to do right was escape a nazi, and even that took multiple tries. I'd fallen for a deadly prank, been knocked down by a bully, alienated my only pseudo-friend even more, and blown myself up.

Yeah, real good job there Greg! You survived! That'd almost be an accomplishment if it weren't for the fact that (Emma's prank aside) you were the one who put your own life in danger in the first place. Nobody gets awards for surviving a car accident after they caused it in the first place.

George would never have fallen for that. Hell, he'd have gotten Emma arrested for trying it.

Maybe George should have been the one to get powers. He'd probably have figured them out right away, and been saving lives alongside the Protectorate within the day. He'd be nationally known by the end of the month, and have a thread on PHO a thousand pages long.

Maybe I should call him. His big party was last night, but I'm sure he has some ideas.

Checking my screen, I saw that my phone had gone dead. So now Plan 3 was dead less than a minute after I'd made it. Par for the course with me, I supposed.

No more plans. It's time to go home. Get cleaned up, eat, and think. Stop wallowing in self-pity.

People were starting to fill the streets and I didn't want to have to explain to them (or the police) how I'd gotten so bruised and scraped up. I really just wanted to go home.

I was sure my family, at George's big fancy party, had had a really great time. That nobody had died, nobody had gotten hurt, and everyone was happy. There might even have been people with powers there. People who deserved them.

But...did they deserve them? Villains got powers too. They did terrible things with them.

No, I can't think like that anymore. Now I know that powers just happen. There is no "deserve."

For once, my self-doubt was...oddly supportive. Despite my limp, I found my gait steadying.

Come to think of it, powers really did seem to be entirely random. Maybe there was some rhyme or reason to how they happened or appeared in people, but just going around pretending that some people were more worthy than others was...dumb. This wasn't something like genetics or money, it really did seem to be some kind of random chance (with a side order of suffering).

That meant that I had powers whether I wanted them or not, whether I thought I deserved them or not. They were a part of me now, and I had to be willing to step up. I couldn't just give up and pretend that my parents or brother were going to fix this for me. This was my problem now.

My problem. My powers. My family. My solution. My future.

I have powers now. I have to be smarter. I have to think things through.

No matter how much it hurt, no matter how terrible some of my plans might have been…

I couldn't give up anymore.

****************

Next time on From Hated to Hero: How nice that Greg was thinking about his family towards the end. They weren't even around, because they were at a big gala awards thing last night in Boston. It was a party thrown by...Medhall? Well, maybe not all is as it seems!

Edits 10Sept2020: Cleaned up the start a lot, as well as trying to explain Greg's reasoning for the Secret Journal and his disappointment in himself more. While the original version worked great for drama/angst, it didn't actually help the character grow, or help him figure out what he's doing wrong. Though it's still a bit of a downer chapter at times, I feel like my dear friend the Italicized Gut Feelings really helped it seem as though Greg was throwing out ideas...and then realizing why they were bad ones. It also ends with some hope for the future...

 

[Su5pect]

This is pretty interesting. I'm excited to see if Greg will actually act different when he gets back to school.

 

[Distraktion]

This is pretty interesting. I'm excited to see if Greg will actually act different when he gets back to school.

Click to shrink...

Thanks! I was kind of worried that people might start to get bored since the majority of this Arc is taking course over Winter break. Luckily I have some Interludes (aka "what's everyone else up to") and more than a bit of experimentation/investigation throughout. I mean, someone can only change so much in a week or two, but hopefully by the time he gets back to school he'll be at least a tiny bit more...self-aware.

 

[Bbbbb]

A Greg story, cool

 

[Distraktion]

Edit 31Aug2020: Kinda rewrote the whole chapter. Fits a lot better, because nazis are terrible.

*******************

Interlude 1: Masquerade Party

[Greg's Dad: Stanley Veder]

When you become a father, there's no manual. This has always puzzled me, because it seems like there's a manual for just about everything else. When I give someone a tube of Kerasal for their feet, I'm required by law to also give them a little booklet explaining all the ins and outs that let them not have to call a trained podiatrist for anything regarding the cream.

I mean, it has all the simple stuff, like how you shouldn't eat it, not to put it in your eyes (bad idea), and how it interacts with other medications. Pretty much the only thing it doesn't tell you is how to avoid ever needing it again, but that would put me out of a job. Best and worst thing about being a doctor is that all you need is patience, and you'll have patients.

Ha, a bit of doctor humor there. It's not really that funny, but then again laughter is rarely the best medicine. That would be Morphine.

I got a million of 'em! One thing I don't have a million of, though, is kids. Just have two, George and Greg. Tubes are tied, so it's not like we'll ever have more. Honestly though, looking at the first one right now, I couldn't be prouder. We'd come to Boston with him and his girlfriend, so he could get an award from his company and we just couldn't say no.

I do worry about my boy Greg from time to time. I'm not just thinking that now because this is the longest he's been left home alone since that time he recreated the trapped house from Home Alone (he must have watched that movie a hundred times, until he could repeat Channing Tatum's character's lines perfectly) and nearly brained his brother.

Greg is...special. I don't mean that in a bad way, but he's always had the family passion...he just lacks any kind of goal or dedication. I loved medicine, comedy, and Sandra, so I became a podiatrist because I wanted to help people and feet are funny. Sandra loved books, reading, and organization, so she became a Librarian. George loved medicine, helping people, and technology, so he went into medical implants and research.

But Greg loves capes, cape culture, filmmaking, talking, the internet, and...he doesn't seem to have any real long-term goals in mind. He could work in PR for capes, report on news for capes and culture, or any other thing he put his mind to...but he just spends all his time hiding in his room and playing silly games. I worry not about his future, but what he wants it to be.

As I gazed across the party, ignoring the mass of people all chatting and pretending to eat the fancy food, I saw the woman I'd dedicated my life to so long ago. The most beautiful woman in the room, Sandra's heels put her at eye level with me, her red dress made sure I wasn't looking at her eyes (just kidding), and her bravery filled me with hope for the future. She'd certainly been brave enough to marry a lout like me, and blew me a kiss before attacking the buffet.

George was already moving off to join her, a step ahead of me as always.

Meanwhile, I was usually a step behind...as I got to the buffet and found my wife already scraping up the last of the crab dip. This wouldn't have been so bad, if not for the fact that a very annoyed man was glaring holes in her at the time. This was made doubly bad by the minor detail that the man was wearing plated armor and a mask. According to his nametag, he was...Bastion.

Well, I was sure that we could work out our differences. Weren't all hero capes supposed to be nice people? Besides, Sandra was pretty nice once you got to know her. I smiled as a nice waiter handed me a drink, and found myself lost in its swirling depths.

***

How would I describe Sandra? Well, that's a bit of story going all the way back to high school...

The first thing I learned about Sandra was that she had high standards. She wouldn't talk to me unless I greeted her first, waited for her to greet me back, and I had fresh breath, clean hands, and combed hair. This was why I'd blown her off at first, admittedly.

At the time I was just a big lunk whose only claim to fame was being able to play football, by which I mean I was good at tackling and taking hits. There might have been more to life, but I wasn't the smartest kid back then. In my defense, this was in the time that we had Fred Flintstone telling me to smoke and my Dad was having steak and whiskey for every dinner.

Of course, this was the same Dad who always said that my grades being bad wasn't a big deal (because I could just play football) and that my stutter made me 'endearing.' There's a reason I haven't talked to Pop in over a decade.

Anyway, at the time I just thought that she was a pretty girl and I wanted to date her, so I found myself in the library after school trying to talk to her. I soon found out that we had nothing in common, but she didn't treat me like an idiot (as much as others), so I kept coming back.

It took a week, but she finally broke down and gave me a response other than dismissal. Maybe she just felt bad for me, because she asked me what I'd do for a date with her. I replied "Anything," and she handed me a book. Told me to learn it, then come back and see her.

Now, I'd like to say that it was a book on feet and that's what made me into the podiatrist I am today, but that'd just be contrived. I could also claim it was Latin, and that's how I got into the medical field. Perhaps I could say it was Romeo and Juliet (which is not a romance, no matter what the internet may tell you), and that I returned to sweep her off her feet.

In fact, it was none of these things. It was a book of 101 jokes, with a little section at the start on public speaking, stand-up comedy, and voice exercises. She'd overheard other kids making fun of my stutter, and remembered using that same book to work on her own enunciation.

It worked wonders for me, just as it had for her. I read that book every night, practiced the standup, and slowly got over my stutter (thanks to a few other books by the same author). Sure, it took a few months, but it was worth it. Because I returned to school one day and…

Well, kids still made fun of me. A book wasn't magically going to change that.

But now, I didn't let it bug me. I marched right into that library, asked Sandra out, and within a few years we were married. There were a few breakups, arguments, and an incident with a tractor on a frozen lake that she has sworn me to never speak about, but we got there eventually. We've had two handsome boys, and I look forward to growing old with her...or becoming immortal, if George invents it before we both pass. It's both of us, or neither.

Wow, I can't remember where I was even going with that story. Oh, right, I was trying to say that Sandra is a very complex and-

"Dad, a little help over here?" George yelled, breaking me out of my train of thought. I glanced up from my drink to see him standing in front Bastion, whose chestplate seemed to be covered in very expensive crab dip. The hero's hands were starting to glow with a sort of flickering aura, but Sandra was already grabbing a handful of something off the buffet that looked like it stained.

Ah, my Sandra. I wouldn't trade a moment of our life together for anything.

***

"Try it and I'll make sure you never step in a library again, you mouth-breathing, rust-covered, walking armor stand!" Sandra was fairly vibrating in my arms, and luckily I had kept up with my exercise after quitting football because she was damn strong. I'd once seen her suplex Aunt Gertrude after the old woman called Sandra's blueberry pie 'subpar.'

"You have no idea the power a Librarian wields, bucko!" Sandra belted out as George continued to stay between the two of them. She waved an arm in the man's direction, adding "You think they call her the Library of Alexandria because she uses an e-reader? Just try me!"

This wasn't the first time I'd seen her get riled up...I mean, there's a reason we've been banned from the Veder Family BBQ for three years running. Gertrude was only a 1-year ban, if you can believe it.

Still, I felt her tap my arm twice, then once, then twice again, and knew she'd calmed down. The tapping meant that she needed an exit, and that it was time for me to be the vehicle for that.

"Okay, I think we're just going to head towards the balcony to cool off." I raised my voice, cutting off whatever the hero was about to say, and he sent one more glare at our family before wandering off to find some napkins. I saw him get into an argument with a man in an impressive PRT dress uniform (and quite a few ribbons).

I lifted Sandra as gently as I had the day we'd crossed the threshold, swung her around 180 degrees, and then set her down and held out my arm. She took it, completely calmed down, and I muttered, "Name-dropping Alexandria? Really?"

"Nobody ever believes me, but she really did drop by a few years back and borrow a copy of 'I, Robot.' Read the whole thing in ten minutes, muttered something about someone named Richter, and then handed it back over." Sandra always smiled a little as she told the story, and I'd long since stopped teasing her about it. "Then she told me to 'keep up the good work' and that I shouldn't be too hard on the boys...but just hard enough."

"Probably a good thing I wasn't there," I leaned in and pecked her on the cheek. "There's no way I would have been able to keep from saying 'That's what she said.'"

"Stanley, no!" Sandra slapped me in the chest, bursting out into giggles. She did her best to glare at me, but the laughter made it hard to feel bad about the joke. We leaned on the railing beside the window, stopping just short of the cool breeze coming from the open balcony around the corner. "She'd have knocked you through a wall, and I'd have let her."

"Who's knocking dad through a wall now? Also, is there a line, because I think I still owe him for telling all those bad jokes as my last birthday." George approached, his girlfriend on his arm, and the two beckoned Sandra and I towards a stage that had been set up near the edge of the party. "C'mon, guys. This is the whole reason we came. If I don't get recognized or praised at least once an hour, my poor fragile ego just shrivels up and dies."

I opened my mouth to make an obvious joke, but Sandra stuffed an hors d'oeuvre in my mouth. We all had a chuckle, and then quieted down as the lights dimmed. A spotlight flicked on, illuminating several people on stage, and I saw George speed-walking to the edge of the stage to join his fellow award-recipients.

"Welcome, all of my friends, family, and employees." The man was dressed in a fine suit that probably cost more than my car. He was handsome, looked to be in his mid-30s, and in excellent shape (probably thanks to a personal trainer). "As many of you may know, I am Max Anders, CEO of Medhall. Thank you all for coming, as we honor some of the greatest minds of the next generation for their achievements that will save millions of lives in years to come."

He certainly had a way with words, captivating the crowd, and I could see most of the people around us smiling and nodding...hanging onto his every word and motion. I reached out and took Sandra's hand, squeezing it and noting that she was already getting teary-eyed.

Not because she was proud, or from the thought of our little boy growing up so fast…

No, it was because Max Anders, CEO of Medhall, was a nazi.

And we have to stand here and pretend to clap for him.

***

"-and although I have been spending far more time here in Boston, my heart still lives on in Brockton Bay." Max held out a hand, pretending that he actually had anything other than a blackened heart in his chest. "I know that I'll soon return, and thank you all for being strong."

The crowd cheered, and Max finally turned to the award winners on stage behind him.

Meanwhile, Sandra and I just smiled fake smiles, clapped our hands, and pretended that this facsimile of a human being wasn't the greatest threat to humanity since Allfather kicked the bucket.

It was hard to blame them, though. Most of these people were probably unaware of the things Sandra and I had seen, now that we were able to read between the lines and see what hid beneath the lily-white exterior of Medhall. E88 parahumans spotted near their headquarters in Brockton Bay, the children of their employees getting arrested for hate crimes, and of course the way that none of the E88's targets ever seemed to be related to Medhall.

It's there if you know to look for it, but nobody ever wants to look. They just want to ignore it.

So while Sandra cried tears of anger, holding herself back only by a thread of self-control, I just seethed. I told myself little jokes, trying to distract myself from the overwhelming urge to run on stage and strangle Max Anders. I knew that Sandra would back me up, choke-slamming that blonde bimbo behind the man without a second's effort. We'd laugh, and then everyone would…

...probably kill us, because at least a half dozen of these people are probably parahumans.

"Stanley? Sandra?" Melody's voice, no longer the squawk it had been years ago, gently moved past my ears, and our gaze was drawn to her. I put on a goofy smile, and cocked my head at her. She returned the smile, and whispered, "George's award is going to be any moment now, if you wanted a picture?"

I thanked the girl, smiling, and turned away. I had no words for her right now, as angry as I was already at Max, she'd just get caught in the crossfire. It was rude, I know...but both Sandra and I were still wary of the girl despite the kind way she spoke about our son. It wasn't that we were paranoid or anything, this was based on objective fact.

I'd called in a favor almost two years ago, when the two of them started getting serious. Call it the overreaction of a father who had too many patients in law enforcement. We'd run a background check on Melody, just on the off chance that she had some sort of dark past.

A day later, we were both visited by a short, pale, stocky man who wouldn't laugh even at my best jokes. He told us that he was from the PRT, that he had some forms for us to read and sign. I asked what would happen if we didn't sign, and he just smiled and called our son in to join us. George sat down, sighed, and filled us in on what he could with a kind voice.

An hour later, both left, and we sat in shock at what we'd discovered. It hadn't been much, only enough for George to maintain his cover and assuage our fears, but it was enough. Most important of all, he told us himself that it was going to be okay. We were assured that what was happening was his choice, that he was protected from her, and that he was damn good at his job. I tried to let the first and third of his statements distract me from the second...but I still wondered about Melody's scars from time to time.

They were very similar to a member of the E88 who was rarely seen these days.

But I didn't look into it anymore, since his parting words had been to say that by treating them like ordinary people at an ordinary company, a great source of evil and corruption might finally be stopped. It burned me up inside, but I had to trust my boy...and pray for him.

"-presented to...George Veder!" On stage, Max was putting an award around George's neck, and I saw them both smiling and shaking hands for the camera. The lights went down on stage, awards complete, and Sandra wiped her eyes as I waited for George to return to me.

Why would anyone willingly work for that disgusting man? Oh, he's coming over. Smile!

"Dad, you have a moment?" George's voice pulled me out of the funk I was in, and I quickly put a smile on my face. I had to remind myself that despite all the fascists around us, this was George's night, and he was getting an award for his efforts and research. Even now it sat on a little ribbon around his chest, the Max Anders Award for Scientific and Medical Innovation.

"Sure son, who's your friend?" I smiled and it took every ounce of willpower to let Max shake my hand, fake wincing as he squeezed it with a strong grip. "Oof, with a grip like that I hope he isn't a proctologist, haha!"

"Ha! George and Melody did say you had a sense of humor." He turned a pair of brilliant blue eyes on me and smiled, "I'm Max Anders, CEO of Medhall. Pleasure to meet you in person."

Oh god, their Grand Dragon is on a first-name basis with my son. What fresh hell is this?

The moment he had finished kissing my wife's hand (she always was a good actor), I tried to get his attention and avoid having to talk about...well, anything serious. "So, Max, as two men who work in the medical field, I'm sure you know all about having people...foot the bill?"

"Ah yes...you're a podiatrist, aren't you?" Max's smile dimmed for a moment, and behind him I could see George put his face in his hand. "Tell me, Stanley, has anyone ever come to you asking if you can make them a better dancer by giving them two right feet?"

"Ha! You'd be surprised!" We were both grinning now, and I decided that if I couldn't beat the man to death, I would at least waste his time with every bad pun in my arsenal. The more time he spent talking to me, after all, the less time he had to stomp on puppies or whatever.

***

The next fifteen minutes passed rather quickly, and soon Max's erstwhile date got bored and came to join us. Her name was Jessa...or was it Nessa? I'm pretty sure I called her both, and she didn't really seem to notice. Anyway, the blonde bombshell struck up a conversation with Sandra about Old Norse poetry, and she seemed rather taken with both the history and symbolism in the various works.

Of course, I was so into trying to one-up Max with bad puns that I completely missed it when a new person entered our little group.

"Ah, so this is where you got off to, Max!" The newcomer was tall, broad shouldered, and had hair that was just starting to go grey at the temples. I also noted more than a hint of booze on his breath, as well as a slight stumble. The sizable glass of what appeared to be paint thinner in his left hand was probably the culprit. "I had to let my lady leave, my youngest was getting fussy, but I wanted to make sure we had some time to talk about business before I left."

"Business, of course...where does the time go?" Max's smile almost vanished entirely, and he turned to gesture towards us as introductions were made. "Stanley, Sandra, George, this is James Fliescher. He's a pharmacy CEO that Medhall works with, and a dear...friend. We've done quite a bit of business together. James, I believe I've mentioned George to you before, and these are his parents, Stanley and Sandra."

"A pleasure to meet you all," James replied, giving each of us a handshake that felt far too firm and lasted quite a bit longer than it should have. He turned an eye to Melody, smirking at her. "Melody. A pleasure to speak with you as always."

George must have shared some of his lady's annoyance, because he quickly stepped forward and "accidentally" bumped against James' arm. The large man spilled his drink, much of it slopping onto his shoes and making us all remember what shoe polish smelled like.

"Oh, I'm so sorry. To think, I actually had been looking for you, James!" George pretended to fret, pulling out some napkins and patting at James' hand nervously. "I was hoping to talk to you about some new ideas I had for the ongoing crisis in Brazil over Antiepileptic drugs. I've heard that you often do business in that area, so I had hoped you may have some insight into the matter?"

"I see." James, surrounded by several people (including the CEO of Medhall), wore a rictus grin of a smile as he handed his mostly-empty drink to a nearby waiter and allowed George to lead him a few feet away from the rest of us. "I suppose I have a few minutes…"

"Thank you so much, I promise it won't take long." George grinned and winked at the rest of us, then straightened his face and added, "While we're talking, could someone grab a fresh drink for James? Perhaps some coffee since he's got a bit of business to talk about soon? I could also use some decaf, whoever's going."

Melody had already started to walk off with Max towards the open bar, muttering to us that they'd only be a minute. Meanwhile, George continued to chat with James, and the large man's expression quickly relaxed. My boy seemed oddly happy for the chance to talk to such an important (if horrible) person.

Minutes later, after Max and Melody had a quick conversation, and I saw her point at Bastion. I knew that Melody worked for Medhall as a Security Officer, though I doubted that was her real job. While the CEO looked at the cape in question, I did my best not to react as Melody twisted at one of her rings and slowly moved that hand over one of the mugs.

As if she'd just been testing its heat, she then picked up two other mugs and said something to Max. The distracted CEO turned back around, noticed his and James' coffee, and dutifully grabbed one in each hand. As they returned to us, I felt oddly disappointed that Max took a sip from the mug that hadn't been treated strangely. Soon they had rejoined us, mugs handed off.

"Bleah." James made a face and sound, giving a small smile as we all chuckled. He took another drink, a bit longer this time. "I will never get over the bitter taste of American coffee. Max, I will be out on the balcony, come find me when you are finished with your...friends."

"That I will, James. Thank you for your patience." Max smiled thinly at James, and then turned to the rest of us as the older man nearly fell into one of the padded benches out on the fancy balcony. The party had started to calm down, and some people were already leaving, so there were only a few others out there with him. "I appreciate your patience, all of you. Much like coffee, James is a bit of an...acquired taste."

We chuckled at that, and began to say our goodbyes. Max kissed Sandra's hand again, and I saw the knuckles of her other hand turn white as she smiled a big fake smile. Max left us to go speak to Bastion, the hero already staring daggers at my wife as we made a hasty exit.

The Veder clan (plus Melody) were soon waiting for the valet to fetch our car. We laughed as we stood there, already writing the story in our heads of the time we had to leave a gala event to avoid Sandra having to get into a second fight with a hero.

George assured us that the ribbon-festooned PRT officer (Director Armstrong, of the Boston PRT) would have stepped in. I didn't even question how he'd known about the man.

It had been a good night, as far as attending a nazi party to support your son's clandestine activities went. I'd give it a...six out of ten.

Tomorrow, we'd return to Brockton Bay, and hopefully find the house still in one piece.

Maybe Greg would finally come out of his shell a bit, make some friends he was willing to bring home (like that Taylor girl he was always talking about), and have some sort of plan for his future. If not, he might even be willing to talk to us about what seemed to be troubling him lately.

If nothing else, we could talk as a family, and find peace together. Everything was right with the world, and as long as we had each other, nothing could possibly go wrong.

Just as we were leaving the gala's parking lot, an ambulance and a police car sped past us, lights flashing. It didn't escape my notice the way Melody and George smiled at each other.

I was proud of my boys, both George and Greg...I just wished I could do more for them.

***********

Next time on From Hated to Hero: Greg tries to figure out what the heck his powers are, and perhaps realizes that WHY someone wants to be a hero is sometimes more important than what they can do.

Edit 10Sept2020: Realized that I was spending WAY too much time trying to AU the E88 into being weaker. Fact is, they barely figure into this story, other than a way to explain certain aspects of George's relationship with Greg. So I nixed a lot of the AU elements of their appearance in this fic. Essentially, it's standard canon E88...except that Max spends a bit more time in Boston for some reason and the E88 capes are a little less obviously public.

 

[bigking321]

Is George dating cricket?

Huh. That's pretty cool.

Neat, looking forward to more.

 

[Aurora Moon]

Well, I can see where Greg gets some of his worst traits from.... heh.

 

[Shunyata]

This is really getting good man, What exactly are Greg's powers ?

 

[Distraktion]

Well, I can see where Greg gets some of his worst traits from.... heh.

Click to shrink...

It's funny, I'm actually rewriting another Interlude at the moment that has George in it, because I realized "Wait a second, this guy is acting way too calm, collected, and easy-going to be a Veder...much less Greg's older brother. Nah, I can do this better."

This is really getting good man, What exactly are Greg's powers ?

Click to shrink...

Thanks! Well, since I don't want to spoil them specifically, I can tell you that next chapter he'll be reviewing over his experiences with his powers up until now, and trying to figure out just what they are and how they work. There's going to be some trial and error, some imperfect assumptions, and what I hope are the semi-realistic actions of someone with more passion than patience. I know it's kind of silly to say, but in a few chapters when he finally gets some confirmation, it'll make sense why he didn't just start using them from the get-go.

 

[Distraktion]

1.4: Understanding My Powers

Excerpt from Greg's Journal:
As a kid, I always liked to imagine myself with powers. Not just because it was cool and I was a kid, but because of all the potential that was there. I loved coming up with different ways to use powers that other people thought were lame, or to squeeze every drop of possibility out of an idea.

It made for a very active fantasy life, and I have several videos that George helped me make about all these cool heroes I'd thought of. For a while I even had notebooks full of powers and combinations that seemed really amazing.

That was actually one of the things that got me into collecting cape merch. I'd spend every allowance on cards, collectibles, figurines, and clothes, because I looked up to the heroes they represented with every fiber of my being. I was still young enough that I thought maybe one day I'd be one of those heroes and little kids would be looking up to me.

When I came home with my powers, the first thing that went through my mind was how amazing things would be once I figured out what they were. This led to a problem, because they were incredibly hard to figure out, and I started to get desperate. I got reckless. I got hurt.

It's bad enough being a desperate teenager, but one with powers? Far worse.
GregV.

***

[Saturday, Dec 18, 2010]

Focus on a location...imagine myself there...and...damn! Still nothing!

I gave up on the latest of my attempts and finally entered my neighborhood. I'd been trying for the several blocks, and was finally starting to consider that my power probably wasn't teleportation. I reflected on the fact that confirmation bias...is really hard to overcome.

Confirmation bias, as I frequently forgot, was when someone heard new evidence or facts and bent it to fit an idea they already had. It wasn't not something you should try to make a habit of, especially for those prone to passionate hyperbole or jumping to conclusions. People like me.

So now after several minutes of trying to teleport, I had started to think that maybe I'd jumped the gun on my dreams of being the next Strider. In fact, I had even started to worry about what my powers actually were. What if I just exploded myself in directions? No, I had to calm down.

Home! I can eat, apply first aid, and all the things smart people do when hungry and injured.

By the time I got home I'd cheered up, since it's hard to stay sad when you've got powers. I decided to put aside any thoughts of the future until I dealt with the present. I was just lucky to make it home with my clothes and shoes (mostly) intact. Walking a mile in someone else's shoes was one thing, but a mile in shoes that were falling apart was something else entirely.

I used my key to unlock the door that I definitely locked before leaving the night before, because I was a responsible adult, and went inside. I realized I was all alone in the house, shrugged (painfully), and disrobed right then and there. It was a lot easier than it should have been.

I mean, I had seen magic shows where people had tear-away clothes, but this was my first experience doing it myself. My pants were shredded, my shirt a gooey mess, and even my socks looked like I'd been using them to clean a brick wall. I ripped it all off on my first try.

After that, I limped into the kitchen and just started gorging myself. Manners and such would have been nice (or at least silverware), but I was running on empty and had too many injuries to count, so I think I got a pass. All the leftovers in the fridge didn't judge me for my messy eating habits. Besides, I went straight from there into the shower...though I might have gone too fast.

Cranking the shower knob turned out to be a horrible mistake. Not because the water was too hot or cold, but because everything hurt, and water was a part of everything. I was actually glad that I was the only one home, because I let out such a yell (shriek) that I'm pretty sure my parents would have broken the door down if they'd been within a block of the house.

I gritted my teeth, breathed deeply through my nose, and waited until the pain simmered down from "The Siberian tearing me in half" to "Alexandria beating me with a nerf bat." It was a dull pain, and I felt every individual drop as it hit me.

Then I added soap, and it spiked back up to the previous level. Great.

But in the end it was all worth it, because about an hour later I was sitting in my room with more bandages on me than that time I had gone for Halloween as a Mummy. Specifically, from those movies that came out in the late 90s starring Bruce Willis and Demi Moore. Personally, I preferred the third one, but a lot of people always said the second one was best because of the Scorpion Lord (and that wrestler who played him, Steve Austin).

Anyway, I think I used up all the bandages in the house, but my scrapes and bruises finally felt...less horrible. Best of all, while I had been dressing my wounds I'd let my mind wander a bit to distract myself from the pain (of which there was a lot). During that period I had come up with a new Plan.

More plans seems like a bad idea. Am I really sure about this one? It sounded...painful.

Telling myself that I couldn't let a bit of pain distract me, I dug around in my room to find a notebook, then started writing. This was a plan that would call upon my vast cape expertise, as well as that of people who weren't me and that meant that it was less likely to suffer the same pitfalls of my own plans.

It was pretty straightforward. Before I could start working on names, costumes, personas, or anything else important, it was very important that I figure out what my powers actually were. I mean, I had my suspicions, but it was better that I know my strengths (and limitations) long before even thinking about going out in the field.

Just imagine how red my face would be if I discovered I was bulletproof but not knife-proof!

Come to think of it, don't normal people have a weakness to getting stabbed by knives?

...I carefully crossed that one off my list.

Needless to say, I quickly hunted through PHO for all the threads I had bookmarked on the subject of Power Testing. Some of them were posted by the PRT, others had come from leaks and theorizing, and still more came from Roleplaying threads by nerds who I suspected of being secret villains. A few weren't even that good at being secret villains, since I was 80% sure that N0tL33t was actually Leet.

Anyway, once I had all my data gathered, I quickly set about organizing them by powers, tests, and materials, then recorded it all in my notebook and headed out of my room. I had put on a tracksuit to cover up my copious bandages, as well as grabbing a cloth mask in case any of the neighbors saw me. I grabbed Dad's camera and tripod on the way downstairs, and set them up in the backyard pointed at the wall of the shed. It was nondescript enough that if someone got this footage they'd be unable to figure out who I was or where it was being shot.

The camera was important, because some of my results might only have been visible from a third-person view. Stuff like glowing, for instance. That was another reason for the shed, it was dark and well-sealed, providing a nice environment for several of my planned tests. I grabbed a few special materials out of the shed, avoiding the beehive that Dad had been promising to do something about for years. It had been a warm winter, and was even warmer in the shed, so I could see a bee or two poking their heads out of the little hive.

I left them alone for now, but I did feel a rumble in my tummy as they made me think about honey. I was probably still recovering a lot of body weight from my power usage the night before, as well as all that running. I didn't even want to think about how many calories or whatever I'd burned. I don't know cooking or nutrition, but it was probably a lot.

Jogging back inside, I quickly ate my bodyweight in microwave pizza, then sighed. I had left a huge mess, and knew that these tests would probably take all day. Grumbling, I carefully cleaned up my dishes and put my destroyed clothes in a garbage bag, then grabbed a few power bars from the cupboards and headed back outside.

***

The camera was flipped on, and I turned to the first page of my notes. I had interviews, I had patience, I had countless experiments planned, and I had the wealth of the internet at my fingertips. It was time to find my powers!

Plan #4: Finding Greg's Powers with Online Power Testing Suggestions

Teleportation (Mover)
Strider, one of the most well-known teleporters in the country, had once said in an interview that he had to call upon a perfect memory of place. Other teleporters, like the ABB's Oni Lee, required line of sight. Either way, it was a matter of destination and concentrations.

I spent several minutes staring at an open space of the grass in our backyard. I got on my knees and examined the spot, pushing every detail of the grass, clover, and dirt into my brain. I focused, closing my eyes, despite every ounce of my will...nothing happened.

Nope, not a teleporter. On the plus side, I didn't explode this time either. On to the next suspect!

Super Speed (Mover)
Velocity had claimed that he just "flicked a switch" in his mind, but had also been very cagey with talking about his powers. Other speedsters described it differently, but all of them seemed to involve some kind of movement that went beyond their own physical power. I had literally just watched the man, and aside from an odd blur around him he hadn't even seemed winded. The blur also made him seem to have a hazy aura, but that may have just a Breaker state…

Either way, I spent a painful chunk of time running around the backyard, trying to push myself to overcome my physical limits. I say "painful" because my legs still felt like someone had tried to kneecap me and missed the first dozen times. Still, no blurring, no speed, no...fast.

Another one bites the dust. Maybe...maybe I should sit down for a few minutes. Hoo boy.

Super Strength (Brute)
Nearly every Brute I could find info about online seemed to just be strong all the time, and had trouble dialing it down. Glory Girl once gave an interview (which her mother got taken down) where she said her strength was super 'all the time' and that was why she sometimes overdid it when it came to hitting stuff. I felt bad for her, because like me people judged her based on her mistakes. I guess that was some food for thought.

Anyway, this one seemed much easier to test. I had tried lifting some of Dad's weights, to move them outside for testing. They weighed 25 pounds. I gave up after a minute. This test wasn't even worth trying.

I really need to start exercising. No matter what my powers are, I need to be stronger.

Super Toughness (Brute)
...I dropped one of the weights on my foot. Nothing got broken, but I didn't have Toughness.

Well, at least that one was fast. I wonder if there are any more ice packs in the freezer?

Tinker of Some Kind
There were loads of articles and videos about Tinkers. One thing they all had in common was the fact that they would see electronics and tech, and be struck with ideas. This did not happen to me. Not even when I dug some random tools and parts out of a box in the basement.

Probably for the best. I'm not exactly swimming in cash, and being a Tinker seems expensive.

Thinker
I played a few really hard games on my computer, as well as taking some Mensa tests. I scored well, but not well enough to be any kind of Thinker. Also, I'm pretty sure the computer was cheating at chess, but my powers didn't let me punish it. Double letdown.

Well, that's one less headache to worry about. Dang, Dad would have loved that joke.

Trump
Eidolon, one of my favorite heroes, was usually pretty tight-lipped about his abilities. Somehow he'd once made a throwaway remark to a reporter after an Endbringer fight, and that held a clue that very much interested me. Mainly, because it sounded similar to my own escape the night before. Essentially, he said that his powers came from what he called need. He'd focus on what he needed, form a power that fit those specifications, and then...there it was.

Which is why I spent a good five minutes standing in the shed, door closed, focused on the fact that it was totally dark. I could hear the bees buzz a little, knew there were some sharp objects around me, and that I'd be in danger from both. Despite all that, I didn't start glowing or get night vision. I did stub my toe, though.

Eh, probably better that I'm not a Trump. Their powers are always so strange and confusing.

Blaster
No matter how much I pointed at things, grunted, and tried to focus on bringing my inner energies out, nothing happened. Not even when I focused on electricity, fire, acid, ice, water, time, wood, metal, dreams, force, ki, chi, qi, happiness, anger, and anything else I could think of.

Given how I tried to attack George when he poked me with a broom, maybe this is for the best.

Shaker
In interviews I'd seen with both Vista and Narwhal, both had admitted that the first time they used their powers it was as a reaction to danger or surprise. Vista had said she separated two people who were annoying her (though that interview was deleted). As for Narwhal, she said that someone had tried to hit her soon after she got her powers, and a shield just...appeared.

My own experiences were less dramatic than theirs. I recorded myself throwing a baseball into the air and then standing there while it came down and clocked me on the head. I'd like to say that I manifested a force shield like Narwhal's. I'd love to say that I ignored it the way The Siberian ignores physics. I wish I could say that the ball froze in the air on top of my head like some sort of odd hat, like when Clockblocker touches things.

None of that happened. I just got hit in the head with a baseball and went down like a sack of potatoes. To add injurious insult to injury, the ball bounced off the shed and I landed on it on my way down, leaving a huge bruise with baseball-stitching running down it on my shoulder.

Why couldn't George have been into tennis instead of baseball? Maybe some calmer tests…

Stranger
I only needed a few minutes of staring at one of my neighbors as he watered his lawn, focusing with all my might on him not noticing me, to feel creeped out by myself. Also, he saw me.

Yeah, being a Stranger would lead to way too many terrible opportunities. My rep's bad enough.

Changer
Staring at magazines just made me jealous of how much better looking than me all the men and women were. Imagining my body changing to match theirs was equally ineffective. I even ran through all the elements again, but felt no affinity for any of them. I did get jealous, though, at how happy some of the models seemed.

This is starting to hurt my self esteem…but at the same time I'm afraid to try the next one.

Master
Testing a Master power was a lot harder than the others, because in my own head I really didn't want my power to be that. Everyone knew what had happened to Canary, and Masters generally had a really bad reputation...but I didn't want it for two of my own reasons. First, because people would look at my past and instantly think the worst of me. Second, because my own thoughts earlier today had told me that I had poor impulse control...so I was the worst possible person to actually get a Master power.

Despite that, I still walked around the neighborhood (without my mask) and did my best to try and...ugh...control people and animals. Luckily, aside from getting some odd looks, nothing happened. Nobody fell to their knees, did the things I mentally commanded, or declared their devotion to me. Their dogs also remained aloof. A bird tried to poop on me.

Later, as I stood in front of the shed and stared at one of the little bees buzzing around its door, I remembered the time one of them had stung me years back. I was so deep in the memory that, as I was recalling this painful experience, a bee actually landed on my hand...in the same place I'd been stung all those years ago. It was a hell of a coincidence, and then my eyes bugged out.

Wait, is...am I some kind of Bug Master? Holy crap! Okay, let's see if I can get it to do stuff.

"I will call you Susan Bee Anthony," I told the bee, already trying to remember the feeling I'd had when first making it land on me. Bug powers were kind of lame, but it was my first success and we already had a bee hive so I expected to make it a part of my early training. "Don't sting me, but protect me from my enemies. I will make you a Queen, Susan, and together we wi-"

Susan stung me.

I said a very bad word, very loudly, while Susan flew off to go die in some place that traitors and liars go when they want to die. I climbed to my feet and went off in search of an ice pack. As I was icing my hand I noted that the sun was setting, and decided to call it quits for the day.

Time to order a pizza, put on new bandages, and think about how tomorrow can be better.

***

As I munched on another slice of pizza (meat supreme with spinach and mushrooms), I considered that maybe I had gone into my power testing with my expectations too high. The reason my tests had gotten more and more desperate, and why I'd been willing to trust info I got off the internet, was because I had assumed that I would just get it at some point.

I had watched plenty of anime and read many comic books, and several of them had a trope where the protagonist would train like crazy on some new technique with no luck...and then suddenly get it when they least expected it. The knowledge had been drilled into them, and they just needed that one thing to make it all come together.

It was like that movie, The Karate Kid (starring teen hearthrob Corey Feldman), where Daniel trained in washing and waxing to learn proper discipline and movements. He got really annoyed at his sensei (played by George Takei) for not teaching him to fight, but the sensei held firm. Daniel eventually went to a fighting championship and realized that his movements matched those of actual fighters, that he just had to stop thinking so much and follow his instincts.

Then he made an illegal move and won the girl. I'm...not sure what the message was there.

Anyway, I had thought that there was the tiniest chance that I'd eventually just have such an epiphany. That all my efforts would get me to the edge of exhaustion and my failures would push my mind to its limit of patience. That it would hit me, like a bolt of lightning, and suddenly my powers would unleash. But no, I'd just hurt myself with a bunch of dumb tests.

I didn't let my failures get me down, though. Look at the bright side!

Now I had a long list of things I had tried that hadn't worked. This might have seemed like a bad thing, but I was trying to get in the habit of being positive. This was a good thing, because now I had knocked a whole pile of stuff off my list. If I ever came across any of these tests again, I didn't even have to spare them a thought. This was progress!

So, was my Hypothesis wrong, or the Research? This is what I get for trusting the Internet!

Hmm, I was pretty sure that either way I was going to have to start from scratch. But again, this was a good thing, because each time I went back through the experiments and questions I was sure to see something new. This was why I was keeping my journal, why I had written everything down, and why I had been recording my tests…

Crap, I left the video camera out in the backyard. Better go get it.

I got up and put the leftover pizza in the fridge, my appetite having finally tapered off. I stood there for a moment, taking solace in the cool and soothing feeling of cold air on my many bruises. I almost didn't hear the sound of a car engine outside.

That car has a very familiar knocking noise. Sounds kind of like Dad's car...

Already full of pizza and distracted by thoughts of what tomorrow might bring, I wandered to the window and moved a curtain a bit to take a peek. It was hard to see since the lights were on inside and the street lights were fairly dim, but...

Not only does it sound like the Dad's car, but it also looks like it. Wait a second.

Ten seconds later, I was halfway up the stairs, having taken off just as I'd heard a key rattling in the lock of the front door. Against all odds, I didn't trip and fall back down the stairs, and managed to make it to my room just as I heard the door open.

Right, Mom had said that they might be back tonight. Guess I got caught up in the testing.

Or maybe the whole "multiple near-death experiences" thing distracted me.

I knew they would have questions and comments on the current state of my body, so I scratched up a quick note and stuck it on my door, then flicked the lights and slipped into bed.

"Greg, honey, are you-" Mom's voice cut off, and I heard her fingernails scratching at the door as she lifted the hastily-written note I'd taped to my door. I could hear her muttering as she read it, and did my best not to hold my breath as she considered whether to let me "sleep" or barge in and ask how an "art project" could exhaust me enough to go to bed at 8pm. It worked, though.

After that, there were a few mutters and creaks as they got ready for bed. As yet another board squeaked, I made a mental note to use my powers to fix some of the flooring in this house. It was going to be impossible to sneak in and out with the wood screaming every time I came back after successfully defeating criminals in town. Maybe I could just fly out the window?

Fixing the house? Fighting criminals? I can't even make a decent plan, or figure out my powers.

Ah, there was the old self-doubt. With my body and mind too active to sleep, my anxiety had started to creep in. I couldn't get up, use my computer, or move around...heck, I could barely move without rolling onto one of my wounds. So my mind started to wander, even as I heard my parents and George getting ready for bed.

Instead of thinking about my family, though, I was thinking about my Plans. Not about making new ones, or trying to fix the old ones, but something far more pressing. I wanted to try and figure out why I was so garbage at making plans, and why I had never realized it before today.

***

I decided to boil them down to their core principles and think critically. It wasn't easy, but I had to learn not to make the same mistakes over and over...and looking at my most recent mistakes was a great place to start.

Plan #1: Revenge. Use my powers to beat up bullies and those who tormented me.

Or, put another way, use my powers to hurt people who I think deserve it, based on what they did to me as kids, as well as to impress people and show off. Not heroic. Kinda criminal, really.

Plan #2: Rebirth. Create a cape persona, and focus all my attention on making it amazing!

...at the cost of my existing persona, Greg Veder. Sure, I might be a hero, but I'd have to give up on the guy under the mask. Sacrificing 15 years of Greg for a chance at something better.

Plan #3: George. He's older than me, smarter than me, and makes better plans than me.

But he's also not me. If I keep running to George and my parents for everything, I'll never learn to handle my own problems. I can't always depend on them...someday, they'll be gone.

Plan #4: Powers...forget the future, focus on now. Right now, I need to know my powers.

Focusing only on right now was stupid. I put myself in real danger in the past 24 hours. If I keep this up, I won't have a future. Focusing entirely on my powers is a bad idea.

Hmmm. Well, I recognized my mistakes thanks to the magic of hindsight, but that didn't really help me decide what to do next. Maybe instead of looking to my own present or future, I should look at other people's past and present? See what the parahumans before me had done?

Being as quiet as I could, I slipped out of bed and over to my computer. I searched around PHO, and then the wider Internet when that didn't help much. I was looking for news stories about other people in my situation. Teenaged capes who got powers and had shown problems beforehand. Kids who came from broken homes, had serious discipline problems, or were just plain terrible...and then got powers.

The results were, in a word, bad. Most of my info came from comments made by anonymous friends or family of the parahumans, but they all spoke of lives that powers only made worse.

• Acidbath was a sociopath who triggered and went straight into murder. Ended up in the Birdcage.
• Damsel of Distress was homeless and was surmised to be a victim of domestic abuse.
• Blasto once mentioned that his family kicked him out and shunned him.
• Redacted records show that Lab Rat was skipping school (bullies?).
• Shadow Stalker was a Ward, but she'd killed a guy before they "recruited" her. I heavily doubted that she'd grown up in a nice house with a picket fence
• That new Tinker, Bakuda, supposedly had snapped from family and school pressure before going villain and blowing a guy into tiny pieces.

It was pretty damning evidence. People who had tough and crappy lives before getting their powers ended up as either crappy people...or outright villains. I couldn't let that be my future.

I sat there in the dark for hours, only lit by my monitor's glow. I tried typing a few things out and did a few more searches, but nothing really stuck. Then I started thinking about how I would do something like this without powers, and something started to click.

Even this research came from me thinking of other people. Maybe that's the answer?

Hmm, hypothetical scenario...removing myself from the equation...

Okay, so what if I had a friend and they got powers? If they were depressed, felt like their family didn't love them, felt overshadowed by an older sibling, felt shunned by their classmates? What would I say to someone who wasn't me to help them? What could I do, that would help them overcome their weaknesses, recognize their strengths, and still juggle life and their powers?

I thought about it, eyes closed and hands on my keyboard...and then I began to type.

***

By the time the sun was just peeking over the horizon, my fingers danced across the keyboard as I worked on a new password-protected document. This would be my journal, and I'd use it to document this journey I was taking. I had even gone back and written entries for the last day or two, just to get caught up. I knew that this new plan-

No! Not a plan. No more plans. I'm not making any more plans until I can trust myself.

No, I knew that this was the right path.

I would delay my heroic debut. I would make sure that by the time I was ready to do stuff like make a costume and start training, I was the best Greg I could be. I had to learn how to look at myself in the mirror and be proud. I had to make sure that the man under the mask was just as strong as the powers he held!

I mean, I might train my powers a little, but nothing as extreme as what I was doing yesterday.

Those hadn't been the actions of someone who wanted to learn about themselves and help others...they were the actions of a desperate child. I could never be someone like that if I wanted to help people...much less help myself. No, I was going to make a better me.

With today's entry done, I scrolled up to the top of the journal and gave it a snazzy title:

From Hated to Hero: Making a Better Greg, So That Greg Can Be the Best Hero Possible

It was a bit verbose, but that's Greg Veder for you. Even if I changed, I'd still be me, at heart.

Yeah. I think I can make this work. What could go wrong?

Just after I hit Save, I stood up from my chair and my back let out a sound that I barely heard over the intense wave of both pleasure and pain that rippled down my spine. I'd never been healed by Panacea, and probably never would, but I was pretty sure this was how it felt.

I rolled my chair back a bit, wincing at the sound of its broken wheel scraping on the floor, and looked up as I heard a squeak from the hallway.

My door opened, and George stuck his head in. "Hey, Greg, I was wondering if we could-"

He stopped.

He saw me, covered in bandages, tired, with a huge bruise on my face. Without a word, he stepped into my room, and shut the door behind him.

Oh right, that could go wrong. You know, now would be a great time for my powers to kick in.

But unfortunately, I didn't manifest a power that reversed time. I didn't suddenly have a Stranger power that made him forget he saw me. Hell, I didn't even get another painful teleport!

Thanks, powers. I totally don't get you at all.

************

Next time on From Hated to Hero: Greg has a calm and rational discussion with his beloved older brother, who helps his parents understand Greg's odd situation. No, wait...the exact opposite of most of that. Also a lot of yelling, because they're siblings. It might not end well.

Edits 11Sept2020: Originally, the idea was that Greg would go through a bunch of wacky homebrew power-testing, having no luck because he's a Trump. It made for some nice physical humor as the poor deluded Greg beat himself up for nothing...but was also really heavy on the crack. As vignettes, I think it works better, without losing the point of him being passionate and desperate. In a few chapters he's going to be trying to act different, and needs a foundation.

 

[Distraktion]

1.5: Understanding My Brother

Excerpt from Greg's Journal:
I don't hate my brother, George. Full stop.

Sure, I have trouble understanding him, but a lot of that is because of how absent he's been. He's always busy with his job, his work, his girlfriend, and so much else...I've always been afraid of trying to cram myself in there as well. You know how a sandwich can squeeze some meat out of itself when you take a bite, and that's a sign you overfilled it? You just eat it later, or leave it.

Well, as I see it, that's also a sign that maybe that one meat, cheese, or condiment shouldn't have been in there in the first place. So when I got shoved out of George's life, I quickly gave up on getting back in. I just waited for him to get back to me...and eventually decided he'd left me.

But sometimes I wonder if I should have fought harder. Not just because I missed my brother, but because maybe he was like that sandwich-eater and hadn't realized I'd fallen out. It's selfish, I know, but I always figured he'd just come back for me.

At a certain point, I guess I stopped waiting.
GregV.

***

[Sunday, Dec 19, 2010]

My injuries would've made most shy away. But George, a doctor in all but title, did the opposite.

"Greg, what the hell did you do to yourself?" George started to walk towards me, reaching out a quivering hand in my direction. His face had shifted from annoyance to confusion in the blink of an eye, and I backed away in response. George had a good few inches over me, and the last thing I wanted was for him to try dragging me out to Mom and Dad to get scolded. "Seriously, what is all this?"

As incredibly tempting as it was to just tell him everything, we really weren't brothers like that anymore. I'm sure the George of several years ago would have been beside himself with support and ideas, but the George of right now was...different.

He might have outed me, and I didn't want all my ideas about improving Greg to die only hours after I'd made them. George was such a fuddy-duddy that he'd probably tattle to Mom and Dad, they'd force me to join the Wards, and then it'd be high school all over again. I needed a plan.

Oh right, no more Plans. How about...tactics? Let's start with Tactic #1: Fake wounds.

"What? This?" I glanced at my arms and legs as if I was surprised to see them wrapped in bandages and covered in dried blood. I intentionally dropped my jaw a bit (which actually hurt, when I had a bruise this big on my face) and sighed. "Oh, this was just from that art project I was doing yesterday. Yeah, it just looks bad, but it's not real."

My acting was superb, but there was a lot of evidence to the contrary. I was wearing shorts, so it was hard to hide the fact that my legs looked like I'd tie-dyed them with purple and red dye. George stared at me silently, disbelieving.

Fine, maybe I can just play it off. I'm a Veder, we're survivors. Tactic #2: Not so bad.

"Look, George, I know what you're going to say, and I totally get it. This may look pretty bad. I mean, bruises, cuts, this baseball-shaped bruise on my shoulder…" I trailed off, then noticed his eyes bulging as he saw that one mark from yesterday where I fell on the ball and it left the imprint of its stitching on my arm. "But it's really not that bad. I can barely feel it!"

"Well, we always have had really high pain tolerance in the Veder family." George laughed, turning around as if to leave...and then sprinted across my room so fast that I doubt his feet touched the ground. Obviously my fine-tuned parahuman senses were still running a bit slow, or my powers decided I didn't need fast reaction time, because my guard was wide open.

He poked me in the middle of the bruise, and I decided to examine my bed for soundproofing.

...okay, so I really just shoved my face into my pillow and screamed in pain. The point is, that actually really hurt, and as a doctor-to-be George should have been ashamed. After I'd caught my breath, he sat next to me on the bed and gestured at my obviously not fake injuries.

"Look, Greg...I know what this is about." He started, his voice strangely kind and quiet. He very gently placed a hand on the bed between us as his eyes sought mine out. "I found the blood in the bathroom, cleaned it up, and I've noticed the way you really throw yourself into your escapism lately. I understand your...situation better than you think."

He sounds like he THINKS he knows something. I can just go with it. How close can he be?

"You're getting bullied at school, and got beaten up or pranked...or both, right? I know how that is, and I want to help...but you need to be honest with me." It was hard to be mad at George, especially when he looked so worried. At least he didn't say- "I'm your brother...I love you."

Shit. Why couldn't he have noticed any of that at any point before today? Now what?

I mean, if he'd come and talked to me about this sort of thing a day ago, I'd be opening up to him about the Popular kids, Taylor, and just about everything else right now. Thing is, my mind was already shifting in another direction because it was obvious that George knew me a hell of a lot better than I'd thought. Maybe...maybe I really could trust him with my parahuman status?

The problem was, my relationship with George had been crappy for a while.

Worst of all, it was almost entirely my own fault.

***

Despite how I treated him now, George had actually been a good brother up until a few years ago. He came home from college, not exactly by choice, halfway through his senior year at Boston University. That's when things started to go downhill, and looking back I sometimes think it was a lot more my fault than his.

He had been sent back home due to some hardcore villain fights going on in Boston, and his university gave everyone the option of finishing out the year from home. Mom and Dad were ready to handcuff him to his bed if he tried to go back, so George moved back in with us. He went back into his old room, I helped him, and we were a family again.

For the first week or two it was just like old times. George was smart as heck, helped me with homework, hung out with me all the time, and loved to talk to me about capes he'd seen. I mean, we'd always liked to play superhero and read comics together, but now he'd actually been right there in the action, and I had so many questions!

I think that it was about a month after he got back that I noticed he kept cutting out of our conversations early, saying that he had to go take care of something. I knew that he was a big college guy who could drink and drive (never in that order), and I didn't want to cramp his style too much. But, at the same time, he was my brother, and my anxiety would kick into high gear and tell me that he was just saying those things to get away from me.

That was what led me to following him one day, after he'd cut me off halfway through a question about the Clockwork Dogs, saying he had a call to make. I managed to keep out of sight as he went down the block, around the corner, and into a small dog park near our house. While he was calling someone on his phone, I was crouched behind a trash can and listening in.

The conversation was with someone he called "Zoe." He thanked her for having time for him, saying that he still had nightmares about someone named 'Damsel' trying to kill him.

He seemed really happy when he found out that his first aid had made a difference after this "Damsel" had cracked Zoe's "shell" when she was protecting him. My mind was racing a mile a minute, and it's a good thing I wasn't on PHO back then or I might have been perma-banned that night for outing the cape known as Snubnose as being someone named Zoe.

Anyway, after a pause, he went on to admit that the reason he was calling was that he was having trouble sleeping. That his little brother kept asking about capes and villains as if it was all some kind of game, and he didn't know how to make it stop without causing some real pain to our relationship. That he didn't want to destroy his brother's world with the truth.

Now, in Brockton Bay, we'd always had a lot more villains than heroes. It had never really affected me, though. I just read my comics, watched my cartoons, and made home movies of a red-caped Greg fighting a blue-masked Greg, or using action figures. It was so simple and innocent.

But there I was crouching behind a trash can, spying on my big brother as he broke down into tears at the thought of his little brother asking him just one more question about capes. How it wasn't a game, but his stupid brother just couldn't stop pulling at those threads day after day!

That he still couldn't forget all the people he'd failed to help…

...or all his classmates who hadn't been so lucky, and had died that day.

After that, I didn't really talk to George much for a while. At least, not until he noticed I was kind of shutting him out and decided to play a prank on me. I, of course, pranked him right back, and it became a war. For a while those pranks were our only real interactions, until they stopped.

Later on, he got a job, a girlfriend, and spent as many nights with her as possible. He spent more and more time at his job, and some weeks would go by where I'd barely even see him. The few times we interacted, if I brought up capes he'd just ignore me...especially for villains.

I knew that my brother hated me, hated what I was becoming with my love of cape culture, and frankly...I kind of hated him too. The one thing we had in common, and he had to ruin it.

But he wasn't the only one at fault, and I had to come to terms with that.

***

Capes had torn us apart...could they bring us back together?

"George, you're not wrong. But there's more to it, and I need you to swear that you won't tell anyone." I sighed, looking up and him and did my best not to flinch as I felt his hand settle on my least bruised shoulder. With a soft murmur, he swore to keep my secret, whatever it was, and thanked me for trusting him.

Okay, here we go. My unmasking...before I even have a mask, name, or know my powers.

I took a deep breath, looking him in the eyes, and said, "George, I'm...a parahuman."

He was silent, and between us I could feel the vast gulf that had formed between us slowly shrink. Our brotherly bond had been torn asunder a long time ago, and since then it had gotten worse. But now, with the two of us working together, we could start to be a family aga-

"Okay, show me your powers." George chuckled and held his hand out in front of him, as if I could put my powers in his palm. "Prove it. Do something super. Heck, do anything at all."

"I can't!" I exclaimed, scooting back rather than swatting at his hand like I wanted to. He smiled, and I did my best to keep a cool head, just in case my powers were anger-activated and made some sort of Dimension-slicing wave or a Organic-Material-Destroying Telekinesis. I looked down at my hands, clenched in my lap. "I can't get them to work right now. They worked Friday night, when I was running away from Knife Guy, but-."

"Knife Guy? Who the hell is that?"

Oops. Well, I guess if I've already outed myself, may as well tell the whole story.

"Oh, that's not actually his name." I smiled at George, and he began to return it as if this was one of my improperly-timed jokes, but then his face froze when I added, "He was just an Empire 88 gang member who had a knife and was chasing me on Friday."

George had nothing to say to that. In fact, he seemed to have blue-screened. It was probably a good thing I hadn't mentioned Hookwolf, or he might have died on the spot.

George is being very quiet. This is my fault, I need to give him more context. Where to start?

I started to get nervous, and so I did what I always did when nervous...rambling like a Veder.

"Oh relax, he didn't catch me." I paused, then rocked my head from side to side, looking up at the ceiling of my room and starting to fill the silence with words. "Well, I mean, he did catch me and tried to stab me, but then I managed to teleport into a park. Although it might not have actually been a teleport per se, but really more of an explosion or a sudden power burst."

George remained silent, and looked like he was vibrating in place slightly. I mean, I had always heard the phrase "warring emotions" before, but this was the first time I'd ever seen someone whose emotions actually seemed to be fighting inside of them.

He probably thinks I'm an idiot. I need to show him that I'm responsible. Where are my notes?

"But don't you worry about a thing, George! I didn't just come home and start tearing things up in the house or putting together a silly costume, no siree! I did my research, and made scientific tests..." I smiled widely and waved one of my notebooks at him, seeing his eyes glance at them and his shaking hand reach out and take it from me. "Admittedly, I got them off the Internet."

As he read over my notes, I went on, "I put together a series of tests that, while sometimes painful, were perfectly suited towards testing all manner of potential abilities. Now, while none of them actually proved much of anything, I taped all of it on Dad's video camera, which is out in the shed. Once I get clear of Mom and Dad today, I plan to put together a new set of tests and get to work on further experimentation and scientific-"

"Greg, stop! I just...I need a minute to think." George closed his eyes, took a breath, and then opened his eyes to look at me more clearly. He dropped my notebook on the bed, and started to pace around in the room while shaking his head and wringing his hands.

Finally, he stopped and turned to face me. "Look, Mom and Dad are going to be up any minute, and they were talking last night about wanting to go to Church as a family this morning. I think we both know that neither of them would believe this whole 'I got super powers' story of yours even if you didn't look like one of Bonesaw's failed projects."

"Actually, she claims that none of her projects are ever really failures," I pointed out as George moved to the door. "She calls them 'happy little accidents,' and says that anything worth doing is worth practice. Murderous rampages aside, that's a really good point."

"It is, but it's also not my point, Greg." George rolled his eyes, then motioned for me to get into bed. "Look, I'm going to go come up with some kind of lie to get Mom and Dad to give you the day off, so you just stay in bed and pretend that you're...I dunno, sick or something? Also, no talking about powers or anything else in the meantime, got it?"

"No problem." I got settled in bed, leaving only my face sticking out and grumbling slightly as I realized that I had run out of bandages to cover up my terrible-looking face. As he opened the door, I realized something. "Hey George? Thanks for helping me out like this. I know we don't always get along, but this? Having my back and keeping my secret like this is really...nice."

"Yeah, I guess it is." George turned to leave, and as the door shut I heard him mutter, "I'll always do what's best for you."

***

Ten minutes later, after listening to movement, muffled conversation, and then the less-calming shouted conversation (mostly Mom), my door burst open. Mom immediately crossed the room to my bed, and I was afraid for a moment she was going to drag me out. Instead, she just squinted at me, let out a huff, then walked back to Dad and hugged him.

That's not a good sign. Should I pretend to cough or sneeze? Wait...is she crying? Oh no.

"Stanley, I just don't know what to do with this boy!" She let out a little sob, and I began to feel like maybe I should say something. George, just outside her field of view thanks to the door, rolled his hand at me in the time-honored signal of Go With It, so I just stayed quiet and looked miserable. It wasn't hard to pretend, as any kid who's ever made their mother cry knew.

"Mom, I know it looks bad, but we Veders are always really passionate about what we do, and in this case Greg just let his eyes get ahead of his common sense." George entered and gave her a one armed hug, moving across the room to sit next to me on the bed. "The thing is…"

Then George dropped the bombshell.

"I mean, how could he have known that the face paint he was using for his cape video would stain his skin like this? He's really broken up about it already, so how about we ease off of him?"

What. Seriously. What the hell, George? Face paint? They're never going to buy-

He put an arm around me, purposefully pressing right down on the baseball bruise as he gave me a one-armed hug. I let out a little gasp as blinding pain shot through me. "Shhh, there, there little hero, it's okay."

"Well, as long as it washes off by church next week, I suppose we can let this slide. But you'd better make sure that he knows the difference between these different styles of makeup in the future, George." Dad acquiesced, and gently guided Mom out of the room. He rubbed one hand on her back as they left, calling to me. "I'm never going to tell you not to follow your dreams, Greg, but in the future try to look before you leap. You really could have gotten hurt."

"Don't worry, Dad, I'm sure Greg will never do anything this dumb again. Especially now that he knows how painful it is...in his heart." George pressed on my bruise again, and I didn't have to fake my groan. George called after them, "You two go ahead and get in the car, I'll be there in a minute. I just need to read over these makeup tubes and make sure they won't have any lasting effects, then dispose of them properly after I write down the phone numbers and such."

"You're such a good brother, George." Mom replied, then began shuffling down the stairs with Dad. "You'll be an excellent father someday."

As I heard them leave and close the front door, George quickly got up from the bed and turned to face me. I glared at him balefully, and prepared to voice my concerns about his actions in the time-honored tradition of a brotherly argument...with plenty of four-letter words.

***

"Now, Greg," George backed up a bit, holding up his hands in surrender. "Before you go flying off the handle, think about how well that worked out and how little it cost."

"Oh right, I forgot to thank you." I gingerly got out of bed, slapping away his hands as he reached for me. I started moving around the room and tidying up just so that I didn't have to look at his smarmy face. Finally, I slammed my hands into my nightstand and turned to glare at him.

This might actually be the worst prank he's ever pulled on me. My reputation is shot!

"Mom thinks I painted my face with bad makeup, so I've lost any credibility I had for buying more. Dad's going to make jokes about it, and probably bring it up at family get-togethers." I paused, raising my middle finger at him. "Oh, and you also scored bonus 'good son' points by ratting me out as an immature idiot. Thanks so much George."

"But on the plus side, now you have a week to heal without them asking about all the bruises and cuts, and by then maybe you'll have a better excuse." George tried to reason with me, using his usual twisted methods of introducing logic and stupid reasoning into what was supposed to be an emotional family argument. "Besides, if you would just come clean with them we wouldn't have had to lie. Seriously Greg, you don't need to make up lies about powers because bullies-"

I was right before. It's a good thing I don't have a Blaster power, or I'd blast George right now.

"It's not a goddamn lie!" My voice broke, and I barely kept myself from screaming at him. Mom and Dad may have been in the car outside, but I hadn't wanted to give him the satisfaction of hearing me lose my temper. "Stop treating me like an idiot! Stop acting like this is a joke!"

I used his stunned silence to stomp forward and stab my finger at him. "I triggered! I got powers! I'm trying to figure them out! Worst of all, I trusted you and you think I'm lying!"

"Damn it Greg, I'm trying to help you, but you make it really hard." George held out a hand and started to count on his fingers, ignoring my angry glare and stabbing finger. "You never talk about school or friends. You spend all your time on the computer. You make your videos alone. You're covered in bruises after a day of school. Just admit that you're being bullied already!"

"Well no shit I'm being bullied, but that doesn't mean that the other stuff can't be true as well!" I grabbed my notebook, flipping through it to the information I had collected on parahumans pre-trigger. I handed them to George, and he looked down at the information that directly linked at least one horrible experience to the appearance of almost every parahuman out there. Now that I had experienced it firsthand, it was a wonder I'd never realized it before. "Look at those notes, and you'll see that parahumans all experience all kinds of bad shit and it makes the-"

"Being bullied and having a shitty day doesn't make you a parahuman, Greg!" George threw my notes back at me, then turned around and put both hands on my wall as he leaned his head against it. His voice was quieter, and I thought he might have been holding back from either crying or yelling. "I lost people close to me to villains, to the E88, to disease...and none of it ever made me trigger! I used to get bullied and teased every day for being a nerd and a skinny wimp, but I never got powers! I had so many problems and so little good...I wanted to escape."

So, I was right before. He only went to college to get away from us. To get away from...me.

"Was it really that bad?" I asked, but I'm not sure why. I had spied on him, after all. I knew. "So bad that you had to run away from everything? From...me?"

"Yes I...no." George turned back around, but kept his eyes on the floor. He took a deep shuddering breath, and shook his head as if to clear it. "No, I realized that I had to overcome that, to toughen up, to learn to deal with it and get the hell out of there. That's why I'm telling you all this, because if you're going through the same shit I want you to know you can come to me. I can help you, Mom and Dad can help you...you don't have to hide in your comic books, games, and forums to escape. Let us help you, please."

I want to believe him. I want to trust him. But I...can't. He keeps lying to me.

"I'm not hiding from anything, George." I was tired, so damn tired of trying to explain this over and over. Every time I thought he was starting to understand, he just cycled right back to reminding me that he still thought I was making everything up about my powers. I was glad to hear that he'd had bullying problems as well, but it was all worthless if he was going to keep treating me like a child when it came to the powers that I had. That he kept doubting me.

He keeps doubting me. He's making me doubt myself. Why? Why is this so hard to believe?

"I just want you to know that I've beaten this, and that we can beat it together, Greg." He started walking towards me, but I was done with this. I was done with him. It didn't matter if he was there for me with bullies and depression and loss and everything else...if he couldn't even give me a tiny bit of trust when it came to my powers then I didn't want any of it. "It's just like any other problem. Medical, mechanical, technical, emotional, whatever...we're here for you."

He keeps trying to trick me into thinking I don't have powers. What's that word? Gaslighting?

Is he...jealous? Because I finally have something he doesn't?

Because he ran away, and I stayed.

"Mechanical...ha. Funny you should say that, because I think the real problem is that you broke and ran away, while I stuck it out and got powers. I triggered, and you're just jealous. That's why you keep shitting on me, why you keep pretending like my powers aren't real. You're like a broken goddamn record."

I think he was so taken aback that he literally stumbled back a step. It felt like I'd punched him, and I hated the feeling but at the same time felt so powerful. I knew I was being an asshole, but I was just so sick and tired of George putting me down.

Every time I made a mistake, he was there to point it out. Every time I failed, he'd fix it. Mom and Dad always believed him, even when things weren't my fault. He was the favored son...and I was the failure. I lived in his shadow, every day of my goddamn life!

But now I'm the winner, and I'm not going to let him take that away from me!

"This is serious, Greg." George grimaced, as if it physically pained him to see me like this. "You can't just keep running away from this, you could get hurt, badly. People aren't like in your comics, they don't just get better because a writer decides that it's time for a new story arc or the artist forgets to draw an injury. People aren't robots, with parts that can just be replaced or upgraded when they run down. People break, and robots-"

"Robots? You're the robot, George. Like the BASIC programming language we use at school...always with a GO TO 10 line at a certain point when it comes to my powers. You just keep coming back to treating me like some immature kid no matter what we're talking about."

I started to get in his face, my voice getting louder and louder and I couldn't control it as I started to see his face turn red. "It's hilarious how much of a coward you are, and how you keep trying to turn this around and pretend that I'm the baby when you're the one who ran away from-"

George hit me (I deserved it).

He shoved me, actually, and I landed on the bed. It didn't hurt (except inside), but we both reacted like it had been a stab in the gut (or heart). I was speechless, and George started speaking faster and louder than before, as if he'd saved it all up for now.

"This, Greg. This right here. This is why you're getting bullied in school, and why I've never reached out to you much before." He breathed deeper with each sentence, but kept pushing on as I remained motionless on the bed. His voice sounded like he was choking. "Because you're an immature little shit who gets teased and beaten down so much that you think punching down is the only way to lift yourself up. It's wrong, it's mean, and it's sad."

Or like I'm choking him. I went too far. Why...why do I always do this? Why didn't I stop?

"My time after Boston was horrible, painful, and yet I stuck around because I cared about my entire family. That includes you, even if you do lash out at me, our parents, my girlfriend, and even my job!" I saw tears begin to gather in his eyes, and one of his hands started scrabbling for the door knob before he found it and wrenched the door open. "I support you with every fiber of my being, because I love you, but you could never understand that...you don't even try to!"

"George…I'm...I didn't mean to-" My throat was thick with emotion, and I felt a lump in it so thick I could barely talk. I tried to get up, to regain the connection we'd had earlier. To apologize for having gone too far.

Too late. I broke it. I messed up. How can we come back from this?

"I'm not speaking to you again until you apologize. To me, to our parents, to Melody...to everyone." George stepped out the door, then turned back to pierce me with one last glare. "You want to pretend you have powers? That you're a hero? That you actually give a damn?"

"Y-yes...yes!" I tried to shout back, my eyes so blurry I could barely see him. I felt so tired, but now my sadness was mixing with anger and something else. "I wanted to help people!"

"Then stop saying you're going to do something and actually do it!" George slammed the door behind him, but I could still hear him shouting from the hallway. "Anyone can brag or talk, but real heroes are people who actually try! The ABB and E88 are tough, but that doesn't stop a hero from fighting. You want to be a hero...then grow hell up and do something with your life!"

With that, he went down the stairs (wait), out the door (no), and I only heard silence (please).

I couldn't have cared less (i'm sorry) where he went.

He was gone (come back), and I was alone.

Damn it all...

***

I'm sure that George probably thought I just stayed in my room and cried after that, and he was right. But after a few minutes my tears of sadness turned to tears of rage. As much as I hated to admit it, his advice had been good. I couldn't just give up on my powers because of a few failures, and I definitely couldn't pretend that I needed powers to be a hero.

Tinkers like Armsmaster and Kid Win were just ordinary people with fancy gear. Shakers like Vista were ordinary kids who had a special power. Thinkers were just smart people, but otherwise normal humans. Clockblocker was just a teenager with magic hands.

Fact was, if I wanted to be a hero, I couldn't keep letting fear of the unknown stop me. It helped that I was really mad. I wanted to hit something. I wanted to do something that mattered.

I got to my feet, then trudged into the bathroom and cleaned up my eyes, nose, and wounds as best I could. I glared at myself in the mirror, covered in bandages, and got a terrible idea.

With a few more bandages, and all these bruises, I could be practically anyone under this.

I went back into my room and dressed in some very specific clothes, as well as grabbing some special accessories. On my way out, I grabbed Mom's voice recorder and Dad's digital camera.

I headed outside, locking the door behind me, and started heading into town.

So, George thinks I'm a scared child, huh? That I was just pretending to have powers?

I was going to do something that didn't require powers. Something that would help people.

We'll see what he has to say after the police and PRT are sending me thank-you letters.

I was going to go out and gather intelligence, to help others take criminals down someday.

I'll prove to George that matter. That I'm not just a stupid child. That I'm a hero.

It wouldn't put me in danger. Even if it did, I had powers now.

I'll show them all that I can help.

****************

Next time on From Hated to Hero: Wow Greg, going into the field with powers you still don't understand in the slightest? Yeah, that'll end well. Luckily this is just an intelligence-gathering mission, so there's no way you'll run into any real combat, danger, or guys with guns. Nope.

Edits 11Sept2020: The main issue I had in rewriting this was that originally we had the last chapter where Greg said he was going to slow down on the powers, and now in this one it was full-speed ahead. That's why in the rewrite, he's thinking that he doesn't need them to be a hero. It's still a dumb, angry, teenage plan...made to spite an older sibling, but as a guy who has done similar things to spite my own it seems believable.

 

[Su5pect]

Man, Greg is kind of a dick isn't he?

 

[Distraktion]

Man, Greg is kind of a dick isn't he?

Click to shrink...

It's annoying to think that last chapter started with him explaining how confirmation bias was such a bad thing, and yet he keeps falling right into that trap again and again. Worse, he's willing to throw away a lot of love and support just because George was having trouble believing that he had powers (powers he admitted he couldn't actually display). Some people have to fail a whole lot before they can figure out why.

 

[Senju Mekkyuka]

Man, Greg is kind of a dick isn't he?

Click to shrink...

No, he's not an asshole ^^ His brother is condescending to him ... He tried to open up to him and he humiliated him in front of his parents ... He shouldn't in any case excuse. He will become a paragon of Justice and George will come back crawling before him.

 

[Distraktion]

Edited 10Sept2020: My deepest apologies if this originally came off as an attempt to excuse/forgive Cricket or paint her as a victim. I had tried to give her motivation beyond just 'nazi who kills,' but overeached. This isn't about redeeming her, but rather going with the idea that the PRT might do something other than just killing/jailing someone who they see as being useful. The point of this chapter, besides background on George, his relationships, and why he works for Medhall, was to handle the E88 outside the main story...Greg has better things to do.

*********************

Interlude 2: Impossibly Challenging

[George, Three Years Ago]

"Hey, Derek right?" I approached the handsome man, having waited until all the other new Medhall employees had taken their turn. He was tall, built like a brick house, and had a face made for TV. He seemed to enjoy speaking to everyone, especially the women, but I'd been patient and now we were the only ones left in the auditorium. "I'm George Veder."

"Ah, George!" He shook my hand, squeezing far harder than necessary. "I heard about you! Top marks at Boston U, won a few awards, double major, and one of our 'must-have' employees. Glad to finally put a face to the name! How can I help you?"

"Well, it's nothing big, but I noticed something a bit..odd during your speech." I leaned in, lowering my voice. "You've got a huge booger in your nose."

He reached up and wiped at his face, then grumbled as I shook my head. "Still there?"

"Afraid so. Here, use mine." I pulled out a handkerchief, a good thick one with a fancy stitch pattern on one side, and handed it to him. Even before he could use it, and I quickly mimed looking at my watch before turning away. "Aw dang, I'm late!"

"Wait, you forgot this!" I made sure to get at least halfway across the auditorium before looking over my shoulder, and saw that he'd stayed put with my handkerchief. I yelled back, continuing to walk away, "Just hold onto it for me, and I'll come find you later!"

Without another thought for him, I quickly made my way out of the auditorium. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Derek shrug and head back onto the auditorium's stage, passing through the same curtain he'd entered from to the Backstage room. I heard voices as he opened the door.

That meant that Kayden Anders from Public Relations, Brad Meadows from Public Works, Melody Jurist from Security, and now Derek Fisher from Human Resources, were all in a room together. Unbeknownst to them, I was also in there, thanks to the little gift I'd given Derek.

A Tinkertech listening device hidden in a handkerchief. What'll they think of next?

Once I'd settled into one of the bathroom stalls just outside the auditorium, I put my earpiece in place and used the dials in what looked like a glasses case to make a few adjustments. After a few seconds of scratching noises, I could easily hear Derek's voice describing...me.

"-some skinny nerd, probably in love with me or something."

"Derek, you think everyone's in love with you." A rougher voice, deeper than Derek's, as Brad groaned with annoyance. "Speaking of which, why haven't you killed him yet, Kayden? You know Derek's never going to stop hitting on you. Aren't you and Max married?"

"I make my own decisions, thank you very much." Kayden Anders replied, and I recalled how upbeat she'd been when talking about how we represented the company now that we all worked for Medhall. It made me sick, knowing that Purity was lecturing us on that. "Besides, with Max hiding out in Boston, pretending to be an embattled CEO, it's not like he really cares what we do. This farce was his idea anyway, but he never does more than tell us what not to do."

"Well, if he's not saying no, and you're not saying no..." Derek interjected, and I could practically hear him wiggling his eyebrows. How this man had been chosen to pretend to work in HR was beyond me. He was a walking stereotype of a sex-crazed lunatic.

"Well, I might have, but you've been wiping your nose since you got in here, so I'm going to have to pass." Kayden replied, and I heard everyone laugh. "Oh Melody, don't touch tha-"

Whatever Kayden was saying was cut off, and I snatched the earpiece out as a sharp crackling noise filled my ear. I immediately leapt to my feet and flipped a switch on the 'glasses case,' tossing it in the trash on my way out. By the time anyone found it, the components inside would already be dust and slag.

I was panicking, I'll admit, since I'd already gone off-mission. I'd planted the handkerchief on an Empire 88 Lieutenant a full week earlier than I'd been authorized to. I had just been so eager to get on with this mission, to bring them down already, that when I saw Stormtiger up there prancing about I decided to go for it.

I'd felt so angry seeing the E88's capes dressing like normal people, acting like they didn't have a trail of bodies a mile long behind them. Now I was being followed by an angry blonde with a buzzcut, one hand on the belt of her security uniform and the other reaching for me.

Before I had time to formulate a plan, I felt a strong hand grab me by the shoulder and do...something. Next thing I knew I was pressed up against a wall, her arm pressed over my throat, and she was leaning in so close I could feel her breath on my face.

Why did I agree to this again? Oh yeah...because it was the right thing to do.

***

[6 Months Earlier, Brockton Bay ENE PRT]

"Thank you for coming Mr. Veder, we were very excited to interview you." The man was bald, stocky, and incredibly pale, but judging by the way everyone else in this office had talked to him he was a heck of a boss. I'd been interviewing all week, trying to distract myself from the impending doom I'd felt for months, and his smile certainly helped. "Sorry about all the calls, but someone with your background and capabilities are quite hard to come by."

"Hey, it's nice to be wanted!" I wasn't just being polite. This company had left no less than four voicemails for me, as well as sending multiple letters. "I know my transcripts are good, and a double-major is always nice on a resume, but I'm still only halfway through my medical training."

"Well, George, can I call you George?" At my nod, he continued, "George, we know that you have a lot of other opportunities, and in fact those interest us quite a bit. After all, if everyone at a restaurant is ordering the same dish, people start to wonder just what's so good about it. In your case, it's easy to see how driven, dedicated, and well-organized you are."

"Really, you got all that just from my resume and transcripts?"

"Well, that and the vast amount of research you've been doing online. Looking into the E88, Medhall, and various connections between them." My heart dropped into my stomach, and I began to regret having told my parents that I'd be home late. The pale man seemed to pick up on that, and held up both hands in a sign of nonviolence. "Oh, we don't mean that in a bad way, George. In fact, we're very impressed with all you've managed to find out by yourself."

I guess I should have seen it coming. Eventually, the E88 would notice me...and silence me.

When I had left home, the E88 had been a strong and dangerous force for evil in my town. The PRT swore they would do something to stop them. To stamp out white supremacy in Brockton Bay and arrest all the parahuman villains that threatened us all with destruction. But when I came home, years later...I found that things had barely changed at all.

My parents lived in fear, my brother lived in ignorance, and I'd only gotten more and more angry at the helplessness. At not being able to do anything. It reminded me too much of the horrors I'd seen firsthand in Boston, as my classmates and professors were slaughtered around my...all over a few scraps of land. I started to spend time away from home, hiking the trails that overlooked Brockton Bay, because at least from up there the town almost looked peaceful.

One night, I had seen a shooting star, and wished on it that there was some way for my family to be safe, for my friends' lives to not have been lost in vain.

...and then the star had landed on the Medhall building. Her name was Purity.

I threw myself into researching the E88 and Medhall, and turned it over to the PRT. I kept waiting, praying that they'd do something, but never heard back. In the meantime, I tried to finish my doctorate, find a job, and try to distract myself from the world going to hell. I even held onto a job offer from Medhall, planned to burn it in celebration, but they kept right on existing.

And now, this pale E88 stooge thinks he can just silence me. Well, not today, asshole!

Without warning, I leapt up and ran for the door. The man moved much faster than I'd thought, grabbing my shoulder and doing...something. Next thing I knew I was pressed up against the wall, his arm over my throat. Despite that, he actually looked apologetic.

"I'm sorry, George. My people are always telling me I have a habit of being too secretive, but I suppose that's just a hazard of the job." He stepped back, straightening out my clothes and directing me to sit back down. With how easily he'd stopped me before, I carefully acquiesced. "Let's start over, George. First...I am sorry for the way you've suffered up until now. Not only for the fear and pain you felt, but knowing that your family was suffering as well."

If he turns this into some kind of blackmail thing or threatens my family, I'll kill him!

"I can see that you still don't trust me, so I'll stop beating around the bush." He reached into his pocket with two fingers, pulling out two slips of paper and passing them to me. "One of these is a check for enough money to get your family to Seattle, so that you can go with them and do analyst work for us. The other...is an acceptance letter you can send to Medhall, saying that you need a few months of therapy for PTSD before you accept their offer. Choose one, please."

The check is...wow. That's a lot of money. But I'd just be running away. Abandoning my town.

"Why would I accept their offer?"

"Because you are dedicated, like everyone else in this building, to stomping out the festering disease that is the E88, their backers, and white supremacy." He steepled his fingers, staring at me with an unblinking gaze. "Tell me, George, how far are you willing to go to stop the Empire 88 and Medhall? Willing to put your life on the line? Endure back-breaking training? Work with heroes and criminals alike? Pretend to embrace the same people you despise?"

"I'll do anything!" I glared at him, as if he was trying to scare me off. "No matter what it takes!"

"Very well. You may call me Nutcracker." He smiled and held out a hand. "Welcome to Watchdog."

I took his hand, and my entire life changed.

***

[6 Months Later, being pinned by Cricket]

I'm starting to regret not taking that check. This mission...I know I trained, but it's horrible.

After I signed all the forms and NDAs, my training had started...and it had been crazy.

I had trouble calling it training, because it was really more of a painful montage of cram school and acting classes, with extracurriculars in spycraft, learning all about the E88 and Medhall, and meeting the dozen people in our small spy cell. Apparently they'd been working on this project for quite some time, and were all very excited to have a new Watchdog teammate.

Moreover, I was now the new guy, so I got to be the training dummy for my many sparring sessions. Since I had actual medical training, it also meant I could take care of everyone's injuries afterwards. Still, I like to think I learned a lot, and soon was at least good at dodging.

Of course, it's hard to dodge someone like Cricket. Is she ever going to say her line?

After glaring at me for another moment, Cricket (no, Melody) glanced to the side and saw that we'd finally been joined by some witnesses. She stepped back, then used her electronic larynx to say, "Sorry about that. You're that new guy from Medical Implants, aren't you? I need you."

"Woo! Go Mel! Getting some of that new car smell on ya!" Derek's voice made me glare at him, and I was annoyed to see that a mere thirty feet away were Derek, Brad, and Kayden. I would normally have protested, the very thought making me sick, but...a cover's a cover.

"Let's just go already." She tugged on my arm and motioned for me to lead the way. "After you give me a better voice, we can go to the Security Office and fill out an incident report."

I heard Derek call something from behind us about 'filling' things. As much as I hated to even consider it, I still turned and gave him a big smile. Melody grabbed my hand and dragged me away, the aerokinetic nazi having burst into laughter at her reaction.

The things I do for my country. Ugh.

***

[1 Hour Later, Medhall Security Office]

Her old voice unit in the trash (several years without maintenance will do that) and a new one making her far less painful to hear, we entered her Security office. I had tried to wander off, especially when I saw Brad and Derek following after us with an utter lack of subtlety. Despite my best efforts though, Melody grabbed my arm and dragged me inside, slamming the door.

She shoved me to her desk, flipping me over it, and then leaned in so close I could feel her breath on my face. I was afraid she was going to tear my throat out for a moment, but again this was just for show. We had to play up the roles we'd been given, no matter how we felt.

She deliberately waited until we could see Derek's face in the door's window before she hit a small button on her desk. The glass frosted over, and my ears popped as an electronic hum joined the background noise of the security office.

She released me, taking a seat on the desk as I rolled off it and straightened my clothes. When I was feeling more centered and ready for this talk, I crossed my arms and leaned on the wall.

"What's wrong with you? You used the Tinker wire a full week early!" She looked me up and down, taking in my skinny form, lab coat, and admittedly unimpressive showing thus far. "I still can't believe they sent me the Watchdog Intern instead of an actual Agent!"

"Hey, I'm an Agent!" I was mostly telling the truth, technically only being a Junior Agent because of the rush they'd put on my training. I gestured at her, sneering at her expression. "Besides, why are you the one getting mad? I'm the one who has to pretend to be in a relationship with one of the top three murderhobos on Kaiser's payroll! Why is a nazi even helping Watchdog?"

"Are you kidding me?" She laughed, her voice much easier to hear with the new unit I'd given her. She shook her head and waved a hand at her door. "Newsflash dumbass, out of almost a dozen E88 parahumans only a few are actually die-hard nazis. Hell, even Kaiser doesn't really buy any of it. They're just here for the paycheck they get for hurting people."

"Oh, that's all right then. You have morals, you just took money to kill non-white people for a few years because it paid well. So much better." I glared at her, still unable to accept that she was actually helping us, and had been for nearly a year. It almost hurt my soul that she was trying to fake her way to redemption. "This sudden burst of kindness doesn't suddenly make you a good person. You'll never be forgiven for the things you've done."

"I'm not doing this for forgiveness, dumbass. Didn't Nutcracker tell you? I'm doing it because it's the best of the bad choices." Not even looking at me, she rolled her sleeve up and began tracing the myriad of scars covering her arm. "I didn't exactly set out to become a nazi, actually I-"

"You started with pit fighting, moved on to cape fighting, and then joined a nazi gang for money. Yes, I read your file, and I'm not buying this whole betrayal of my boss for forgiveness schtick." I rolled my eyes, hearing her huff angrily. "Sorry, am I making fun of your attempt at moralizing your actions? My bad. Please, continue telling me how life was so hard for you."

She stared at me for a long minute, then sighed and shook her head.

"I'm not gonna argue with that. I fucked up. I know. I dug myself into a hole, and no excuse is ever gonna make up for all shit I did." The way she talked, I almost felt sorry for her, for just a moment. "Hell, half the time I still think you PRT assholes are just playing me. More than half."

I smirked at that, seeing her so annoyed. Nutcracker had explained to me the way they'd used an extremely vague series of precognitive visions to get Cricket to come to the PRT, and then press-ganged her into becoming our person on the inside. Even if she was now saying it was all her choice, we both knew that she'd really gotten scared and taken the easy way out.

"Watchdog called me a year back, in my civilian ID." She stared down at her hands, talking to herself as much as me. "One of their Precogs had a bunch of visions about me, and I wrote it off at first. But then, one by one, they turned out to be right. All except the last one...that in 4 years I'd die by Kaiser's hand. They'd said that one was hazy, but only because I could change it."

We were playing her, of course. Appraiser and the rest are wrong more than they're right.

"You belong in the Birdcage." It was a statement, one that made her flinch. "You deserve death."

"I know." She looked down, smiling at something I couldn't see. "After this is all over, I'm going to prison for life, no matter how well it goes. Watchdog argued that I was trusted by the E88, that nobody would suspect me, and that with my Security position I would be a better insider than a prisoner. So now instead of Birdcage or death, I get to try and make up-"

"Make up? Why would they even trust you? You could destroy everything with a few words!"

"No. They...did something to me." She grimaced, putting a hand to her temple. I found it hard to feel bad. "I can't tell anyone who isn't PRT, or else...things happen. Powers are such bullshit. It cost them, but I guess they figured I was worth it. That I was useful."

"Fine, so you're a useful criminal. Whatever." I crossed the room and held out a hand, and she took it after a moment. "I hate your guts. I want you to know that. No matter what I say or do going forward, all of this is just an act...a play to fool your idiot friends into trusting me."

"Don't get too big of a head, asshole. Don't forget, you're still the dweeby new guy, and also my new boy toy." She stood up suddenly, grabbing me by the shirt and spinning to slam me into the desk again. "By now, Brad and Derek will have already spread our budding 'romance' to half the building, and it'll get back to Kaiser within a day."

"Great, mission accomplished." I growled at her, grabbing her shoulder and pushing her off me. I stalked to the door, pausing as she reached for the security switch. "Come see me off, and I'll come back tomorrow at lunch."

"Fine. We can get started on bugging the security systems then. They'll just think we're having sex or something." The electronic hum vanished, and Melody moved to the door just as I opened it. I leaned in as she kissed me angrily, then shoved me out the door. "See you around."

"Not if I see you first!" I called back, Derek already slapping me on the back and cheering.

***

[Later]

"-of course I'd like to tell you whose idea skinny dipping really was, but Sandra's close to the knives." Dad finished, my shoulders shaking from holding back laughter as Mom was indeed looking between him and her block of knives. She was also blushing redder than the tomatoes Melody was deftly dicing, so he seemed to take it as a win anyway.

This was the first time she'd been to our house, but after several months together it was going to happen sooner or later. Rumors of our 'relationship' had spread through Medhall like a wildfire, and at lunch yesterday I'd loudly invited her to meet my parents.

I still wish Nutcracker would let me tell them something. I hate lying to my parents...

"I don't need the knives to take you down, Stanley." Mom smiled nastily at him, flexing her hand and then making a fist, all her knuckles popping at once. Dad cringed back, and I think it was only half faked. Mom had a black belt in Judo, after all. She claimed it had been a part of her work as a librarian, but I was never sure if she was joking. "Anyway, dinner will be ready in 5 minutes, so why don't you go get Greg and we'll save trial by combat for later?"

The food was amazing. The company was even better. If it weren't for the fact that our entire relationship was a sham so we could secretly gather information from a company that acted as a front for nazi supervillains, it almost would have been the most fun I'd had in a long time...except for one small detail.

My little brother Greg, normally so passionate and full of words, was being unusually withdrawn. I had noticed the way he'd start to speak only to stop himself and look down at his plate, or look so heartbroken when Mom would tell him to quiet down and let other people talk. I knew these habits, because at one time they'd been my own. Given that we were both products of our environment, I knew that Greg was probably getting teased at school...maybe even bullied.

Admittedly it wasn't entirely my fault, since our parents had been equally clueless and smothering when I was in his shoes. Plus, Winslow was a highschool of garbage teens and teachers who couldn't be paid to give a damn. Still, I felt a bit bad that I'd been so focused on my mission, Melody, and so much else that I hadn't seen the signs and tried to help.

Soon as my mission is over, I'll have a sit-down with Greg. I'll try to make up for lost time.

***

[Even Later]

"Wow, you're a mess. How the hell did that happen?"

I let out a squawk and grabbed for a towel to cover myself, Melody having just appeared next to me as I got out of the shower. It may have been her apartment, but I had still closed the door because I expected at least a little privacy. She scoffed at me and gestured at my (admittedly skinny) body, shaking her head. "What the hell am I even looking at, George?"

Before I could formulate a response, she stepped closer and put a hand on my hip. Though I'd been wary of her touching me without warning the first few months of our 'relationship,' after nearly two years together I barely noticed.

We'd been forced to practice being close, engaged in more than a little PDA in public, and roomed together when Medhall made us travel to events. It was casual, nothing more than stress relief, and we didn't make anything of it. She looked up into my eyes, and I wondered if this was just some kind of weird foreplay before one of those times.

"Ow!" This was not one of those times, because she dug a finger into one of the large bruises on my thigh. I tried to get around her and escape, but she'd shut the door on her way in and just poked me in one of the bruises on my back. "Cut it out! This isn't a problem you can fix, okay?"

"George. Seriously. Look at me." I looked back and saw her glaring at me from between the hair she'd started growing back out last year, ever since Kaiser started letting her wear an actual mask. "I can't have you going around like that, why can't you just tell me what-"

"Don't worry, this isn't your problem. I can handle it on my own and you're just-ow!" I flinched back, holding a hand over the bruise she'd just slapped. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Look, just because we're in a fake relationship doesn't mean I can't worry about you getting hurt." She undercut her seemingly caring words with another bruise-poke. "Your family loves you, and I...almost give a rat's ass about you. Barely. Just tell me what happened already!"

What? When the hell did she start to care about me? Why would she even bother?

We'd talked about this sort of thing before. About our lives after the mission. I'd go on to get promoted at Watchdog, become a Doctor, or maybe even play baseball. But Melody? After our mission was over, she only had a life in prison to look forward to.

That was good. She had even acknowledged that it was what she deserved, not that it made things better. There would never be little kids buying her merchandise or going out dressed as her for halloween. No parahuman would ever make a costume or persona honoring her legacy.

And yet, she was still trying. I hated the Melody of before...but the Melody of today?

There's already so much good coming from this mission...I guess I shouldn't be surprised.

I reached out, and put my hand on her shoulder, and despite her glare she didn't knock it off.

"It was Derek and Brad." Her body tensed under my grip, and I tried to give her a reassuring smile. "They keep hazing me, always knocking me into things. Unfortunately for them, I was bullied in high school, so I can just ignore them. No sense in making a big deal of it."

"Screw that. We're going to train you." She glared at me, and I took a step back in surprise. "You need some muscles, some combat skills, and better situational awareness. When they see how ripped I'm going to make you, they'll back the hell off. If not, we can tag-team beat their asses."

"That's really not necessary, Melody. I can handle this myself." I turned to leave the bathroom, but felt a strong hand grab me by the shoulder and do...something. Next thing I knew I was pressed up against the wall with her arm on my throat. I let out a gasp, "This is...oddly...familiar."

"Yeah, this is non-negotiable. I'm not letting someone who's pretending to be my boyfriend get treated like crap. Now, go get dressed and meet me in the gym. Time to get you in shape!"

***

[Now]

"-and on! But it's not that I hate him or anything, I just hate what he's become. When I came home from Boston and saw how enamored he was with cape culture, I had thought he was just being a kid...but he sees everything through a lens of fun and optimism that just isn't healthy."

I'd been talking since we left the church, Melody half-listening to my long rant about Greg.

"Plus, now he's getting bullied at school, and I'm pretty sure Mom and Dad don't know. I lied to them to protect him, and thank God they bought it, but it was a near thing. I just don't know what to do about him, Mel." I sighed, following her up the stairs to her apartment.

"No offense, but it sounds like you're at fault as well. I know Greg can be kind of…"

"Childish, immature, idiotic, and prone to verbal diarrhea?"

"I'm sorry, you think he talks too much? Is that the pot calling the kettle black?" I felt my face heat up at that, and went into her office with her as she continued, "Still, I find it hard to blame you for having trouble putting up with his antics. He reminds me of a young version of Derek."

"What? Not a young version of me?" I kicked the door shut with one foot, and crossed the room towards her. I made sure my voice sounded playful, and louder than normal. Melody smiled, and leaned back across the office's desk to press a button next to its only window, lowering its shade. "Why would you compare him to Derek? What does Derek have that I don't?"

"Money, good looks, more notches in his bedpost than common sense?" She laughed, placing a hand on my hip. She leaned into my kiss, then withdrew. "All his women seem satisfied, as well. I don't suppose you have something to say about that?"

"Well, I am rather skilled with my mouth." I grinned, then leaned closer and...pressed a small button hidden on the side of the desk. My ears popped, and an electronic hum could be heard.

As much fun as that would have been, even on the uncomfortable desk, we had real work to do.

Our mission was almost complete, after all.

***

Melody rolled her eyes at me, both of us staying silent as we heard the speakers set in the walls began to play the very lifelike recording we'd made a few weeks back of a particularly fun evening. The E88 bugs planted throughout the apartment would be none the wiser, and now we were finally free to speak normally.

"You're 'skilled with your mouth,' George? Really?" Melody said, slapping at me lightly.

"I saw it in a movie once." I refused to change the subject. "So, you think Greg is like Derek?"

"Well, without the powers and body count, obviously." She rolled her eyes, then saw me frown.

"He's no murderer true, but...check this out." I slotted a memory card into one of the laptops we had, and showed her the video Greg had made of his...power testing. "I'm starting to think that he either triggered while we were out of town, or if nothing else is trying to make himself trigger."

"That's not good. Greg getting powers is the last thing we need right now. Although, if he did trigger..." She paused, then handed me a note from her desk. "This sound familiar?"

"Let me see." I read over the note carefully, and felt the blood drain from my face. An E88 Enforcer had reported chasing some kid who then...vanished. "Who was the Enforcer?"

"One of the older kids down the block, that idiot with the knife who's always bragging about running marathons-" I slapped my forehead, and she looked at me oddly.

"Knife Guy." I groaned, then relayed Greg's scattered story to her.

"I'll question him. If he really did mess with your brother, I'll make sure the PRT just happens to catch him in the act on his next activity." She growled, oddly protective of Greg. "Maybe some time in Juvie or with one of their new community outreach programs will teach him a lesson."

"Either way, we should probably report in before Nutcracker thinks you killed me." I pressed a few buttons on the encrypted laptop, entering a long code and letting it scan my face, before leaning back so we could both see it. "You know, for the tenth time this month."

As if to prove me correct, the screen changed to display a map of Brockton Bay with almost a dozen other faces spread around it. One of them, our pale leader himself, appeared to be in the middle of saying something about us, "-can't trust that he will just...oh, there he is."

"Sorry Nut, just sorting out some family issues. What did we miss?"

Over the next several minutes, our teams gave updates on their progress. Some were hacking emails and phones, others gathering information, and still more tracking E88 parahumans to make our eventual takedown of their leadership easier.

Eventually, it was our turn, and this time Melody and I had a large amount to report.

"It took a while, and I had to play diplomat for both Night and Fog, but I think Kayden's finally interested in making a deal with the PRT." Melody sighed, having sent over the recordings of her talks with the glowing parahuman earlier. "She's fine with moving, but only as long as she can take her daughter along. No interest in her step-son, though. Max can't take him either."

I feel bad for that kid, Theo. Even if his father is a monster...maybe he can still recover.

"Ah yes, I saw the report from Director Armstrong that Max Anders' fingerprints were on the coffee mug, and that James Fliescher nearly died from what appeared to be cyanide." Everyone let out a little cheer at that, and one person in particular rubbed her chin. It had been her idea, and now we had driven a huge wedge between the E88 and their biggest backer. "Of course, some might be sad we only used a small amount. Lana, care to remind us all why? "

"I'd be happy to, Nutcracker, sir." Lana was a clever woman who knew more about Gesellschaft than anyone in our team, and had made this particular plan. "By merely framing Kaiser for Krieg's 'attempted murder' we can now follow the man's retreat...all the way back to Gesellschaft. I already have several Strangers and Tinkers tracking the man as he travels, including a particularly expensive contract with Othello of the Ambassadors."

"In the meantime, Kaiser will be cut off from his greatest source of support, and his civilian identity was last spotted fleeing to an airport. He can't afford to spend time in court or risk jail." Nutcracker held two fingers very close together. "With all the other accomplishments we've had, our work this week has put us within spitting distance of the end. But remain vigilant!"

It was hard to remain calm, though. Just a few more weeks, and this would all finally be over.

We still had to deal with a half dozen capes, hundreds of thugs, Max's lawyers, an international nazi organization with limitless resources, and a huge corporation with the latest in medical tech. Mercenaries like Faultline or the mysterious Coil were also wildcards in all this.

There were a hundred little pieces to this plan, a dozen other operatives we were working with, and it all had to work out perfectly. Until it did we'd both be in danger of dying at any time.

Oh, and now we had to worry about my kid brother, Greg, who may or may not have had powers. I needed to repair our relationship, something I had no idea how to even start.

This was far too difficult for just one person to handle. Even with Watchdog at my back, an entire team around me, the PRT's resources, and Melody, this still seemed impossible.

But together, I knew we could make the impossible...just impossibly challenging.

The Empire 88 didn't stand a chance.

*********************

AN: In many ways, George is what Greg should want to become. A capable, thoughtful, forgiving adult, smart and skilled. Driven by his passion and motivated by a goal bigger than himself. Too bad they're so bad at talking to each other. Also, if you're ever wondering just where the E88 are and why they aren't a bigger part of Greg's story...here you go.

Next time on From Hated to Hero: Angry at a gun-wielding ABB thug accusing him of racism, Greg fires back with a verbal barrage that leaves the man reeling. But beware, Greg, because even if you defeat this man, there's a greater foe who lies beyond him...his boss!

 

[Tylansimov]

I'm not sure how I feel about this. It sure feels convenient that Melody didn't turn George in for months, and then was immediately willing to betray the E88 after one conversation.

 

[Distraktion]

I'm not sure how I feel about this. It sure feels convenient that Melody didn't turn George in for months, and then was immediately willing to betray the E88 after one conversation.

Click to shrink...

That's fair, thanks for the feedback!

I think my original aim was that she was feeding him a lot of fake info, so there was no need to turn him in yet. Their relationship had been beneficial for both as of that point (he gets an amazing girlfriend, training, and protection, and she gets a chance to be normal and build a life outside the E88), and she brought him out there to give it longevity via a Mole Proposal. Both had made assumptions (Her: that he was a PRT spy, and him: she was die-hard nazi and hadn't caught onto him), and he panicked like Veders do. I may go back and clarify some parts of that.

 

[Distraktion]

1.6: Understanding the ABB

Excerpt from Greg's Journal:
Anger is something I've always struggled with. Even movies haven't helped me figure it out.

There was one movie where a guy said something like, "There are two kinds of angry people in the world: explosive and implosive. Explosive people scream at the cashier for some small slight, and implosive people are like the cashier...who comes in to work the next day with a gun."

Before I triggered, I was explosive. I let it all out as it happened, and then picked up the pieces...or in most cases just left them where they were. But after I got powers I started finding myself to be implosive more often than not. It took a while to learn to control it and direct my rage, and by then...I'd done more damage than a gun ever could.

Given that I was directing that anger at a gang whose boss was practically rage personified, that might have been a mistake. I guess it was lucky for me that I wasn't even a blip on his radar.
GregV.

***

[Sunday, Dec 19, 2010]

George had been right about one thing, in our argument. He'd said that having powers or not shouldn't have stopped me from being a hero. I knew I had to find a way to channel my anger into something positive. I had creativity, knowledge, and resources, and as a native of Brockton Bay anything I did to help my town was a step in the right direction. I had to find a way to matter.

So here I was, angrily stalking through my town, seeking some evil. But not because I was going to fight it...no. I was going to gather information on it, and then hand it off to those who could fight it. Before I would have been too afraid, because I was just a cowardly nerd, I had always assumed someone else would handle it. But nobody ever had!

I may have been angry, but I wasn't an idiot. I know if I'd told any sane person that I was planning to gather intelligence on the ABB, I'd have been laughed at or grounded for life. There were so many ways that things could go wrong, after all. The list was a mile long.

First of all, I was so white it looked like someone dumped a bucket of white paint on me and drizzled some straw on top for hair. Second, I had no combat or social skills to speak of, aside from running short distances and rambling like an idiot. Third, I had no weapons, no armor, and no equipment that I could use. Finally, it's not like I could just find their bases in a phone book.

But as it so happened, those last two weren't entirely correct. See, I went to school at Winslow, and spent a more-than-healthy amount of time buying comics or video games in that part of town. That meant that I spent a lot of time seeing the ABB move around, and got advice from shopkeepers and school officials alike of what parts of town to avoid. It was enough to make a pretty simple map of where the ABB were most dense, and therefore...most active.

That took care of the final point. As for the third one, well...the ABB made the fatal mistake of choosing gang colors that were easy as hell to imitate when you were injured and had as much hero merch as I did. Which is why, as I reached a particularly dense part of their neighborhood, I ducked into an ever-convenient alley and started putting on my "costume."

No, don't think that way. This is a disguise. Note to self, burn these clothes when this is over.

My favorite heroes had always been the ones that were adaptatable, dependable, and had a good sense of humor. Every kid liked to find things about their heroes that they could identify with, and I had always figured that my best skills were my ability to compensate for my failures, to use humor to keep an upbeat attitude despite my crappy life, and to stay focused on goals.

With that in mind, a few of my favorite heroes included Eidolon for his adaptability, Assault for his humor/wit, and Miss Militia for never giving up. Sure, I liked other heroes, but these in particular were ones that I looked up as being examples of the sort of hero I wanted to be. Even now, if I could ever get my powers working, I was basically on track to be just like two of them (Eidolon and Miss Militia) if things worked how I thought they did.

As a result of this, I had a lot of clothing and memorabilia geared entirely around my love (obsession) with capes and cape culture. Since their clothing lines and accessories were usually in the colors most often associated with them, you ended up with Armsmaster shirts in blue, Triumph hats in gold, and so on.

Which is why I donned an Assault sweatshirt (red), Miss Militia shoes (green), an Eidolon bandana (green), and both a Vista hat and sunglasses (green). With all my bandages and bruised face, I was essentially just another member of the ABB in their colors (Green and Red). It also helped that wearing bandages around their hands and faces was big among ABB teens.

Not that I intended to put that to the test, mind you. If all went as planned, I'd never interact with them at all, since I already knew where they were going. I also knew that if I saw any guns, knives, or signs that I was in trouble, I would be ready to run. My "colors" would at least buy me some time to get back to public roads, I was pretty sure.

So, to review: I knew where they hung out, I knew what they looked like, I looked enough like them to pass muster from twenty feet away, and I had a digital camera and voice recorder. So, having seen the ABB gathering in the warehouse district for the last three weeks as the school bus drove me home each day, I knew the ABB was up to something. I was just going to walk by, take some pictures of them gathering there, maybe even peek in a window, and then leave.

By this time tomorrow, the PRT and Brockton Bay Police would be shutting their safehouse or drug lab or whatever down. A week later, they'd be thanking me, and that would help motivate me to ignore George's hurtful words and stick to my guns.

Yeah. I just had to keep telling myself that this wasn't a bad idea.

***

This was a bad idea. Even worse, now I'm stuck.

I'd found the warehouse. I'd found the ABB. I'd taken some pictures of what looked like boxes of wine, buckets of nails, and more power tools than I'd ever seen in one place. I'd also recorded more than a few minutes of the ABB talking in a language that I was pretty sure was Japanese. They were eating lunch, and I'd just sidled right up next to them and started recording. One of them glanced at me and said something, but I just sort of grunted and nodded at him. It worked.

That was all well and good. So why was I panicking? Well, because as the men I'd recorded were packing up their lunches to head back in, one had stayed to talk to me. I of course had no idea what he was saying, so I just laughed and started to limp away. Maybe if he thought I was injured, he'd figure I would only slow him down?

Nope, he was apparently the nicest ABB ever, because he swooped in and put an arm over my shoulder. Then we started walking (or he walked, and I got dragged along) towards the warehouse, with his words and my nodding grunts barely audible over the sound of power tools.

I really need to learn to think things through. Bad plans are one thing, but this was just...dumb.

Why didn't I just run away? Well, that would be because this man had a sizable gun that I could see in his jacket. A gun that looked an awful lot like a Desert Eagle. So at this point, running was out of the question. No, I was just going to have to go along with this, and wait. If nothing else, now I could at least get some pictures and audio from inside the warehouse.

At the same time, I found myself wondering...is it really this easy to infiltrate the ABB?

Seriously, how were these guys still a thing? How had the PRT not shut these guys down yet? For all the PRT's capes, faceless foot soldiers, and ribbon-covered Directors, I had outdone them in an hour. I wasn't even trying, and I'd accomplished this much by just with cosplay and grunting.

Before I had time to mentally insult them further, the guy with the gun (Gun Guy, I named him in my head) stopped at the door and banged on it twice. A huge guy (Huge Guy, man I was on fire with these names) in a ski mask opened the door, exchanged a few words with him, and then nodded and gestured for us to enter.

Inside was what I could only describe as an indoor construction site. ABB, at least fifty of them, were walking around with materials, tools, and a variety of different jobs. I assumed that this was a work-in-progress, judging by the blueprints posted up on several walls.

They were amazingly detailed, and once again in a language I didn't know. What I was able to recognize was that there were several little symbols all over the thing with secret doors, outlets, what looked like explosive symbols, and so on. This was like a supervillain lair, being built right before my eyes. They were even wearing hard hats, work gloves, and goggles.

Nice to know that even the ABB cares about workplace safety. Crap, Gun Guy is staring at me.

I looked around for an escape, and discovered three useful details. First, there was a group of skinnier ABB off to my left who were sorting nails, screws, and other small objects. I drifted in their direction, and after a small grunt they accepted me. My legs protested as I crouched down, but from this corner of the warehouse I could see everything and everyone, so it was worth it.

It was while I was pouring the nails they'd already sorted into a bucket that I noticed the second detail. Namely, that there was a sign written in English (finally) pointing the way to the restroom. It was my experience that there was usually an emergency exit by the bathrooms. Unfortunately, I'd have to cross the entire warehouse to get there, but I was sure I could pull it off.

Until I noticed the third detail...and almost wet my pants at who I saw across the way.

Maybe I won't need that bathroom after all. I might die first.

***

Ding Ding!

Ladies and gentlecapes! May I draw your attention to the center ring!

Standing at just a hair over six feet, weighing in at 220lbs, shirtless since the day he was born, and with more dragon tattoos than a lifelong member of the Yakuza!

The Undisputed Leader of the ABB! The Rage Monster of Brockton Bay! The Dragon of Kyushu!

#6 on PHO's "Hottest (no pun intended) Parahuman Villains in the World," and #2 on the pun version!

Lung, Undisputed Leader of the ABB! *cheers*

I really don't know how I missed him in the first place. Not only was he the only person in the warehouse not wearing any safety gear (a metal mask doesn't count), but he was also the only person who was shirtless. Well aside from Huge Guy, who was approaching Lung now.

Guess he's checking in with his boss. Come to think of it, he could practically be Lung's twin.

Seriously, if you ignored the crappier quality of his tattoos and his dollar-store ski mask, Huge Guy was almost a dead ringer for Lung. I mean, they were both huge, both shirtless, both masked, and both had dragon tattoos. I'd almost have said he was a Lung Cosplayer.

Despite that, something about Lung seemed more...impressive. Not just because I knew who he was and his long list of accomplishments, it was something else. It was like he burned with a sort of...vitality. I found myself staring at him, ignoring the fact that he was only about a hundred feet away and could at any moment notice me staring. I was just so engrossed with him, with the almost crackling aura of power and warmth that seemed to spread out from him.

Wait, warmth? Also, what's that odd haze around Lung? It kind of looks...familiar...

I think that was the biggest difference between Lung and Huge Guy. Sure, Huge Guy was big and strong, but Lung actually had a sort of...heat to him. I mean, yeah, he was a pyrokinetic who turned into a fire-breathing dragon, but otherwise he was just an ordinary guy.

I mean, ordinary if you ignored him being a parahuman gang boss who was six feet tall and full of muscles (without even needing to come from a land down under).

Still, as I continued to look at him, I realized that there was indeed a feeling of warmth coming from him. It was like he was a crackling campfire, or several campfires, and no matter how far away he moved from me it stayed a steady heat. The feeling faded away as he moved out of sight, then came right back full force as he emerged from a hole that had been carved into the wall and was having a steel door inserted into it.

In fact, if I really focused, it almost seemed like there were different...kinds of heat? As if he had several fires burning, each giving off a type of heat that made me feel a little different. As I looked at him, I could almost see each of them individually, despite them not having any real physical presence or location. They were just there inside of him, and yet a part of him.

The first one I looked at made me feel stronger just by looking at it, and tougher as well. The heat coming off of it made me feel like gravity barely had a hold on me, and for a moment even my pain just vanished because it didn't matter. It was like an energy drink mixed with armor, making me feel like I had boundless power while also covering me with unbreakable armor.

The second one actually made me sweat a little, and I even had to squint a little to look at it. It was like staring into the sun. I felt like it burned me just from being observed...

The third one was my favorite, because it was like a sauna. Every moment that went by as I stared at it, almost reaching out to it with my mind, I could feel waves of almost pleasurable heat settling on my skin and sinking into my body. I felt like my pain decreased, my sore bruises faded, and even this impossible situation I was in didn't seem so bad.

Finally, the last one kind of confused me, and scared me. It was practically dormant, but despite the small size it almost seemed to be glaring back at me. Even though it was fairly small, I felt like it could flare up at a moment's notice, going from a brush fire to a forest fire, with kindling that was endless.

After over a day of the worst pain I'd ever felt, I'm not ashamed to admit that I found myself leaning into that third one, like a wanderer in the cold who'd come across an abandoned campfire that had a single tiny ember in it. I reached for it, without actually moving my body.

It was like a pair of invisible hands had come out of my mind, and gently pulled an ember of that fire from Lung's body...then held it close to my chest. Much like that hypothetical wanderer, I didn't question the sudden warmth. I just savored it as it filled me from the inside...

"Oi!" A shout from behind me startled me out of my thoughts, and I looked around to see that my nail-bucket had started to overflow. My supervisor (Gun Guy) muttered a few things at me, then slapped my shoulder. I cringed from the expected pain from my baseball bruise, but I guess he only caught the edge of it because it barely hurt. It felt a bit warm, though, so I guess I must have started to sweat underneath.

I looked around, and saw that the guys who had been carrying the buckets had all vanished, and it was just me. Gun Guy said something in Japanese, and pointed at the other end of the warehouse, where a bunch of mooks were building a scaffold and looking over a blueprint. I carefully lifted the bucket, my legs and arms straining as I made my way across the warehouse.

As I moved, I looked around for Lung, but all I was able to find was his metal mask for a moment, as he vanished down into a hole in the ground. While it was interesting to note that this place had a basement (wonder if he made it himself), it also meant that I couldn't study his strange auras any more. Although, I was still feeling the warmth from before, for some reason. That was strange to me, given that the last time he'd gone out of my field of vision it had faded.

Still, it was a nice feeling, and it made the trip from Nail-Sorting Corner to Nail-Pounding Corner much easier to put up with. Heck, my arms and legs didn't even hurt as much as they had earlier in the day. Why, you could barely even tell that I'd been covered in more bandages than a mummy this time yesterday!

I dropped the bucket off and got another slap on my shoulder, wincing in preparation as it struck me on that one bruise ag-

Wait. That didn't hurt. He hit me right in the bruise that time, and it didn't hurt.

I mean, that was the same place that George and Gun Guy had hit, but this time I hadn't felt a thing. I ran my hands over the bruise, and was amazed to feel nothing more than my bony shoulder and some loose bandages moving around under my shirt. Had my powers finally kicked in and healed me? Was this related to that warm feeling I'd gotten from Lung?

I need privacy to figure this out. What has privacy and mirrors? Bathrooms. Twenty feet away.

***

By faking a stomach issue, I was able to retreat to the bathroom and lock myself inside. Sure, one of the Nail-Pounding guys tried to follow me, but I just put my Greg Veder skills to use and made fart noises with my mouth. I also let out a few groans, and then hurried to one of the urinals and flushed it. The footsteps walked away, two voices laughing about something.

Taking a moment, I looked around what was possibly the cleanest warehouse bathroom I'd ever seen. Seriously, with a ten foot high ceiling, three metal stalls to my left, and a brand-new mirror about twenty feet away from me on the opposite wall over a bone-white sink, this was a palace.

Standing in front of the mirror and rolling up my sleeve, I was blown away to see that most of the bruises and cuts had completely vanished. Focusing on one cut in particular that still remained, I could almost feel that warmth in me surrounding it as the wound slowly closed up. In moments, there wasn't even a scar. The warm feeling was still all over my body, feeling like a warm rain as it seemed to be healing my myriad injuries and problems.

I removed my sunglasses and bandana, pulling my hood down as I stashed both in my sweatshirt's big pocket. Before my eyes, I could see the huge bruise on my face starting to fade, a few splinters I'd missed being pushed out one by one. Even the pain from it was fading, and soon the warm feeling was retreating back into my...hmm, it wasn't really a location in my body.

I guess it feels like my middle, but not my torso. I'll call it my Core for now. That sounds right.

The power sat in my core, crackling like the campfire I'd imagined feeling from Lung earlier. I felt stronger, I think. Braver might have been a better word. It was an odd feeling (especially since I was normally kind of a coward), and it took me a while to figure out why.

I'd always had this sort of feeling in me like something was wrong. Call it paranoia, call it loneliness, call it whatever you want, but it wasn't just hyperbole to say that I'd always felt a little empty inside. Ever since my trigger event I'd felt it even more than usual, and I was pretty sure that the feeling had only gone away for a few minutes after I'd used my powers...but then came right back when I woke up the next day.

In fact, during all the time I'd been limping home, doing my power testing, and even hanging around the ABB, I'd still had that strange sort of...emptiness in me. It was only just now, as I was fully healed and feeling happy that I realized I felt full. But it didn't seem to be tied to my mood, my sense of self-worth, or even the accomplishment of finally doing something with my powers.

No, it was that crackling warmth, that power that had healed me and was still sitting comfortably deep within my soul. I felt different. I felt whole. I felt like something had changed, within me. Something was not the same. There was a feeling like I was finally complete, after so long.

Which meant that my powers had required a parahuman to actually use. Knowing that, it didn't take me more than a moment to realize the reason all my Power Testing had failed was because I was, in fact...a Power Copier of some kind. I was a Trump.

Well, one mystery down. I feel pretty good about that! In fact, I feel like I can take on the world!

Something I felt less good about was the fact that while I was grinning at myself in the mirror, I'd seen the bathroom door unlock itself, open, and admit my old friend Gun Guy. I also didn't feel great about him locking the door behind him. Or when he drew his huge gun and checked it.

Or the way he isn't flipping out on me for being a white kid. Guess my disguise wasn't so good.

But despite all that, I still felt brave, strong, and confident.

These were new feelings for me, a kid who was normally very good at avoiding conflict and running away from his problems or trying to make excuses. So, perhaps I could be excused for acting upon them in the worst way possible.

Which, in this case, was to cross my arms and try to stare Gun Guy down.

***

Gun Guy stared at me.

I stared right back.

He had a huge gun, at least twenty pounds of muscle on me, and an annoyed look on his face.

I had a healing power I had apparently copied from Lung, a makeshift ABB outfit, and an uncovered face that would tell anyone who looked at me that I was blonde, white, and desperately in need of some time in the sun.

Also, in what was probably the biggest twist, I wasn't really feeling all that afraid of Gun Guy. I mean, yeah, he had a huge gun and that would hurt. Sure, bad stuff. But for some reason I didn't really understand, I kind of felt like I could take on the world. Or at least one guy with a gun!

Still, whether it was overconfidence or some side effect of my powers, I decided to give him a break. Why not try to go for the diplomatic approach, after all? I figured I'd try talking to him.

One problem: Language barrier. Up until now, he'd been speaking a language that I was now certain was Japanese. I'm not really sure why I was now aware of that, but somehow I just seemed to know that he'd been speaking Japanese. I'd seen quite a decent bit of anime before Brockton Bay forced video stores to only carry dubs. Guess I must have known a few words.

Of course, this knowledge was still functionally useless, because as any anime fan can tell you, just watching a lot of anime is not a substitute for actual language classes. Sure, you can pick up a few phrases and bad words (first words I learned), maybe even some idioms, but there was no way that knowing how to cast Dragon Slave in Japanese was going to help me here.

No, I was going to have to go old school. I was going to have to go back to a time before language, and use a method of communication that needed no words...

"Hello." I said in English, waving slowly as I spoke. I tapped my chest, then clasped my hands and gave him a big smile. "Friend."

The Veder family, back when we were still a real family and they could stand to be around me for more than a few hours at a time, always used to have a Family Game Night on Saturdays. I may have been a failure at most card and board games, but I totally killed it at Charades. It was time for those skills to pay the bills...assuming that the bill was don't get shot.

Gun Guy lifted an eyebrow, cocking his head at me, which made me nod and push onwards.

"Got Lost." I held a hand up to my forehead, pretending to shade my eyes and then looked around. Finally, now that I was healed and could move without pain, I turned sideways and made myself look like the profile of the guy on exit signs. "Exit?"

Gun Guy was silent for several seconds, and I worried that my skills at charades had deteriorated. We used to play it all the time when my age was in the single digits, but it had been a while. Still, he looked down at the floor with his gun off to the side, so I began to stealthily shuffle forward. My feelings of self-worth were at an all-time high, after all.

My plan was to get close enough that I could duck behind the metal stalls set to my right (his left), and since his gun was in his left hand it would limit his ability to shoot me dead.

Still, I wasn't prepared for him to make his own attempt at communication.

"Tha fuck is wrong wit' ya?" Gun Guy asked, a distinct Brooklyn accent adding a certain flavor to his anger and confusion. "Ya know, talkin' like that, actin' the way you are? It's pretty fuckin' racist and insulting."

"I'm...sorry?"

"Damn right ya sorry." Gun Guy pointed his finger at me, his face suddenly looking mirthful. "What? Ya think that just because I'm ABB, I don't know any English? That I'm just some kinda Asian stereotype or some shit? Fuck's wrong with you?"

"In my defense, you've been speaking nothing but Japanese to me since we met. I mean, how was I supposed to know you spoke-"

"Ya coulda just asked! Christ, I came in here because my guys told me someone was shooting his guts out his ass!" He gestured at my face, growling. "Then I come in and see it's the dumb white kid my Enforcer reported was takin' pictures of my boys. I was gonna let ya off with a beatin' after ya did some labor, but then you pull this racist bullshit on me!"

I'm being lectured on racism by the ABB. What the hell? Who the hell does he think he is?

This day had started wrong because I got mad. It continued to go wrong because I was making bad decisions. Unfortunately, now I was getting even madder, and not just because he was trying to claim that he'd known I was a spy all along.

The only thing I could think about was that George was right...I was an angry, immature, shortsighted child. I had let my dreams and dumb plans get the best of me, and now I was locked in a bathroom with a gun-wielding ABB thug. I should have listened to my brother.

I'll bet George would have handled this perfectly. He'd probably make an awesome spy.

My self-pity, my annoyance at myself, and Gun Guy's words roiled in my head. But instead of getting sad, starting to cry, or begging for forgiveness, I was doing something else.

I was getting angry. I was feeling confrontational. I felt like telling this asshole off.

I was beginning to wonder if I'd copied more than just Lung's healing power.

Before I had time to think about it, I opened my mouth.

***************

Next time on From Hated to Hero: Well, the important thing is that Greg realizes that his brother is far smarter, more capable, and prepared than him. Yep, no way would George ever go off half-cocked into a dangerous situation full of enemies and screw up. Nope. Wait, what? Oh, there's an Interlude up next that says maybe George ain't so perfect? Well...dang it all.

Edits 11Sept2020: As funny as the ABB cosplay being taken seriously was, it was also crazy as heck to work by accident. Much more Greg to do it on purpose, but not be able to fool everyone. Plus, this allowed me to move Interlude 2 to be after this one more easily.

 

[Distraktion]

1.7: Understanding Lung

Excerpt from Greg's Journal:
I don't get the gangs. They just make no sense to me, from a long-term standpoint.

On the one hand, they're like a community group that allows similar people to come together for a common goal. That's good! They're led by passionate people, and those at the top serve as an example for those below that anyone can climb up with enough effort and motivation.

But on the other hand, they accomplish all of it with hate. They gather because they hate everyone else, they hurt everyone who isn't in their group, and eventually they find themselves hated by everyone outside the group.

That's what I don't get. Every gang in the world has to know that someday their enemies will be great enough that their time will end. They must look back at all the other failed gangs in the world and realize that their future is right there in the history books. Yet, despite that, they keep hating, gathering, and hurting people.

It just...doesn't make sense to me. Why would anyone stay with a group like that...or lead it?
GregV.

***

[Sunday, Dec 19, 2010]

I let Gun Guy keep ranting, seeing he was running out of steam. He'd barely been going for a minute, and the Veder in my blood was disgusted at his lack of dedication to the craft. In the meantime, I let my own steam build up, ready to let loose on him the moment I reached critical mass. A time that was swiftly approaching, in fact.

This piece of shit, a member of the ABB, thinks he can lecture me on racism? The nerve...

"This is just like you Americans, always treating people like me like shit. Yer all alike!" Gun Guy shook his head and scoffed as my blood began to boil. "You white people wonder why the ABB is always on your cases, and we got the poster child for racial profiling and stupid assumptions right freakin' here!"

"Enough!" I slammed my hand into the metal door beside me, startling him. I felt a lot angrier than I should have, but there was still a moment of pride as I felt a little flash of warmth in my hand. Good to know the power was still there, keeping me in top shape.

I smiled and raised my fist, then a finger. It was time for my counterattack.

"Number one, I'm not going to stand here and take lessons on racial sensitivity from a gang whose first two rules are 'Asians Rule' and 'Everyone else drools.' No!" I slashed my hand through the air, cutting him off despite his sizable gun giving him more than enough reasons for me to shut the hell up. He grimaced, but stayed quiet. "You said your piece, and I'm not done!"

I was on a roll now, and my Greg Veder rambling powers were coming out full-force as some pent-up frustration burst out of me. I pulled the rest of my crappy ABB cosplay out and put it back on, continuing to speak as he stood there and took it. From outside I could hear a few people talking loudly about something, but my ability to care was at an all-time low.

"Second of all, you guys liked me just fine when I was dressed like this and you couldn't tell who or what I was, so fuck right off with that racial profiling accusation." He twisted his lips at that, but then nodded and seemed to concede the point. Riding on the high of winning this argument, I moved on to my last point and stepped closer, pointing at his gun. "Finally, I guess it's all well and fine for you to accuse me of being someone I'm not, but this whole time you've been waving that gun at everything but me, and with the goddamn safety on no less!"

"It was off earlier, I just didn't feel like shootin' you ye-"

"Bullshit! I call bullshit on that!" Man, it was fun to be winning an argument for once. I was treating him like some kid in a costume with a fake gun, completely ignoring it as he started to raise it again. I didn't even feel threatened anymore. I felt like I could take on the whole world!

I pointed at him, taking another step forward. "You've been nothing but the model of safety since we got here, with all the hardhats and goggles. You've also been deliberately avoiding sweeping me with the barrel this whole conversation, so either put the gun away or just shoot me already!"

For a brief moment, I thought he was going to shoot me, but I wasn't going to back down. He gave me a hard look, and then seemed to deflate a little and lean back against the cement wall. "Fuck, yer right, kid. I don't like hurtin' people, but a gun this big makes 'em pay attention."

"No kidding they notice! Hell, this whole time I've been calling you Gun Guy in my head!" He laughed, and I joined him as if we'd been friends the whole time. With the gun out of the picture, I had a few inches on him and my fears of a bullet in the head were gone. I went on, adding, "But really, you don't need the gun to impress. You've got a really good thing going on here, with this hideout you're building. I think Lung is going to be really happy when it's done."

"Pfft, it's not a hideout!" He was still chuckling, shaking his head at me. Bragging, he explained, "It's actually a Tinker workshop. Lung's about to go out and recruit dis badass Bomb Tinker. Wants to get da place all readied up for her first, ya know?"

"No shit? He's recruiting Bakuda?" I felt a bit of cape-obsession coming on, and almost instantly recalled little scraps of info I'd seen on her. Apparently she'd held Boston hostage for a week, killed a beloved Math professor, and even the Boston Protectorate hadn't managed to catch her. "So that basement you guys were carving out was what, a blast range for experiments?"

"Not just dat, kid! We also got a whole big shipment of explosives, special materials, and other stuff comin' in any minute now. Place is gonna have more boom than a 4th of July Spectacular!" He laughed, then seemed to sober up as he realized that telling all this information to someone who had (thanks to him) infiltrated his gang was probably...not the best move.

I watched his face go slack, and then he reached for his gun.

"I...look, Gun Guy, you really don't have to worry. I mean, we bonded just now! We crossed cultural divides and I want you to succeed!" The smile vanished from his face, and I started to hold up my hands as he sighed at me. "Why don't we just part ways as friends, and I'll-"

Gun Guy obviously didn't want to be friends, because he pulled his gun back out and clicked off the safety in a practiced motion. Though he wasn't pointing it directly at me, it was just over my shoulder as if he was trying to decide whether to shoot me in the head or the chest. I crouched down a few inches, and even though we were a few feet apart it still felt like he was too close.

"Nah, I'm sorry kid, but if it makes ya feel better I'm not gonna be killin' you because-"

You're not going to be killing me at all, because I'm going to strike first, asshole!

With the feeling of fire in my blood, adrenaline in my brain, and a healing power in my core, I rushed the last few feet between us, his gun going over my left shoulder so close that I felt his arm rub against my sweatshirt and the side of my head. His whole arm had locked up, and it felt like an iron rod was on my shoulder as I reached up for his face with both hands.

I felt small cuts under my fingers, the kind that came from shaving with an old razor, as I grabbed his head with both hands. He let out a surprised little grunt, one of my hands over his mouth, but by the time he started to react it was already too late.

I heaved with all my might and slammed his head into the cement wall behind him. I was maybe a hundred pounds soaking wet, and almost none of that was muscle, so I worried for a moment that it hadn't been enough. But I guess close counted in horseshoes, hand-grenades, and head-slams, because the amount of force was enough for his eyes to roll back into his head.

He fell to the ground, but I didn't hear it. I was too busy reeling in pain.

The gun had gone off in my ear.

***

It's hard to describe the pain that comes from having a deafening explosion go off right next to your ear. This was worse than hands clapping right next to my ear. Worse than the time someone popped a paper bag next to my ear in Junior High. Even worse than when Madison Clements tried to whisper a secret to me and just screamed in my ear for a few seconds.

It was like a pressure wave smashed into the side of my head, got sucked into my ear, bounced off my brain, and then spat itself back out with so much force that I nearly fell over. Both ears popped, and a ringing sound was echoing through my head. I had a hand on the wall, but if not for that I'd have had no idea which way was up...and could feel something warm in my ear.

Ow! I never thought it would be this bad? How are people in action movies not all deaf?

I soon realized that the warmness in my ear wasn't just blood leaking out, but also that my Healing power was doing its thing. In less time than it took to whisper the alphabet (a fast and easy way to test my own hearing), I had my ear back to normal and could even stand up without a wall to assist me. Gun Guy was still out cold and I knew that more ABB would be along soon, so I unlocked the door and stumbled out into the hall.

To my right, about fifty feet away, was what looked like a big metal garage door. Just beside the big door was a smaller door, but it had an Emergency Exit sign on it and blinking red light. The fact that Gun Guy had shared the whole Bomb Tinker thing made me worry this was some kind of explosive, and the loud noises of machinery coming from that direction didn't make me excited to test that theory.

To my left, on the other hand, were countless ABB members, Lung, Huge Guy, and who knew what else. Given that I was fully healed, my ABB cosplay was intact, and I could still feel the crackling campfire-like healing power in my core...I decided to go to the left.

I was riding the high of my win (so to speak) against Gun Guy, and strutted out into the warehouse to find that all the workers had apparently left except for one. Unfortunately for me, it was the worst one of all.

Lung.

I was pretty sure he hadn't spotted me, so I very stealthily turned around and went the other way. I figured that I could maybe break a window, or use that metal door to get to the loading dock without risking any bomb-related shenanigans. Worst case, I could just try the door with the blinky light, and hope that it was just a fire alarm or something.

As I passed the bathroom door, I heard Gun Guy groaning and shuffling around. I then made the mistake of looking behind me, and was even more disturbed to see that Lung was following me. It was a slow, meandering walk. As if I wasn't an infiltrator and he wasn't going to kill me.

He even waved.

Geez, no wonder he's the boss. I guess he can afford to be lazy, with his pile of powers.

With Lung behind me, the sound of the bathroom door opening close by, and dozens of ABB lurking nearby, it was high time I made my exit. Despite there possibly being a bomb on that door, it was now a far more appetizing opponent than Lung. Maybe if I ran fast enough, I could get through before it exploded and-

Two gunshots and a loud shout rang out. A bullet hit the door just as my hand brushed against it, and I paused. I also leaned heavily on the doorframe because the other bullet had slashed along my ribs. Flesh wounds, despite all the jokes about them in British comedy routines, are pretty painful. It felt like someone had run a cheese grater along my ribs.

I felt the warmth of both blood and my healing power as I turned to see Lung and Gun Guy in an argument. Luckily for me, they were arguing in English. Unfortunately for me, I was the subject of their discussion, and it was not going in my favor.

"I told you to deal with this, and yet I find you injured and him escaping. I am disappointed in you." Lung's voice was a rich, rumbling baritone, and he spoke with a slow careful cadence that made me think of a translator or someone who was used to public speaking. "Give me your weapon. You seem to think so highly of it, waving it around as though it makes you powerful."

Gun Guy held the weapon out, and Lung snatched it from his hands faster than a striking cobra. He began to squeeze, and we both watched in silence as a reddish glow erupted around the weapon. The gun began to warp, twisting with a screeching noise before he dropped it to the ground. "You posture with a large gun, but the man who holds it is small and weak!"

As much as I would have liked to see Gun Guy squirm or to push my way out the door, I found myself focusing on the 'campfires' I could still see in Lung.

I was able to 'see' them faster this time, and as he continued to rant at Gun Guy I was interested to see that the one that had made me sweat appeared to be burning hotter and larger as Lung used his power. Also, when he'd been squeezing the gun, the one that made me feel strong grew a little bit as well.

Two fires remained mostly dormant. One was the fire that had soothed me, the one I could feel crackling warmly inside of my own body, and it sparked up for just a moment as Lung shook out his hand and a small cut vanished. The other was the scary one...that forest fire one. I could feel it glaring at both Gun Guy and yours truly, as if daring us to take Lung on...

Hmm, so besides just copying powers, I'm also able to see representations of them...in use?

"Now, stand there quietly while I deal with this intruder." Lung growled, and turned to face me.

Shit. Okay, think about powers and campfires later, survive the rage dragon now.

***

My first thought was to just slam my way backwards through the door, alarm or no alarm. Sure, it would summon all the ABB in a matter of moments, but it was also better than being stuck in an otherwise dead-end hallway with my only other escape being through Lung.

But for some reason, as Lung glanced in my direction for a moment, I actually found myself stepping away from the wall. I felt like saying something, challenging him and getting the first strike in, and it took every fiber of my being to keep my dang mouth shut for a change. There had to be a way out of this, I just needed a minute to think!

Despite being told to simply play observer, Gun Guy pulled out another gun and stepped back. This one was slightly smaller than the last, a Beretta 951 9mm pistol (I play shooter games sometimes, sue me). It didn't escape my notice the way he kept it to the side and out of Lung's field of vision...nor the way he immediately clicked the safety off.

Well, so much for just running out the door. Although, with my healing...still an option, maybe.

"So, boy...I am told that you sought to infiltrate my gang. To gather information on us, walking among us like a housecat among tigers." Lung was about fifty or so feet away, but I actually felt like he was looming over me. A ball of fire appeared in his hand, growing faster than before, and stopping at about the size of a basketball. He pointed it at me. "The ABB has a code, as well as membership that is literally in our name. What would possess you to act so foolish?"

"Well, actually...um….the thing is." I paused, holding up a finger to indicate that I actually had some kind of point. Nothing was immediately coming to me, other than a really stupid idea. But, as Dad used to say, any idea is better than no idea. "I wanted to join. I'm actually Asian."

"What? Dat's impossible! I saw you, yer as pale as a ghost and blonder than one'a Kaiser's bimbos!" Gun Guy was scoffing, looking back and forth between Lung and I. He started to laugh, as though it was some kind of hilarious pre-death joke I was telling.

Thing is, Lung wasn't laughing. Instead, he motioned with the non-fire hand. "Go on."

Time to lie like I've never lied before. Luckily for me, I've lied a lot before. I hate that phrase.

"Well, my family actually hails from the southeastern part of Russia, and one of our family branches is from Kazakhstan. Though our blood is a bit mixed thanks to various Americans we've fallen in love with over the generations, we still have strong ties to the continent of Asia."

"That is...interesting." Lung actually seemed to be considering this, or he was just humoring me. Either way, it let me reach into my pocket for my phone. "You know much of your family line."

"Well, my parents were always very big on heritage, and I respect them a lot." I figured that was something that might work well on Lung, given the way he'd been talking earlier. I mean, yeah I know the whole 'Japanese guy loves honor' thing is kind of a stereotype, but this was an Asian guy who literally turned into a dragon. "Both of them always wanted me to understand where I came from, and that the world is much bigger than just what I've grown up to know."

"Your parents are very wise." Lung complimented my parents, or at least the fake parents that I was completely making up as we went on. I just nodded silently, respectfully, and falsely.

It was a really good thing Lung couldn't see my face right now, because I had absolutely no poker face to speak of. I had yet to win against George at Uno, back when we actually used to play together.

"So you are suggesting that by using the name Asian Bad Boys, I am opening myself up to people who will try to join because their definition of 'Asia' is of a larger area than my own?" Lung placed a hand on his chin, deep in thought, and the fireball in his other hand began to shrink. It was down to the size of a baseball, and Gun Guy looked like he was going to have a heart attack.

Is this actually going to work out? Have I beaten Lung with words? Is he just messing with me?

It was too bad that I wouldn't be able to brag about this to anyone. I mean, the only proof of this entire day was going to be my own memories, and probably the journal entry that I'd write when I got home. I was certain that nobody would believe me anyway. I mean, how likely is it that a new hero in a homemade costume would just happen to run into Lung on their first time out?

Lung sighed.

As anyone who has ever played D&D can tell you, a sigh is never a good thing when trying to convince a dragon not to eat you. I've played more than a few games (mostly online), and can tell you that a dragon sighing is almost as bad as a Dungeon Master smiling...or asking if you're "really sure that you want to drink that potion?"

So when Lung sighed, I just backed up a step, put my hand on the door, and got ready to run for my life. I had one last play to make, and simply had to hope that a villain who made his name from having shitty anger management skills would be willing to lose his temper for me.

"Besides, I don't see why you're mad. You should be proud of this Tinker Workshop you're building for Bakuda." I said, speaking quickly before he could reveal my likely flaming fate. The fireball started to grow again, but Lung's baleful glare snapped to his side as I added, "Gun Guy told me all about it. He wouldn't stop talking about it. I think he even called someone about it."

As Lung started to roar at Gun Guy, I burst out the door and set off a hell of an alarm.

***

On the other side of the door were several trucks, a couple ABB guys, and a huge pile of boxes on the loading dock. Many of the boxes were covered in bubble wrap, various symbols, and more warnings than I've ever seen. A few were even in English, but I had no time to read them.

I needed to take cover.

I mean, I wanted to duck into an alley and run for my life, but even from here I could see a few ABB members standing in the only visibly alley and watching me. I wasn't sure if they were waiting for me to try and run before attacking me or considering rushing in to help Lung, but either way I couldn't go that way right now. The blaring alarm would keep them away, at least.

The reason I was taking cover was because I had seen Lung idly toss his fireball at me. As long as I kept running, I at least had a few seconds before it hit me, but that also meant I'd have to dive into cover. So as I passed by another pile of boxes, I tried to do that cool diving roll thing.

A bullet sliced past my arm, giving me another flesh wound and throwing my already wild roll off a lot more than I wanted. It also spun me around enough to see Lung was busy messing with the door, holding Gun Guy's shirt and probably asking him how to turn the alarm off.

Still, I was already in motion, and now instead of rolling behind the boxes I rolled into them.
My face hit the box, and I had the strange (and painful) feeling of my nose breaking. Pain overtook my thoughts for a moment, moreso as both knees smashed into the ground.

On the plus side, I dodged the fireball and Lung's too distracted by the alarm to throw another.

The heat of my healing power split between my knees and my face, having finished healing my newest flesh wound already. It was getting faster at that, I idly noted. Then I lost track of time for a few seconds as my nose unbroke, and my kneecaps unshattered. I'd watched videos of people breaking things and then reversing the tap...but in this case I actually felt it.

For reasons I didn't fully understand, I got back to my feet. It took a moment, but I realized that I was surveying the battlefield. This felt like an opportunity, and I was smiling wide.

Lung was tearing the wall apart and had grown a few inches, but it was still slow going as he'd apparently not gotten enough of a challenge to Ramp Up. Even with his Brute Strength and toughness, they'd picked this place to be a Bomb-Tinker's new base, so it was tough as heck.

Going another route, Gun Guy was looking through some kind of instruction manual, trying to find a code to punch into the little number pad next to the door. He was distracted, of course, by the ABB delivery guys who kept trying to run off or move the boxes. Some would move boxes closer to Lung, as if delivering them so they could leave, and others just yelled into phones.

In other words, they were distracted.

The reasonable thing to do would have been to leave. I had healing powers, I had escaped the ABB, and they probably wouldn't even notice if I ran off. Hell, between a bullet and a fireball, hey might have even thought I was dead! Now was a great time to cut my losses (wins) and go.

But I had felt something surging through me. I'd felt it before with Gun Guy, and Lung, and was now feeling it even stronger as I stood and watched them fail to stop the alarm. My blood was pumping, my adrenaline was surging, and my heart was racing.

Something inside me said that running was for cowards. That I was a warlord. That this was my property, and I had to take it back. That I had powers now, and there was no better time to train with them. I even began to chuckle, realizing that I could do it without Lung even noticing.

I still crouched behind one of the boxes a little, just in case. But only to rest my legs.

***

For whatever reason, I was feeling brave, confrontational, and like an all-around badass who didn't have an ounce of reason to run away from a very one-sided confrontation.

I think I'm getting these feelings because the power came from Lung. Like his...personality?

In fact, that was probably going to be a double-edged sword when it came to these powers if I was right about that. Taking a power from a coward would make me more cowardly, from an asshole would make me a jerk, and so on. Right now, the only downside of Lung's powers was that I was getting reckless because of his...let's call it Confrontational Bravery.

Still, part and parcel of this recklessness was what appeared to be bottomless confidence. That was further bolstered by my fully healed body, that seemed to be actually healing faster than before. Finally, most important of all for a fight with a parahuman who has multiple powers, I was a Power Copying Trump and had FOUR powers standing a hundred feet away.

In fact, that entirely explained why my power testing had been such a complete failure. I didn't have any parahumans around to copy off of, so naturally I was just a baseline human when surrounded by other civilians. Now that I had finally met one, it was all obvious. I felt like I'd been taking a test and failing, and then found out that it was actually an open book test!

Still, I wasn't going to stay here forever, because they'd fix that alarm eventually. I'd give myself three minutes and take some time to test a few things out, then snag the Heal power again and run off. I had so many questions! Could I copy more than one? Could I double them up? Why did the one I had on Friday vanish overnight? Was there a time limit? Was it distance-related?

My point is, this meant that I needed to practice with my powers, and what better time to do that than when I had a walking power buffet sitting right here in front of me? Lung didn't seem to have noticed that I had taken his power before, and he'd still healed without problems while I had my copy, so there was no danger in trying the other ones out. Plus, if I got hurt, I could just snag his healing again and run like hell...burns and bullets would heal easily. It was perfect!

Still...I felt like maybe Lung's Confrontational Bravery was just making me think that this was a good idea. Maybe it was actually a bad one, but I wasn't capable of recognizing that. Sure, my power lets me take risks, and I did want to know more...but I needed to set limits.

Compromise: Three tests and I leave. That's it. Although...copying all 4 powers is just one test.

Okay, so first question...can I copy the same power twice? It was similar to the question that anyone who ever found a magic lamp asked, wanting to have more of a good thing. In my case, even though my core felt like it was already full, it couldn't hurt to try and cram another in there.

So I focused on Lung's Healing Campfire again, recalling the feeling I'd gotten, and...nope. It just kind of hit the one in my core and fizzled out. The one I had stuck around, but it seemed like it didn't overwrite the old one so much as just not really do anything. Strike one.

Second question: What happens if I copy a different power into my core when there's already one there? Do I get both? Do they combine? Or does the new one just overwrite the old?

Focusing on one of his other powers, I felt it being drawn into my core. The healing power guttered and died, like a fire someone had poured water and dirt on. There was a brief moment where my body went kind of numb and I could swear I felt my heart stop, but then I went back to normal after a moment. It kind of felt like I was colder than before, but otherwise no different.

That had been strange. Unfortunately, before I had time to consider the ramifications...

I heard a scream from my left, and turned just in time to see a bat coming at my face.

He's attacking me from behind? Well, that's rude. I just healed this face!

*************

Next time on From Hated to Hero: Greg continues to train in harsh conditions, learns a lot about himself, and maybe even picks up a valuable lesson from his mistakes. When things start going really bad, he tries to escape. Unfortunately, the place he escapes to may actually be worse!

Edits 11Sept2020: CLeaned up a lot of the Gun Guy and Lung encounters to be a bit less crack, and a bit more desperation/action. Greg does have a bit of Lung in him, after all, so being cunning is entirely possible. Also, a bit less of a dope on the power realizations.