Greg Vs Raid 9-4 (Patreon)

The Dallon living room felt like stepping into the set of some rich people reality show, all clean lines and furniture that probably cost more than Mom's first car (the one Dad crashed driving drunk before they even started the divorce). It was a wide open space, with one wall nothing but floor-to-ceiling windows that showcased a lawn maintained by what had to be professional garden ninjas, because nobody's grass looked that perfect without chemical enhancement or superpowers.

The entire New Wave roster spread around the room in civvies like a full deck of cape trading cards. Until recently they'd just been faces on PHO threads and tv screen; now they were staring at him like the season finale of a show they'd been binge-watching.

No pressure or nothing, Greggo. He thought to himself as he walked up to the awaiting family, with Vicky pushing him from behind. Don’t be nervous.

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –.

"...and then the mech just started falling apart," words just kept on spilling out of his mouth in some rambling monologue that had been running for what felt like the extended edition runtime of all three Lord of the Rings movies. Can’t believe I thought I’d be nervous. 

Nervous he was not.

Or maybe he was so nervous, the stack had overflowed, and he’d gone back to no so little nervousness. It was pretty much the same thing in the end because either way, he was holding the room captive with something that felt less like memory and more like a fever dream.

I knocked around a City-Killer Kaiju on my birthday with a giant mech and shot it with a chest cannon. Really, what part of that didn’t sound like a fever dream?

"The timer was running out, energy was basically eating me alive from the inside, and all that was left was... well, me. Just a pile of steaming, half-cooked meat on a rooftop." He shrugged, trying to kill the heat of what he was saying, because he knew how grody it could get. Hell, he’d seen Sparky try to hold back throw-ups from his Bakuda bomb story before, so talking about holding his intestines from being “outtestines” needed some kinda cushion. 

The alternative involved actually just fully getting into the gritty and the nitty of the whole 'intestines taking unauthorized field trips' thing, and that ship had sailed, been torpedoed by a U-boat, and was currently resting somewhere on the ocean floor next to his ability to take anything seriously.

Mom's flinch almost made him flinch too, Greg’s eyes nearly snapping to her. Even from the sides of his eyes, he watched her fork clatter against the plate in front of her, sound hitting his ears with gunshot-in-library acoustics.

The sudden silence spread across the room like spilled grape juice.Luckily, she didn’t spill her grape juice.

Greg held back a sigh. Alright, Greggo, let’s pull back the Cronenbullshit. 

"But the tsunami was still coming," Greg did a quick pivot toward less traumatic narrative territory before Mom's stress levels spiked and she started asking questions she would not like the answer to. Less stressful, huh. He wasn’t sure he could describe that stupidly tall wall of water that way, not from how it remained crystal clear in his memories despite everything else getting fuzzy around the edges. "Could see the shield line from where I was. Saw it start to buckle."

"Oh god," Sarah's voice spiked all the way up to that parental horror frequency he’d gotten enough of from his mom the past week or so, "we heard that on the armbands-"

"Didn't really have the strength to build another mech," Greg continued on before anyone else could derail into sympathy territory, "but still had the energy and honestly, there's a lot you can do with raw power if you're not picky about structural integrity." Blue eyes glanced over at Eric across the table because this next part required some creative truth editing. "Figured since I learned shields by copying what I saw of yours, we could probably snap together like Legos… or at least Duplo. Your barriers were the strongest anchor point. So I just... pushed."

"You copied his shields?" Brandish — because she seemed to be in full superhero mode, even down to her stance almost, Greg unable to see her as Carol — turned her head sharply towards Greg, voice half as sharp as one of her hard light weapons, "How exactly does one-"

"I felt it," Eric blurted out, shooting upright so fast he nearly launched himself into his mashed potatoes. His voice was almost cracking, shaky confidence taking over him all of a sudden as he stared down at his hands. "It was... insane. One second, we were toast. I mean, my shields were buckling, Bastion was screaming right in my ear loud as hell-"

"Language," his dad murmured automatically. The words came out… not hesitantly, but unsure, kinda, as if the hero wasn’t sure he wanted to do it. 

Greg blinked up. What’s that about?

"—the pressure was..." Eric's hands gestured wildly, trying to describe something that the English language probably didn’t even know how to handle. "Don't even have the words, can’t even lie. Then this… energy just flooded my barriers."

"Like what exactly?" Crystal leaned forward, Greg keeping his eyes firmly off her low-cut top and focused on his food. "Was it hot? Cold? Did it hurt?"

Eric let out a low shudder like he was back at the Endbringer fight all over again. "...felt like hooking my shields up to a freaking power plant."

Greg glanced over at him, mouth full again with roasted meat. …you need a minute, bro?

A small hexagonal shield popped into existence beside Eric as the blue-haired kid finished what he had to say. Greg’s eyes tracked it immediately as it came to life without even a sound, the thing shimmering crystalline blue and way more detailed than the smooth rounded wall from the Leviathan fight. 

No, this looked complex, faceted, like someone had taken a snowflake and made it out of smaller snowflakes and then said fuck it, snowflakes all the way down. Eric’s tongue slid out of his mouth as the construct slid over to the dessert platter and flattened. A half-second later, it found its way under a slice of cheesecake and levitated back up.

Show-off.

Photon Mom was beaming as bright as her lasers, America’s Super-Mom looking like a tastefully-aged former Miss America who'd just watched her kid nail the talent portion. "Eric, sweetie, that's wonderful."

"Hey, bro... you can make other constructs, right?" The words slipped out before conscious thought could edit them, because apparently his mouth had decided this was important information to acquire. If he can figure out constructs, I can figure out constructs… we could have a gundam fight… sick.

"I mean, y-yeah, kinda." Eric's voice had that special mix of excitement and uncertainty that Greg knew well; it came with a new character build. "I couldn't really make anything complex before, not without giving up on strength but now, I can do both."

"Honestly," Crystal leaned forward again because apparently, she had no interest in Greg’s innocent virgin eyes being defiled , "everything about his powers are more complex than before."

A real grin spread across Eric's face, wide and eager, showing off teeth too. "My power... I mean… kinda still getting used to how different it is." The floating cheesecake shield made its way across the table, dessert wobbling a little but the shield holding steady. "Here," he said, extending the construct toward Greg. "I know I said it before, but thanks for the save, man."

Greg accepted the plate slowly, eyes focused on the shield construct, because holy shitsnacks, the geometric complexity was craaaaazy up close. Wonder what his new ratings look like, honestly, Greg couldn’t help but think. If Shielder’s complexity scaled at all to strength in the slightest, then… whoo buddy, maybe not Shaker 9 territory like Vista's space-warping bullshit, but…

Being honest, he had seen Shielder take one of Leviathan’s waves and stay up during the fight, a direct one, and that was with the old basic shields… math on him now gotta be absolutely bonkers. 

"Anyway, so…” Greg paused to finish off a bite of the cheesecake that was so criminally good he was surprised New Wave hadn’t arrested it, “I pushed all that energy into the shield wall, and it held.” He paused again, one finger up for another bite. Man, rich people really know the good stuff. "And then... I was out. Mech fell apart, my body finally remembered it was supposed to be dead, and everything was about to cut to black like the Sopranos. Next thing I knew, I was blinking and Vix was hovering over me, looking very grossed out."

Every head swiveled toward Victoria with synchronized precision that would've made a drill team jealous. Mom's hand flew to her chest, voice thick with those unshed tears that meant Emotional Moment was incoming whether anyone wanted it or not. "Victoria... Vicky. I... I don't know what to say. Thank you. For saving him."

Vicky shook her head, golden hair swishing around her shoulders in a way that probably looked awesome in slow motion. "I didn't save him, Ms. Veder. Not really."

"She's right," he mumbled out, mouthful of perfectly smooth cheesecake and crumbly graham cracker crust.

"Gregory, that's incredibly rude." He knew for a fact that if his mom was sitting any closer, an elbow would already be making contact with ribs. "Don't say that."

Greg swallowed his third bite and cleared throat as politely as he could manage under his mom’s intense stare.  "It's not rude, it's true! Look, I’ve thanked Vix plenty for the airlift but she knows and I know that as messed up as I was, I’d have been fine. ‘Sides, my healing factor was already kicking in.” He nodded his head slowly, remembering that first day of gritted teeth. His eyes flicked over to Panacea, well aware she was stuck in a hospital for days and couldn’t have helped out. Again, not like I needed any.“Was it messy? Yes.” He gestured over to Vicky, who nodded at that, looking a little pale.

“Would I have been naked and stuck on a roof for a while?” He nodded slowly. “Also yes, but would I have lived?” Greg tapped his ticker with one finger. “I’ve got a heart that can take on an Endbringer. I’d have been fine.”Susan Veder locked eyes directly with her son, blue on blue staring back at each other. “Fine?”

“I mean,” Greg sighed, “I would’ve lived, yeah… probably. Vix had my identity locked down though. Got my half-skinless butt off that roof before anyone could get the money shot and let me heal for a day and a half here without anyone knowing. I owe her for that much.” Glory Girl beamed his way.Greg grinned back. “Besides, Vicky’s a mensch like that, she’s not gonna take credit for something she didn't do."

Vix glanced at him, one perfect eyebrow elevated. “Mensch?”Greg shrugged. “It’s Yiddish for good guy.”

His mom’s stare got less heated and more confused. “Since when do you…”“Know Yiddish?” He shook his head, sighing. “I’m like an onion or… Eric’s shields. Layers, mom.”

Vicky's nod came with the ballooning mouth of someone trying their best to hold back a laugh they sorely needed. "...h-he's right, Ms. Veder. And besides," she smirked over his way, "I already owed him one for saving me from Lung. After he saved the entire city from Leviathan... I kinda figure I owe him about a million more. This was just a down payment."

"Million and one, maybe," Her uncle’s voice boomed from the couch, the big man slapping his knee loud enough for it to sound like a rimshot.

A dry cough from the fireplace pulled everyone's attention toward Carol, who somehow managed to make throat-clearing sound professional. "I know I haven’t said much tonight but, the fact remains, your actions were decisive… Greg." Her voice carried all the warmth of a walk-in freezer and all the life of a mouse who had wandered in a week ago. "Reckless, borderline suicidal, but decisive. I have to thank you.”The odd stress on the have made Greg almost open his mouth to say something but Flashbang jumped in with before he could. "What Carol means to say is, we're all very grateful. You did good, kid. More than good." 

"Who wants more cheesecake?" Sarah's voice cut through any lingering awkwardness with the skill of a woman with experience in handling at least one difficult person.

His hand shot up. "Right here."