Grief 7.1a
ZFighter18
I'm not a god. I AM WHAT A GOD PRAYS TO.
- Location
- Maryland
Grief 7.1a
Greg and Sparky walked through the streets near Firefly Hill, their footsteps echoing in the eerily quiet neighborhood. The streets, once bustling with life, now stood half-deserted. Most residents chose to stay inside, leaving the streets quickly. With the E88 attacks last week and the distrust from everyone else, no one felt safe, simple as that.
Hate how dead it feels, Greg thought with a mental frown, his smile not leaving his face as his eyes scanned the boarded-up storefronts and vacant lots. Bakuda's bombs didn't even touch this place.
Of course they hadn't. Firefly Hill and adjacent areas were all ABB territory. Maybe the fact it was fully untouched was another sign to the people not to spend any time here.
Greg shook his head. Whatever.
The May air held a crisp chill, perfectly typical of a New England spring. Greg tugged at his blue drop shoulder bomber jacket, its yellow accents catching the late afternoon sunlight. His white shirt peeked out underneath, matching his blue jeans and coordinating sneakers. Beside him, Sparky slouched in his black denim overalls, hands shoved deep in the pockets, the other boy standing out in his yellow shirt, yellow beanie and matching checkerboard yellow-and-black skate shoes.
Place is like a ghost town, Greg mused, kicking a stray pebble and watching it skitter across the cracked sidewalk. Guess people are still spooked from the bombings. Can't blame 'em, but damn... Wish they'd give my boys a chance. The ABB is over… we're the… the… He shook his head… workshopping what we are, still.
He glanced over at Sparky, noting the tight set of his friend's shoulders. His friend had yet to get used to just striding into ABB territory, his eyes flicking from side to side expecting someone to jump out of an alley. Instincts of living in Brockton Bay were still strong, even with powers.
Or it could have just been anything gang-related, he admitted to himself, remembering the Empire. For a second, Greg's eyes narrowed at the memory, anger flaring hot in his chest even as his mouth kept moving and Sparky kept nodding mindlessly. Never again.
He forced his fists to unclench, smile no longer as forced. "—at's when I whack him in the face with the hitball!" Greg let out a laugh, the sound jarring in the quiet street. "You should have seen it, Sparks."
Sparky's eyes rolled so hard, Greg half-expected to hear them rattle. "I did," he drawled. "I was there. We were the only two people on the same team. It was today."
Greg's eyebrows shot up, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Oh... yeah, I just honestly forgot you were there," he lied, cupping his chin in mock thoughtfulness. "Cause you weren't doing shit, were you?"
"Cus I was trying not to hurt anyone," Sparky fired back, his tone flat but tinged with exasperation. "Cus of my powers. Y'know, the things you told me to be careful about?"
He's got a point, Greg admitted to himself. I did tell him to watch his strength.
Out loud, he snorted, waving off Sparky's concern. "Oh, they'll be fine. Kids bounce back quick, especially when you apply rubber to their face."
"Kids, he says..." A moment later, a crack appeared in Sparky's stern frown. "...his face really was funny when you hit him, I can't lie."
"RIGHT?" Greg cackled, his laughter echoing off the empty buildings. "That's what I'm saying!"
Their banter carried them to a familiar storefront, familiar to him at least. The faded red awning of House of Wu sagged slightly, its edges frayed by time and neglect. Even still, it still looked pretty nice despite all that, as nice as a place like this could look.
Good ol' House of Wu, Greg mused, eyeing the chipped paint and cracked window. Looks rough around the edges, but still standing.
"Man, I love House Of Wu," Greg said with a grin, head tilted up to look at the chipping signage. "This place never gets old."
Sparky glanced over at him before his own gaze returned to the cracked window on the place's front door and then back up to the chopping paint, the look on his face saying it all more than words could manage. "Really... never?"
"Yeah," Greg replied guilelessly, not even rising to the bait. "And you love their orange chicken, don't lie."
"Mmmmm," Sparky nodded, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "It's still just orange chicken, though."
Greg's eyes lit up, sensing an opening. "Oh, so you don't mind paying, then."
"Eat me," Sparky shot him a flat look.
Greg laughed, the sound bright and genuine as he pushed open the door. The familiar jingle of the bell was a welcome interruption to the neighborhood's oppressive silence. Sparky followed him in, the door swinging shut behind them.
"Mr. Wuuuu!" Greg called out, his voice echoing in the empty takeout place.
The inside of the place was that of a classic Chinese takeout spot, with those backlit menu pictures above the counter—each one showing off a different dish in bright yellow colors and red designs popping even as the lightbulbs behind them threatened to flicker off.
The dark green worn marble-like counter was clean, but that was really the only thing in the front end of the place that properly was, everything else vaguely dirty in a way that it probably actually wasn't but it just felt run down more than anything. The man behind said counter looked even older and more worn than his restaurant but the smile on his face said otherwise, "Gregory!"
"Mr. Wu, how's my favorite chef doing?" Greg shouted, one hand cupped around his mouth as he walked up to the counter, his sneakers squeaking slightly on the dingy linoleum floor.
Same old House of Wu, Greg mused, eyeing the faded posters on the walls and the chipped paint on the window frames. It's like coming home.
"Ah, Gregory," the old man laughed, showing off his several missing teeth, "you know I never cook in the afternoons. That's Stephen's job."
"I know," Greg tilted his head to the side as Sparky walked up beside him, hands still shoved deep in his pockets, "but I can't acknowledge that your afternoon chef exists. Me and your grandson have beef."
The Chinese man raised his eyebrows. "Oooh, Beijing?"
"Come on, Mr. Wu, don't joke like that," Greg said with a scoff, clicking his tongue as he shook his head. "It's two orders of General Tso's, a Sweet and Sour Chicken combo with fried rice, and a couple sugar donuts for dessert."
Mr. Wu nodded, a playful glint in his eye. "Mmm, I see you're watching your weight."
Greg grinned, patting his flat stomach. "Someone has to, right?"
Gotta keep the calories coming, Greg thought, remembering those early days after his powers kicked in. My metabolism was insane back then. Still is, but I've got a better handle on it now.
Visiting Mr. Wu's place as often as he could during the first few weeks of his powers was kind of a daily ritual. Greg needed a lot of food back then and his mom was getting suspicious with all the shopping she was having to do.
Brushing it off as 'puberty' only worked for so long and the all-you-can-eat buffets were an easy way to get the PRT called on him for suspicious behavior. With Mr. Wu, the old Chinese man knew how much he could shovel down, at least, and he never complained, considering Greg was without a doubt his best customer and he made sure to grease the man's pockets with tips as healthy as his food was unhealthy.
If Wu thought I was a supe, and he probably did, the old guy knew better than to talk, Greg mused, watching Mr. Wu punch their order into the ancient cash register. This was Brockton Bay, after all. People went missing for much less.
Greg blinked at that suddenly vicious thought.
Not that I would do something like that, Greg amended hastily in his own mind. But because of the implication...
Mr. Wu glanced over at Sparky, tilting his chin at the other boy. "And you?"
Sparky shrugged, looking mildly uncomfortable with the sudden attention. "Keep it simple and double this guy's order."
"Triple it," Greg interjected, ignoring Sparky's confused look.
Mr. Wu nodded approvingly. "That's more like it."
Sparky shot Greg a questioning glance, one eyebrow raised.
"What? C'mon, you know you need it," Greg said, nudging Sparky with his elbow.
Sparky's confused expression melted into a slight smile, one hand scratching his hair beneath his beanie awkwardly. "Thanks, brah."
Greg made kissy faces at him, batting his eyelashes as he did so. "Someone has to feed my growing boy."
Sparky sighed, rolling his eyes. "...they'll never find your body."
"Not if I swallow a tracking device first," Greg shot back without missing a beat.
Sparky opened his mouth, then closed it again, shaking his head. "...I don't have a comeback for that."
Greg chuckled as he reached into his pocket, pretending to root around for money as he mentally voiced [Inventory] inside his head. Gotta love pocket dimensions, he thought with a smirk, pulling out three crisp hundred dollar bills and handing them over to Mr. Wu. "Here you go."
Mr. Wu didn't even bother counting the money or checking it, simply smiling as he nodded his head at the only properly clean booth in the place. "Thank you very much, Gregory. Your food will be brought over."
Greg smiled back as he gestured for Sparky to follow him as he walked over. Compared to the dingier, cracked red faux-leather seats in the booths, the booth almost looked reupholstered even, the table so clean it sparkled. My private booth, I love making friends, he thought with a sigh as he slid in, the vinyl squeaking under his jeans.
Sparky slid in across from him, the other boy's eyes scanning the restaurant with a mix of familiarity and vague discomfort. Probably thinking back to that last time we both came here together, Greg guessed, his own mind flashing back to that afternoon when he told Sparky his secret. That was… different.
But some things never change, Greg mused, watching Mr. Wu yell back behind the counter, getting their order ready. "So…"
Greg folded his hands on the table, smile still on his face as he leaned forward, the vinyl booth creaking slightly under his shifting weight.
Sparky raised one eyebrow, leaning back in his seat with his arms crossed over his chest. "So?"
"Brockton Bay is about to explode," Greg said, his tone casual as if discussing the weather.
Both of Sparky's brows shot up, nearly vanishing into his bangs as he leaned forward over the table, hands slamming down flat on the surface. "What? Again!?"
Greg shook his head, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. "No, not literally, at least. Just making an Akira reference."
Sparky let out a sigh and slumped back into his seat, arms crossing over his chest again. "I..." He shot Greg a harsh look from beneath half-lidded eyes. "I'd say I hate you but it feels like you get off to that."
He's not wrong, Greg thought with an internal chuckle.
Out loud, he just shrugged. "Meh. Anyway, in the long term, I'm planning war."
Sparky blinked, his expression going blank.
Greg blinked back, maintaining eye contact.
"..."
"..."
"..."
The silence stretched on, broken only by the distant sizzle of cooking oil from the kitchen.
"...aren't you gonna ask why?" Greg finally asked, breaking the stalemate.
"No," Sparky shot back, shaking his head. "No dramatic pauses. Keep speaking."
"This fuckin' guy, ruining my fun," Greg muttered to himself, knowing full well that Sparky's enhanced ears would catch his words anyway.
Clearing his throat, Greg continued. "Anyway, full story is that without Lung, the Empire's getting too big for their britches and I gotta nip that in the bud before they do something worse than they've already done."
They've already done plenty, Greg thought darkly, his smile slipping for a moment.
Sparky clicked his tongue, taking all that in. "...and?"
Greg sucked in some air, meeting Sparky's gaze head-on. "The Empire needs to die."
Sparky leaned forward, elbows on the table, his expression serious. "Figuratively or literally?"
"Lady's choice," Greg replied with a shrug, his tone light but his eyes hard.
"If I get to break Kaiser's neck, you can call me a girl six ways to Sunday, brah," Sparky said, a vicious glint in his eye. He paused for a second, eyes going wide as he cleared his throat. "...no homo."
Greg made a face, nose wrinkling. "I mean, literally half homo."
"Shut uuuup." With a roll of his eyes, Sparky leaned back in the booth again, the vinyl squeaking. "Speaking of metal weirdoes, how's your fat cousin?"
The blond boy coughed slightly, holding back an obvious laugh as he turned it into an attempt at clearing his throat. "If you mean Theo..."
"Ye."
Greg shrugged again, picking at a loose thread on his jacket sleeve. "I think he's doing pretty good, I can't be sure. He was acting kinda weird..."
Weird is an understatement, Greg mused, thinking back to his last conversation with his cousin. More like straight-up unsettling.
"Weird like black blood from his ears, eyes and nose?" Sparky scoffed, one hand fiddling with his beanie. "Or did I miss something else?"
Greg clicked his tongue. "No, no, no, that was the weirdest, actually." His gaze focused on Sparky a half-instant later. "Also, I didn't know you were Catholic."
Sparky shook his head, shuddering, likely because of the mental image of Theo from last week. "I wasn't and I'm not. I was just scared, kinda throwing stuff at the wall that day."
"And at Theo," Greg reminded him, remembering the panicked shouting and flying objects.
"I'm not apologizing for that. Shit was demonic, brah," Sparky shot back, tugging his beanie down over his ears.
"True, but still, rude..." the blond chided, wagging a finger at his friend. "Anyway... I was on the phone with T-Dawg last night and he..." Greg frowned slightly, thinking back, "he kinda just zoned out and... saying stuff..."
Sparky tilted his head, confusion written across his face. "Like... Like Latin chanting in reverse?"
"No... honestly, that would have been less weird," Greg answered with that odd frown still on his face. "He told me it was the structural transformations of iron at different heats and melting points of iron in structural transformations."
"...what?" Sparky blinked, looking utterly lost.
"I knoooow, right?" Greg made a grimace, clicking his tongue again. "I mean, he's still Theo. He just has his moments."
"I kinda call bullshit though," Sparky added, pulling off his beanie to fix Greg with a look, his dark hair slightly matted from being under the hat all day. "Why does he get an actual power and I just get stronger?"
The blond shrugged, leaning back in his seat with a slight frown on his face. Theo's weird metal shaping powers were crazy, but honestly... if it stops there, I don't see him doing much. If it stops there... "Look, I don't make the rules. He's definitely gonna be helpful, though."
"With the Empire, right?" Sparky asked, one eyebrow raised. "'Cus of the metal thingy."
"I mean… sure," Greg replied, a knowing smile on his face. "But not just the Empire."
Sparky's other eyebrow joined the first.
Greg tapped Sparky on the arm, covertly tilting his head in the direction of the alley across from Wu's.
Sparky turned, and Greg saw his eyes narrow as his friend spotted three Asian guys heading into said alley. The first was tall and wiry, with a red bandana tied around his neck and a black cap pulled low over his eyes. The second was shorter and stockier, wearing a blue plaid shirt with the sleeves ripped off, showing off tattooed arms. The third was average height, with a green bandana and a matching plaid shirt, his long hair pulled back in a ponytail.
"What, brah?" Sparky gave him a look, confusion written across his face. "Aren't those your guys?"
"Not mine," Greg said, shaking his head.
"Huh?"
"You know how Boston had a really huge underground Asian crime thing going on… before Lung, at least?" Greg asked, his tone casual as if discussing the weather.
Sparky raised an eyebrow, leaning back in his seat. "...not really, brah."
"Well, now you do," Greg shot back, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "New York had one too. I mean, it was less overt, kinda had to be with Laser Man hanging over your head, right?"
"I guess," Sparky said with a shrug, his expression still confused.
"Anyway, I've been getting reports that they're making moves again, this time into the Bay because they think it's easy pickings," Greg finally took his eyes off the alley, focusing back on Sparky. "You know, what with Lung gone and all?" Because the ABB is weak now, was the part that went unsaid.
Sparky tilted his head, eyes half-lidded and seemingly uninterested. "And let me guess," he leaned forward slightly, "your part in this equation is to… disabuse them of that notion."
"You would be correct, Sparkplug," Greg said with a grin, finger-gunning at his friend.
"Sparkplug" slowly closed his eyes the rest of the way, letting out a long sigh, before opening them again halfway. "So, what… we suiting up?"
Greg smirked, shaking his head. "Nah, this is just recon. One of mine told me about suspicious locations and I told him I'd scope this one out. No, see, I wanna wait till they actually come into the city in force so I can spank 'em all at once."
"Spank 'em… okay. And when's that gonna happen?" Sparky asked, leaning forward, elbows on the table.
"I dunno," Greg answered with a shrug, "soon as they bring in their capes, probably."
Sparky's eyebrows shot up again. "They have capes?"
Greg and Sparky walked through the streets near Firefly Hill, their footsteps echoing in the eerily quiet neighborhood. The streets, once bustling with life, now stood half-deserted. Most residents chose to stay inside, leaving the streets quickly. With the E88 attacks last week and the distrust from everyone else, no one felt safe, simple as that.
Hate how dead it feels, Greg thought with a mental frown, his smile not leaving his face as his eyes scanned the boarded-up storefronts and vacant lots. Bakuda's bombs didn't even touch this place.
Of course they hadn't. Firefly Hill and adjacent areas were all ABB territory. Maybe the fact it was fully untouched was another sign to the people not to spend any time here.
Greg shook his head. Whatever.
The May air held a crisp chill, perfectly typical of a New England spring. Greg tugged at his blue drop shoulder bomber jacket, its yellow accents catching the late afternoon sunlight. His white shirt peeked out underneath, matching his blue jeans and coordinating sneakers. Beside him, Sparky slouched in his black denim overalls, hands shoved deep in the pockets, the other boy standing out in his yellow shirt, yellow beanie and matching checkerboard yellow-and-black skate shoes.
Place is like a ghost town, Greg mused, kicking a stray pebble and watching it skitter across the cracked sidewalk. Guess people are still spooked from the bombings. Can't blame 'em, but damn... Wish they'd give my boys a chance. The ABB is over… we're the… the… He shook his head… workshopping what we are, still.
He glanced over at Sparky, noting the tight set of his friend's shoulders. His friend had yet to get used to just striding into ABB territory, his eyes flicking from side to side expecting someone to jump out of an alley. Instincts of living in Brockton Bay were still strong, even with powers.
Or it could have just been anything gang-related, he admitted to himself, remembering the Empire. For a second, Greg's eyes narrowed at the memory, anger flaring hot in his chest even as his mouth kept moving and Sparky kept nodding mindlessly. Never again.
He forced his fists to unclench, smile no longer as forced. "—at's when I whack him in the face with the hitball!" Greg let out a laugh, the sound jarring in the quiet street. "You should have seen it, Sparks."
Sparky's eyes rolled so hard, Greg half-expected to hear them rattle. "I did," he drawled. "I was there. We were the only two people on the same team. It was today."
Greg's eyebrows shot up, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Oh... yeah, I just honestly forgot you were there," he lied, cupping his chin in mock thoughtfulness. "Cause you weren't doing shit, were you?"
"Cus I was trying not to hurt anyone," Sparky fired back, his tone flat but tinged with exasperation. "Cus of my powers. Y'know, the things you told me to be careful about?"
He's got a point, Greg admitted to himself. I did tell him to watch his strength.
Out loud, he snorted, waving off Sparky's concern. "Oh, they'll be fine. Kids bounce back quick, especially when you apply rubber to their face."
"Kids, he says..." A moment later, a crack appeared in Sparky's stern frown. "...his face really was funny when you hit him, I can't lie."
"RIGHT?" Greg cackled, his laughter echoing off the empty buildings. "That's what I'm saying!"
Their banter carried them to a familiar storefront, familiar to him at least. The faded red awning of House of Wu sagged slightly, its edges frayed by time and neglect. Even still, it still looked pretty nice despite all that, as nice as a place like this could look.
Good ol' House of Wu, Greg mused, eyeing the chipped paint and cracked window. Looks rough around the edges, but still standing.
"Man, I love House Of Wu," Greg said with a grin, head tilted up to look at the chipping signage. "This place never gets old."
Sparky glanced over at him before his own gaze returned to the cracked window on the place's front door and then back up to the chopping paint, the look on his face saying it all more than words could manage. "Really... never?"
"Yeah," Greg replied guilelessly, not even rising to the bait. "And you love their orange chicken, don't lie."
"Mmmmm," Sparky nodded, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "It's still just orange chicken, though."
Greg's eyes lit up, sensing an opening. "Oh, so you don't mind paying, then."
"Eat me," Sparky shot him a flat look.
Greg laughed, the sound bright and genuine as he pushed open the door. The familiar jingle of the bell was a welcome interruption to the neighborhood's oppressive silence. Sparky followed him in, the door swinging shut behind them.
"Mr. Wuuuu!" Greg called out, his voice echoing in the empty takeout place.
The inside of the place was that of a classic Chinese takeout spot, with those backlit menu pictures above the counter—each one showing off a different dish in bright yellow colors and red designs popping even as the lightbulbs behind them threatened to flicker off.
The dark green worn marble-like counter was clean, but that was really the only thing in the front end of the place that properly was, everything else vaguely dirty in a way that it probably actually wasn't but it just felt run down more than anything. The man behind said counter looked even older and more worn than his restaurant but the smile on his face said otherwise, "Gregory!"
"Mr. Wu, how's my favorite chef doing?" Greg shouted, one hand cupped around his mouth as he walked up to the counter, his sneakers squeaking slightly on the dingy linoleum floor.
Same old House of Wu, Greg mused, eyeing the faded posters on the walls and the chipped paint on the window frames. It's like coming home.
"Ah, Gregory," the old man laughed, showing off his several missing teeth, "you know I never cook in the afternoons. That's Stephen's job."
"I know," Greg tilted his head to the side as Sparky walked up beside him, hands still shoved deep in his pockets, "but I can't acknowledge that your afternoon chef exists. Me and your grandson have beef."
The Chinese man raised his eyebrows. "Oooh, Beijing?"
"Come on, Mr. Wu, don't joke like that," Greg said with a scoff, clicking his tongue as he shook his head. "It's two orders of General Tso's, a Sweet and Sour Chicken combo with fried rice, and a couple sugar donuts for dessert."
Mr. Wu nodded, a playful glint in his eye. "Mmm, I see you're watching your weight."
Greg grinned, patting his flat stomach. "Someone has to, right?"
Gotta keep the calories coming, Greg thought, remembering those early days after his powers kicked in. My metabolism was insane back then. Still is, but I've got a better handle on it now.
Visiting Mr. Wu's place as often as he could during the first few weeks of his powers was kind of a daily ritual. Greg needed a lot of food back then and his mom was getting suspicious with all the shopping she was having to do.
Brushing it off as 'puberty' only worked for so long and the all-you-can-eat buffets were an easy way to get the PRT called on him for suspicious behavior. With Mr. Wu, the old Chinese man knew how much he could shovel down, at least, and he never complained, considering Greg was without a doubt his best customer and he made sure to grease the man's pockets with tips as healthy as his food was unhealthy.
If Wu thought I was a supe, and he probably did, the old guy knew better than to talk, Greg mused, watching Mr. Wu punch their order into the ancient cash register. This was Brockton Bay, after all. People went missing for much less.
Greg blinked at that suddenly vicious thought.
Not that I would do something like that, Greg amended hastily in his own mind. But because of the implication...
Mr. Wu glanced over at Sparky, tilting his chin at the other boy. "And you?"
Sparky shrugged, looking mildly uncomfortable with the sudden attention. "Keep it simple and double this guy's order."
"Triple it," Greg interjected, ignoring Sparky's confused look.
Mr. Wu nodded approvingly. "That's more like it."
Sparky shot Greg a questioning glance, one eyebrow raised.
"What? C'mon, you know you need it," Greg said, nudging Sparky with his elbow.
Sparky's confused expression melted into a slight smile, one hand scratching his hair beneath his beanie awkwardly. "Thanks, brah."
Greg made kissy faces at him, batting his eyelashes as he did so. "Someone has to feed my growing boy."
Sparky sighed, rolling his eyes. "...they'll never find your body."
"Not if I swallow a tracking device first," Greg shot back without missing a beat.
Sparky opened his mouth, then closed it again, shaking his head. "...I don't have a comeback for that."
Greg chuckled as he reached into his pocket, pretending to root around for money as he mentally voiced [Inventory] inside his head. Gotta love pocket dimensions, he thought with a smirk, pulling out three crisp hundred dollar bills and handing them over to Mr. Wu. "Here you go."
Mr. Wu didn't even bother counting the money or checking it, simply smiling as he nodded his head at the only properly clean booth in the place. "Thank you very much, Gregory. Your food will be brought over."
Greg smiled back as he gestured for Sparky to follow him as he walked over. Compared to the dingier, cracked red faux-leather seats in the booths, the booth almost looked reupholstered even, the table so clean it sparkled. My private booth, I love making friends, he thought with a sigh as he slid in, the vinyl squeaking under his jeans.
Sparky slid in across from him, the other boy's eyes scanning the restaurant with a mix of familiarity and vague discomfort. Probably thinking back to that last time we both came here together, Greg guessed, his own mind flashing back to that afternoon when he told Sparky his secret. That was… different.
But some things never change, Greg mused, watching Mr. Wu yell back behind the counter, getting their order ready. "So…"
Greg folded his hands on the table, smile still on his face as he leaned forward, the vinyl booth creaking slightly under his shifting weight.
Sparky raised one eyebrow, leaning back in his seat with his arms crossed over his chest. "So?"
"Brockton Bay is about to explode," Greg said, his tone casual as if discussing the weather.
Both of Sparky's brows shot up, nearly vanishing into his bangs as he leaned forward over the table, hands slamming down flat on the surface. "What? Again!?"
Greg shook his head, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. "No, not literally, at least. Just making an Akira reference."
Sparky let out a sigh and slumped back into his seat, arms crossing over his chest again. "I..." He shot Greg a harsh look from beneath half-lidded eyes. "I'd say I hate you but it feels like you get off to that."
He's not wrong, Greg thought with an internal chuckle.
Out loud, he just shrugged. "Meh. Anyway, in the long term, I'm planning war."
Sparky blinked, his expression going blank.
Greg blinked back, maintaining eye contact.
"..."
"..."
"..."
The silence stretched on, broken only by the distant sizzle of cooking oil from the kitchen.
"...aren't you gonna ask why?" Greg finally asked, breaking the stalemate.
"No," Sparky shot back, shaking his head. "No dramatic pauses. Keep speaking."
"This fuckin' guy, ruining my fun," Greg muttered to himself, knowing full well that Sparky's enhanced ears would catch his words anyway.
Clearing his throat, Greg continued. "Anyway, full story is that without Lung, the Empire's getting too big for their britches and I gotta nip that in the bud before they do something worse than they've already done."
They've already done plenty, Greg thought darkly, his smile slipping for a moment.
Sparky clicked his tongue, taking all that in. "...and?"
Greg sucked in some air, meeting Sparky's gaze head-on. "The Empire needs to die."
Sparky leaned forward, elbows on the table, his expression serious. "Figuratively or literally?"
"Lady's choice," Greg replied with a shrug, his tone light but his eyes hard.
"If I get to break Kaiser's neck, you can call me a girl six ways to Sunday, brah," Sparky said, a vicious glint in his eye. He paused for a second, eyes going wide as he cleared his throat. "...no homo."
Greg made a face, nose wrinkling. "I mean, literally half homo."
"Shut uuuup." With a roll of his eyes, Sparky leaned back in the booth again, the vinyl squeaking. "Speaking of metal weirdoes, how's your fat cousin?"
The blond boy coughed slightly, holding back an obvious laugh as he turned it into an attempt at clearing his throat. "If you mean Theo..."
"Ye."
Greg shrugged again, picking at a loose thread on his jacket sleeve. "I think he's doing pretty good, I can't be sure. He was acting kinda weird..."
Weird is an understatement, Greg mused, thinking back to his last conversation with his cousin. More like straight-up unsettling.
"Weird like black blood from his ears, eyes and nose?" Sparky scoffed, one hand fiddling with his beanie. "Or did I miss something else?"
Greg clicked his tongue. "No, no, no, that was the weirdest, actually." His gaze focused on Sparky a half-instant later. "Also, I didn't know you were Catholic."
Sparky shook his head, shuddering, likely because of the mental image of Theo from last week. "I wasn't and I'm not. I was just scared, kinda throwing stuff at the wall that day."
"And at Theo," Greg reminded him, remembering the panicked shouting and flying objects.
"I'm not apologizing for that. Shit was demonic, brah," Sparky shot back, tugging his beanie down over his ears.
"True, but still, rude..." the blond chided, wagging a finger at his friend. "Anyway... I was on the phone with T-Dawg last night and he..." Greg frowned slightly, thinking back, "he kinda just zoned out and... saying stuff..."
Sparky tilted his head, confusion written across his face. "Like... Like Latin chanting in reverse?"
"No... honestly, that would have been less weird," Greg answered with that odd frown still on his face. "He told me it was the structural transformations of iron at different heats and melting points of iron in structural transformations."
"...what?" Sparky blinked, looking utterly lost.
"I knoooow, right?" Greg made a grimace, clicking his tongue again. "I mean, he's still Theo. He just has his moments."
"I kinda call bullshit though," Sparky added, pulling off his beanie to fix Greg with a look, his dark hair slightly matted from being under the hat all day. "Why does he get an actual power and I just get stronger?"
The blond shrugged, leaning back in his seat with a slight frown on his face. Theo's weird metal shaping powers were crazy, but honestly... if it stops there, I don't see him doing much. If it stops there... "Look, I don't make the rules. He's definitely gonna be helpful, though."
"With the Empire, right?" Sparky asked, one eyebrow raised. "'Cus of the metal thingy."
"I mean… sure," Greg replied, a knowing smile on his face. "But not just the Empire."
Sparky's other eyebrow joined the first.
Greg tapped Sparky on the arm, covertly tilting his head in the direction of the alley across from Wu's.
Sparky turned, and Greg saw his eyes narrow as his friend spotted three Asian guys heading into said alley. The first was tall and wiry, with a red bandana tied around his neck and a black cap pulled low over his eyes. The second was shorter and stockier, wearing a blue plaid shirt with the sleeves ripped off, showing off tattooed arms. The third was average height, with a green bandana and a matching plaid shirt, his long hair pulled back in a ponytail.
"What, brah?" Sparky gave him a look, confusion written across his face. "Aren't those your guys?"
"Not mine," Greg said, shaking his head.
"Huh?"
"You know how Boston had a really huge underground Asian crime thing going on… before Lung, at least?" Greg asked, his tone casual as if discussing the weather.
Sparky raised an eyebrow, leaning back in his seat. "...not really, brah."
"Well, now you do," Greg shot back, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "New York had one too. I mean, it was less overt, kinda had to be with Laser Man hanging over your head, right?"
"I guess," Sparky said with a shrug, his expression still confused.
"Anyway, I've been getting reports that they're making moves again, this time into the Bay because they think it's easy pickings," Greg finally took his eyes off the alley, focusing back on Sparky. "You know, what with Lung gone and all?" Because the ABB is weak now, was the part that went unsaid.
Sparky tilted his head, eyes half-lidded and seemingly uninterested. "And let me guess," he leaned forward slightly, "your part in this equation is to… disabuse them of that notion."
"You would be correct, Sparkplug," Greg said with a grin, finger-gunning at his friend.
"Sparkplug" slowly closed his eyes the rest of the way, letting out a long sigh, before opening them again halfway. "So, what… we suiting up?"
Greg smirked, shaking his head. "Nah, this is just recon. One of mine told me about suspicious locations and I told him I'd scope this one out. No, see, I wanna wait till they actually come into the city in force so I can spank 'em all at once."
"Spank 'em… okay. And when's that gonna happen?" Sparky asked, leaning forward, elbows on the table.
"I dunno," Greg answered with a shrug, "soon as they bring in their capes, probably."
Sparky's eyebrows shot up again. "They have capes?"