*000000*

One watched placidly from the rear of the room he was in as the Ministers of Defence and Transportation squared off for the dozenth time.

"Minister Shan, surely you must understand that moving the goods you need will take time regardless - I cannot divert any more resources to your efforts knowing the potential side effects of doing so." A thin weasel-faced man on one side of the room was negating furiously.

"Minister Peng, are you aware that the purpose of the railroads you are blocking me from using is to transport troops and ammunition? We do not sacrifice safety for commerce here. Perhaps you have spent too long abroad to remember this?" Another, drastically more rotund man countered, slapping his hands on the table like an angry child.

For all that they claimed superiority over the west, they still wore western clothes; slim-tailored suits with all the accompanying knickknacks and tools that demonstrated superiority in boardrooms the world over. Smartwatches filled the room, as did cellphones and computers.

Useful tools, if used only as tools. But heinous curses in the hands of those weaklings who had come to rely on them.

One did not often attend events such as this. Today, however, he was practically obligated to do so. He had already expected the summons well before the Chair had called for it.

After all, the nation was under attack. Not just that, it was under attack in a way that had not been seen in hundreds of years, even.

Naturally at first, the military had been sortied.

While yes, his Yangban had been constructed with the intent of stopping the dangerous and chaotic 'Parahumans' from disrupting the country, with many agreements and treaties signed declaring that they were for exactly that, and never to be used in matters of military or war… One had always known that was nothing but a polite facade.

Many in the government believed him harmless - almost useless with the institutionalized support they provided him. They regarded him as a 'Thinker with a particular bent towards Brainwashing techniques' or some such tripe. One did not consider himself such. He considered himself a philosopher. A student of the human condition. It was why he had taken upon himself the Dharma Name of One.

One above all. One beyond all. One who sees all.

One.

A side effect of his unique insight into people, how they worked, and why they worked - was that yes, he could manipulate conditions to affect any of those variables.

But that was not in and of itself, his 'power'. Much like his ability to read the intent of others was not the totality of his capabilities.

It did, however, make him an excellent lie detector.

The Yangban were always a military tool. They were just closer to nuclear ordinance than conventional troops. It would take a significant problem for the government to allow him to take visible action on the world stage.

Which was why he had done nothing to prevent the current invasion of the northern border - despite having expected it.

It would not do for his plans to be stymied at this juncture by a slightly above-average competent civil servant.

"Calm yourselves." He called carefully from the rear of the room. His body moved with his statement, tiny insignificant adjustments occurring that drew the eye of everyone in the room and kept it there despite the low volume of his statement. With a single step he stepped from the shadows at the rear of the room - where everyone knew he was standing anyway - and lifted a hand, enjoying the way their eyes followed it like a dog observing a ball.

They assumed that 'brainwashing' required being broken. Being starved and hurt and beaten and yelled at. They assumed these things, because it was how he broke his Yangban. It was how they saw him treat his soldiers.

They did not understand that people could be conditioned in a variety of ways, not all of them very obvious.

"Minister Shang, do you require assistance in transporting goods, or fighting the enemy." He asked carefully, lowering his hand to pluck at his own outfit; a much more respectable Shenyi garment. He made sure to phrase his question subserviently, giving the man face in exchange for interrupting his petty squabbling. But One already knew the answer to his question, even before Minister Shang spoke it.

"Resupply assistance would be appreciated, and I would be grateful for it." The Minister responded immediately. Likely he had never expected help from the Minister of Transport in the first place - they were rivals, just as every government official was, convinced that their path to greatness must be paved with the failures of all others.

It was a poor way to run a nation. It was also, ironically, the way China had always been ruled shortly before falling apart into warring factions. Truly, history is to be learned from.

Naturally, One knew this, as did all else in the room, but by offering himself this way, the favor he was owed by the Minister was diminished somewhat. One had to do his very best not to roll his eyes at the subtle smiles that flickered onto several faces at this. Any admission of weakness was to be capitalized on, and while none of them knew it, each and every person in the room thought they had the Yangban's support in the event that they attempted something… drastic.

They were, in a way, not even wrong. Zero, One, Two, and the ever insufferable Shen Yu had long since decided to support anyone that would bring their nation back to prominence. Not this toxic aping of the west that saw their wallets grow and their Dao wither. A true return, to when philosopher warriors, such as One himself, could rule with an even hand.

And One would be there to ensure whatever sprang forth from such an undertaking would not become corrupt, as so many dynasties before it.

So in a way, he did support each and every one of these would be Kings.

Unfortunately, he had also come to find he had a fondness for their current foe. A foe who hewed to the old righteous ways far better than a politician ever could.

The Horses - the Horde as they so loved to be called - were a menace. They raced across the more rural settlements in northern China like a crushing wave, driving enemies before them with strength of arms and righteous hearts. But they were respectful in their own way. Those who surrendered were made camp followers. Those who fought were slain honorably. They raised a prayer hall to praise the Military Saint each evening, and they debate the Dao into the night before moving on.

They did not stop, they did not doubt, and they did not shy away from death. Already soldiers were beginning to fear the sound of horses stampeding, as it meant that they were likely about to have a spear jammed into their throat. The creatures - regardless of whatever moronic Tinker had created them for - were not even bulletproof in most cases. They simply didn't care if they died, and that dedication allowed them to use their great strength and speed to close into melee range with a force that had not been trained for such in decades.

One could admit to a begrudging sort of respect for the creatures, even if it was not to the degree that he would not order their deaths if he had to.

But it was enough that he could maneuver his Yangban out of his way. If they made it to the heart of the nation, One knew which horse he would be obliged to back.

If not… well.

It was time for his Yangban to demonstrate their prowess on a greater scale soon anyway.

"Tell me about the girl." He said blandly to his personal servant as he exited the hall and returned to his vehicle so that he could comfortably return to his fortified position.

"We have placed the Infiltration Team in the city. The Boy is ready." His faithful assistant - this one was faithful anyway, since he had been allowed the time to raise her properly, unlike the last one - informed him.

"Good. He may begin at his leisure. Display no hostility." He commanded, before returning to his ponderings.

As ever, ruling a nation that did not know you were its ruler, was tirin

How does one try - without trying?

Jamie had tried pretty much everything he could think of. He had tried extremely hard, all the time, in the dim hopes that it would become second nature and he would no longer have to try.

This had worked, but only to a point. It had allowed him to manage his shifts and biology to an absurd degree. The lag time between shifts had drawn down to a matter of milliseconds. He had actually used his power to check, and in some cases he was actively shifting faster than the electrical impulses that demonstrated he was thinking could travel.

He flowed forward as he thought, suiting meditation to movement in a way only possible when the mind and body were one.

'Great Bear's Mauling Fist' he thought idly as his upper torso took on the characteristics of half a dozen bear species, all mingled together into what he instinctively knew was the ideal configuration for this attack. Hands with opaque ivory claws as big as meathooks were thrust through the air, bearing down on an invisible opponent.

But that was all it was. Force. Muscle. Technique. It was maddening, as though he could just barely sense what was missing, what would make the strike perfect. It was as though there was a hidden channel in his body that something was supposed to flow through, but that his power could not detect or help him with.

'Hands of the Dread Ape' He added, as his body - seemingly on autopilot, from his mental perspective - morphed and shifted, his fingers and hands elongating and thickening until the bulk of his mass was in his upper torso.

Then he clapped them together with a thundercrack of noise, the sheer force involved enough that an actual gorilla would have pulped its own hands in making the strike.

Again, there was the feeling of wrongness, of absence. But he felt it closer this time. Just barely out of sight. Just barely out of reach.

He tried to relax. To allow the moves to flow without thinking about them. He tried to think about them, but not to think about what was missing.

He tried every mental trick in the book.

But it was only when he gave up and allowed his shadow boxing routine to play out without much of any thought at all that he achieved something.

One moment, his mind was adrift as he spun around, elongated his foot into an over muscled ostrich and kicked out, and the next, a giant pearlescent ostrich was hovering over him, mirroring his movements. It was beautiful. It was sublime. It was like his very soul was experiencing a higher state of being.

The mirror creature was not real. It was not physical. He was not suddenly a Master type cape. But it was what it represented that filled him now, not just its biology. An icon of the creature's strength standing over him like a silvery glowing banner.

He was so excited that he barely stopped to consider the damage his empowered kick had wrought on the steel pillar he had been targeting with it. He spared not one iota of thought for the eddies and whorls of wind that spun about the room - like the survivors of a hurricane hurrying to safety in the aftermath.

He had to hang onto this… this feeling. He had to strangle the urge to examine or think too hard about what was happening lest he waste the moment of inspiration.

Instead, he just rode it out. He allowed his body to simply move, while the everchanging menagerie of beasts hovered in the air behind him. When his speed grew too great for him to maintain a solid humanoid form, he really cut loose, lashing out with a hundred punches, and kicks, and bites and snares at once. Where two fists made him a master combatant, a hundred made him a Shura. A hundred hands all bent towards violent ends.

It was only at the last second that he realized something was wrong. That he was slowly shifting in a way he did not want to, that he was channeling something beyond his normal understanding.

Fear was what stopped him before his output peaked. Fear, and the withering remains of an icon in the corner of his eye unlike any animal he had ever seen or heard of.

He tried to ponder it, to determine if this was as far as he could go before he tripped over into the schizophrenic monster he knew he had the potential to be… and then paused as he abruptly forgot what he was doing.

He had a vague recollection of… of a being twisting in on itself in a spectral breeze. Galactic in scale, and swirling back and forth like a billion Shards of-

A knock at the door, distracted him again, and this time he was unable to hang onto the thought. He was abruptly unsure of even how he had reached enlightenment, though he was sure he could display the ability again if he had to.

Was this what it was to be a master? Truly? Was his physical training over, now to be replaced with pondering the infinite in search of meaning?

He shook the thought from his head when he realized he hadn't answered the knock yet.

"Come in." He allowed, knowing that no one would come into his training hall without permission. It wasn't a matter of respect - although there was much of that present - but rather, safety. The forces he worked with were enough to obliterate a normal human. It was simply for the best that no one enter the room while he was practicing.

"Hey Chief! How's your thingy going?" Kim asked curiously as the ostensible second in command of the Dojo skipped into the room like a twelve year old girl.

"Well enough. I have attained a degree of enlightenment that-" he began, only all too happy to have someone to talk to about it so soon after his achievement.

"Sorry boss, don't have the time, I just wanted to get your permission for something before heading out. Hot date." The bubbly but well muscled woman explained quickly, shaking her hands in front of herself as though begging him to stop.

Which was rude. He could read the mood well enough, he wasn't going to ramble on about something nobody else cared about.

…wasn't he?

"…Well?" He asked, somewhat bratty sounding even to his own ears. He was glad he could hide the blush on his face using his power when Kim snickered at him from behind one raised hand.

"Right! I was thinking of changing things a bit. A handful of my girls have started to be able to do some vaguely magical stuff, so I was thinking we split classes into mundane and super kung-fu. A two tier kinda thing. Also, I wanted to do an in house tournament for 'em and was hoping you could get the okay from the big boss? Anything that serious, we definitely need healing on hand for, or someone's gonna die. Also, my cousin has a sister about your age and you should take her on a date." Kim rattled off in quick succession.

Aspirant nodded along with her until she finished, and then paused as he realized that there was a point in there that wasn't the same kind of concern as the others.

"Wha-" he began, only for Kim to rush ahead of him.

"Great! I'll get her around sometime tomorrow to meet you! I'm sure you'll get along great. Anyway, gotta go, dinner reservations and you know how anal retentive Willow is! Bye!" She cheered before turning and - literally - sprinting out of the room.

In response, Aspirant did what he always did when faces with an unpleasant truth.

He pretended he didn't know anything about it until he couldn't anymore.

Now, a tournament… that could be fun.

He had a proposal in his head before he even left the building that night.

"Explain it to me in a way I can understand Emily." The new Chief Director asked her in as neutral a tone as someone visibly rubbing one temple could manage.

Director Emily Piggot of the Protectorate ENE had to restrain the urge to frown at the petite woman who had taken over when Alexandria had stepped down from the position. Emily still couldn't bring herself to refer to the previous Chief Director as Rebecca Costa Brown. She had respected Rebecca. Now, knowing that Rebecca might as well have been a fabrication, it felt too much like insulting a dead woman to think of her.

And her replacement was, so far, not to Emily's tastes. She was overly familiar, and not nearly as strict or disciplined as the previous Chief Director. She had the feeling of someone who had great power, but for some reason was unwilling to exercise it to get the job done. She tried entirely too hard to be 'friends' with those under her.

"At roughly midday today, hundreds, possibly thousands, of Case 96's were spotted in and around past Endbringer sites. I've already forwarded the relevant documentation for handling them." Emily said blandly, reaching off screen for her mug full of delicious steaming coffee with too much sugar and cream in it just to punctuate her utter lack of surprise or concern.

Contrary to popular movie depictions of the Protectorate's Directors, she was not in a shadow room seated at a round table with other holographic depictions of her coworkers. That might have been nice, but it would have been an excessive and distasteful waste of tinkertech to make function.

So instead she observed her fellow Directors the way God intended.

Through two dozens tiny windows on her laptop, all of varying video and audio quality.

Her fellows, including the Chief Director herself, all looked extremely harried. She knew the look well, as it was all but perpetual for most people in their positions. Except for Emily. Today, Emily wore a navy blue pant suit over a cream coloured blouse, and had her blond hair tied up in a neat little bun.

It wasn't that there was no reason to be worried. It was just, she wasn't personally worried. For as much contempt as she held for Nexus' continued upheaval of everything she thought she knew about parahumans and the world in general, she was now beginning to reap dividends on that early exposure.

Emily Piggot, Director of the Protectorate ENE, had seen some shit.

"Is this supposed to be a joke Emily? We all saw you file for those dead capes of yours, and I was happy to keep my mouth shut about it, but whatever insane plan led you to lying about your guys being alive and replacing them with new Parahumans has no bearing on this situation!" The Vegas Director snarled at her.

She took another sip of coffee before answering, surreptitiously putting the mug down off screen so she could pour more of that delicious cinnamon bun flavoured creamer into it.

God she loved being able to eat whatever she wanted again.

"First off, I didn't replace them, and I certainly don't have the pull to force the Chief Director to approve a new case number just to sell a ruse. Who would I even be trying to trick? None of this is even public information. Did you read the briefing before this meeting or does Vegas need an army of Thinkers just to read three pages of plain english?" She snarked back at him, perhaps a bit more annoyed at his insinuation than she would willingly admit.

"You want me to believe that dead capes have just been getting up and walking around for months now? And no one leaked that? Pull the other one, I don't have time for bullshit." He responded instantly.

"Actually, she is correct. The previous Chief Director briefed me directly on it. She was concerned that I wasn't taking the new regs seriously." The Texas director added in, turning to send a nod Emily's way.

Perhaps as a side effect of constantly begging for reinforcements, money, and just general aid from all the surrounding Protectorate Departments, Emily got along well with Directors from further away - who understood but genuinely couldn't help her - and poorly with the nearer branches.

Largely because they'd left her high and dry for so long it took an act of god to get her city cleaned up.

"What the ghostbusters shit? Are you kidding me right now!? Is anyone else hearing this?! I move to have the whole damn lot of you checked for mastering!" Vegas insisted, slamming a wrinkled hand in his desk and causing his video stream to cut out for a moment.

"Director Lawrence please control yourself. You need to have read and enacted the training from the manual you were given by the end of the month or your tenure as a Director will be cut short. Emily, I appreciate that you've provided a handy framework for reintegrating Case 96's and we will follow through on it, but the public has to be told something. Costa Brown read me in on some things but not everything, so now I'm asking you, why exactly is there a line in the budget listed as 'Case 96 Expert', and why is it worth five times my salary?" The new Chief demanded, instantly calming the murmurs that had exploded across the call.

'Because a teenager with mommy issues has sole control the ability to make them.' Was what she thought inwardly.

Outwardly, she said;

"My department recently proved magic is real and that - theoretically - anyone can learn it. You have a pamphlet on that too, if you are curious. My expert is what you might call a Wizard of some capability. It costs a lot to keep them on retainer." She explained blandly.

Silence descended on the call as everyone in it paused to boggle at her mind numbingly juvenile sounding statement.

Even though she knew for a fact that it was absolutely true.

"I recommend finding one for yourselves actually. They work excellently on Case 100 situations." She added with the ghost if a smirk on her face.

A Director - she couldn't place exactly where the woman was from but Emily thought she must have been one of the Canadian Directors - quickly pulled open a ring binder that had been sitting nearby and paged through it until she landed on - presumably - the Case 100 briefing she had sent out weeks ago.

"Ghosts?" She muttered incredulously.

"Even odds you have a sudden rash of crimes with no discernible cause right? It's probably ghosts. Actually, it's almost always ghosts." She said with a shrug.

Emily felt a moment of blissful schadenfreude at the flabbergasted and confused expressions on the faces of most of her compatriots, remembering all too well what this moment felt like to be on the other end of.

Then she felt a chill run down her spine as she happily beat people over the head with the presence of the supernatural.

Was that girl rubbing off on her? Surely not.

Shaking away the disturbing thought, Emily settled in to weather the rest of the meeting, secure in the knowledge that the coffee machine in her office was only two steps away - and that she had quite a bit more of that delicious coffee creamer left.

* * *

Emily Piggot's home was - at least at one point - a spartan affair. The tiny home might not suit the dignity of a highly paid Protectorate, but it did have certain benefits. The Captain's Hill area was largely full of the affluent, which meant there was very little crime there. So the location itself was nice.

But what Emily really loved about it was that there were no other people in it to bother or annoy her. It was a small detached house at the very end of a cul de sac, with no other houses behind it. Just open space before you hit the road up to the lighthouse.

She unlocked the front door of the house, and slipped inside, hucking her jacket off and tossing it onto a chair by the door. She passed the living room - which contained only gym equipment and ripped up bits of furniture she couldn't get thrown out in time - and stepped into the kitchen, kicking her shoes off and leaving them in the hallway behind her. As usual, there was no actual food in the fridge, just aggravatingly bland nutrient shakes she had bought enough of to last months.

How was she supposed to know her renewed body would hate the bland tasteless sludge so much? It wasn't her fault the numbers for a bunch of fast food places kept finding their way onto her fridge.

It wasn't like she had much to spend her money on anyway. She didn't exactly have a social life. She got along well enough with Daniel Hebert, if only because they shared a mutual tormentor in the form of the man's daughter, but other than that… nothing.

Maybe that was why she tolerated the man that appeared behind her the minute she turned her back on one corner of the room.

"The hell do you want now?" She asked the ghost grouchily, eyeing the thing with a critical eye.

It had no face. It had no face, but the way its head bobbed and moved as it spoke made the blank expanse of flesh that sat where eyes and a mouth should be seem almost fake. Like an animatronic in a movie. Besides its face the thing had surprisingly little to make it stand out. It wore slacks and suspenders over a stained white shirt. Its arms were too long - they dragged along the ground behind it - but other than that… eh.

She had seen worse.

"Entry procedure. Too fast." It complained to her, and she couldn't help but roll its eyes at it.

"Set up a department for processing the paperwork, then set up a different department for informing new applicants that they've been approved, then a different department from that to actually let people in. Then give every department opposing hours so its impossible to get through all three in the same day. Oh, and don't actually train your pencil pushers. They'll figure the dumbest way to do things out on their own." She rattled off, turning back around to decide if she wanted chinese or indian food for dinner.

Maybe both?

"Evil. Like." The ghost rasped at her, lifting one overlong arm to pat her on the back.

"I'm sure." She responded distractedly. She largely didn't believe this ghost was actually doing anything with this information. Rather, she took its requests for help running an inefficient bureaucracy - as in deliberately inefficient - as the lament of a dead office worker who had found a kindred spirit in her.

So mostly she just used it to complain about how horribly designed the PRT was.

"Want. Come?" The ghost asked, which brought her pause, it had never actually asked to take her anywhere before. Just shown up, ignored the fact that she had shot it twelve times, and asked for help. She'd practically gotten used to the thing at this point. Like a cat she didn't have to feed or clean up after.

"Come… where? Where do ghosts go anyway?" She asked, tentatively turning to keep the creature in the corner of her vision as she switched over to trying to pump it for information.

To her surprise, it laughed at her. A burbling, sickening sound that reminded Emily of boiling tar.

"Not. Ghost. Work. Hell. Middle Manager." It explained with a snicker, before patting her on the shoulder again, and vanishing from sight.

Emily blinked at the sudden departure. Then sighed and got out a notepad.

At the top she wrote; 'Case 101. Probably Demons.'

She eyed the suburban home before her with a mix of contempt and annoyance.

'Note to self. Ask mum for a cellphone.' She groused to herself.

This all would have been much easier if she could just phone Greg. Although, she was sure that if she asked any of her siblings, they would jokingly point out that the trouble was mostly going to be Greg's.

She spared a thought for those poor wretched souls who had to struggle for meaning in life and felt her expression soften slightly. They just didn't understand. She was a sword. She was destined to be used as a sword. She appreciated being ambulatory, and had a number of things to look into pertaining to ways to enjoy her new body - but she would have been just as content being left as a sword as long as Greg had come to get her.

Like he was supposed to in the first place!

Instead, she was here, at his house, knocking on his front door.

Mum hadn't felt it appropriate for her to burst into the Undersiders' hideout unannounced. She also hadn't approved of Gram sneaking into her wielder's room at night.

She'd have snuck out and done it anyway, but Simone had helpfully pointed out that showing up on his doorstep dressed like a 'fantasy' character would damage his 'secret identity'.

She had then proceeded to force Gram to watch the entire first season of 'Mouse Protector: The Animated Series', just so she had the proper context for things. Aaaand then there had been the wardrobe problem, her extremely distinctive looking hair…

It had been an entire ordeal.

But! Now! She! Was! Ready!

Bright white hair like her mother and sisters, bleached that way by Simone! Thick black stockings! Black knee-high boots that highlighted her calves! And a perfectly fitted cream sweater that came to just above mid thigh and acted as a faux skirt!

Had her sister made her spend an uncomfortable amount of time with the Tailor in a desperate, pathetic, attempt at flirting? Yes. But it was worth it.

Because now she was going to knock on this door-

Kknock knock knock

-and Greg was going to take one look at her and-

"Can… I help you?" A middle aged woman in her sleepwear asked blearily from the front door as it swung open to reveal her.

Gram stared blankly at the woman for a moment before reorienting her priorities and plans.

It always paid to get along well with your spouse's parents.

"Hiiiii Mrs. Veder! Is Greg up yet? I was hoping we could walk to school together?" She simpered in an overly cutesy and vulnerable tone, digging the toe of one boot into the stone step she was standing on and twisting it back and forth as though nervous.

She made sure to place the correct amount of embarrassment into the statement. Coming across as too eager would just throw the woman off after all.

"He… isn't…" she said slowly, squinting at Grams' hair suspiciously. Gram didn't directly respond except to continue smiling at the woman.

"But I guess I can wake him up." She added eventually, stepping back from the doorway and pausing as though searching for what to say next.

"Would you like to wait inside?" Mrs Veder eventually asked.

"Thank you, yes." Gram responded instantly, sliding forward and into the house before the woman could take a moment to reconsider.

"Greg! Greg, get down here!" Mrs Veder screamed loudly up the stairs, ignoring how close Gram was to her when she did so.

"Mrgle?" A thin male voice hoarsely groaned from the top of the stairs. Gram bent forward at an almost ninety degree angle in the dim, dim hope that her idiot would be wearing something risque at the top of those stairs like… boxers or possibly nothing at all, but when she found she couldn't see anything at all at the top of those stairs, she quickly bolted back upright and plastered a shy smile on her face to cover the leer she'd been sporting.

Just in time for Mrs Veder to turn around to eye her again.

"What… exactly… is your relationship with my son? You go to school with him?" She continues suspiciously.

Gram was almost offended by the suspicion. Almost. She was too good to be with most people. Knowing nothing else about the situation, it would be preposterous to believe that Greg Veder would end up with someone as perfect as her.

"Oh, I'm new in the country. I actually came here for Greg." She said pleasantly.

She wasn't sure why or how, but that… turned out to be exactly the wrong thing to say.

* * *

POV: Greg

"GREGORY VEDER YOU GET UP AND EXPLAIN TO ME WHY YOU ORDERED A SCANDINAVIAN CHILD BRIDE ON THE INTERNET RIGHT NOW!" His mother screamed at him with a fury usually reserved for when he did something catastrophically stupid.

Like trying to pawn her wedding ring so he could get a new console. Or when he had tried to prove he was ready to get his driver's license by… stealing the car.

Not a scratch on that thing when he pulled back into the garage with it, but did anyone care? Nooooo. And now he wasn't going to be allowed to get a license until he was too old for anyone to stop him.

Mind still hazy from sleep, Greg took his customary response to early morning screaming–

And went back to sleep.

For exactly four seconds.

Then he was jarred awake again by more yelling, this time accompanied by loud banging on his bedroom door.

Mom had stopped breaking into his room without knocking first shortly after he'd hit puberty.

'There are things no Mother should have to see', she had said.

"GREGORY VEDER!!!"

"Fine! I'm up!" He finally spat out, bolting up in his bed and growling in the back of his throat. He didn't have to be here. He made enough to live on his own. Lisa said she'd help him cheat his GED and everything.

…but he liked school and he didn't want to abandon his parents…

Grumbling to himself, Greg struggled his bulk out of bed, stumbling slightly as his prodigious bulk was never something meant to fit in his little bed.

It was constant now. Ever since he'd switched exclusively to using Sigurd's heart, no matter what he did, who he copied, his copies were always better.

And by 'better' here he meant 'muscular as hell'.

It wasn't a serious blow to his power's ability to grant him stealth - if he copied a scrawny guy he'd stay scrawny for a little while before his heart started to bulk him up again. But it was definitely annoying.

Worth it though.

As he was having that thought, he felt more than heard his bedroom door click open, and turned his head to figure out who was there.

There was no point being embarrassed about nudity when you had the perfect body anyway.

"Greg." A strange woman said, growling in the back of her throat the moment she laid eyes on him. His mother lay in a heap behind her - still breathing but unconscious - and the woman was breathing heavily even though she didn't look like she had exerted herself at all.

"…Taylor finally decided she couldn't leave me running around with this thing, huh?" He asked her slowly, rising to his full height in only his boxers even as his mind raced ahead of him. He started identifying what he had available. He couldn't fight here, his parents could get hurt, but there was no way he was going to survive one of Nexus' kids, minions, allies, or whatever the current theory on them was. This was already a losing battle.

And there was little doubt in his mind that this girl was one of Taylor's. The white hair was a dead give away, according to PHO. All of her 'kids' had it somehow.

"…What?" The woman said, rearing back like a cobra flaring its hood to stare at him.

Greg tapped on his chest - where his heart was - and waited expectantly. He couldn't make the first move - the woman was too close to his Mom. Briefly he spared a wishful thought for one of those punch dagger things that came with Gram.

Then he snorted and got over himself instead of sitting in a daydream about being better like he used to.

"You… know that I've come for your heart?" The woman put forth experimentally.

Greg nodded, fists tightening.

"Greg! I lo-" the woman halfway screeched, lunging towards him with an unhinged expression filled with enthusiasm.

The second she moved, Greg uncorked the well of power that flowed from his heart to his extremities, blasting his fist forward with all his might.

And then paused with his fist an inch from her face, as he felt a sharp object poke him in the throat.

"Greg, dear. Please explain why you are attacking me." The woman said in a conversational tone that in no way diminished the unholy rage burning in the single eye visible from behind his fist.

"You're here to rip my heart out. I know I can survive that, 'cus I don't think Taylor would want to kill me, but–" he started to explain, but paused mid-sentence to swat the blade away from his throat, instead grabbing the arm holding the dagger and hurling the woman behind him and onto his bed so that he could back up towards his unconscious mother.

"This isn't how I saw myself in your bed for the first time…" the woman complained, pushing some of her hair out of her face and glaring at him.

"Look, I read comic books. I'm not gonna get distracted and make some fatal mistake just because you're hot and keep saying suggestive things to me." Greg said, slowly crouching to feel for his mom's pulse without taking his eyes off his attacker. Was Dad okay? Did she already get him?

"I'm not suggesting. I get what I- …I believe there has been a misunderstanding here. I've been waiting for you Greg. Please, hold me?" The girl simpered, doing… exactly the thing Greg just said wouldn't work on him.

He already had a girl he liked, he reasoned, so naturally he couldn't allow himself to be seduced by-

…A sword?

Suddenly, between one blink and the next, there was a sword in his bed instead of a woman. A very… familiar sword.

"Gr-Gram?" He uttered, before blanching.

Suddenly, he realized that he much more preferred the idea that someone was here to kill him, somehow.

Greg Veder, who was destined for greatness and glory, did the only thing that came easily to mind at that exact moment.

He scooped up a pair of jeans and a t-shirt that barely fit him anymore…

Then he ran away.

* * *

"Why!" She screamed at him fifteen minutes later, having caught up to him as he jogged to the Undersiders' current base of operations.

The welding place had been cozy but when they had gone 'straight', as Lisa put it, they had been forced to move into a building they were actually legally allowed to be in. Thankfully, Theo was a pretty good boss, and had procured a suspiciously well-stocked safe house for them. Tattletale had given it one long look, gasped, then laughed, then told everyone else not to worry about it.

"Why what?" He asked her tiredly as she drew up alongside him, stepping slightly away from the strange girl - Gram, he supposed - when she reached out to grab his arm.

"Why are you being so difficult?! I'm a legendary magical sword and an attractive woman! I'm literally perfect! What is your problem, Veder?" She hissed at him, all trace of seduction absent from her expression as genuine ire replaced it.

Greg pondered for a moment how he could explain to her that he actually didn't want to be famous, or powerful, or any of that other stuff. He actually liked how his life was right now just fine.

So instead he said;

"I already have someone I like."

He took six more steps before realizing Gram was no longer following him, and was instead staring into the middle distance, as though trying to compute something unfathomable.

* * *

POV: Gram

Her mind raced as she considered every possible permutation of this situation - and how she would deal with it.

Finding out the man that belonged to her was pining after someone else was within her calculations, to a certain degree. If the fool had fallen for her mum well, he at least had good taste. And it should be easy to get Taylor to reject him so she could move in and pick up the pieces.

The problem was, she didn't think it was her mother Greg was talking about. There were only two women on the Undersiders though, so-

Actually.

"Are you gay!?" She blurted out, flushing as she rushed to catch up with Greg.

"What? No! N-not that there's anything wrong with- I don't have anything personally against- I'm not gay!" He blurted out in sudden distress.

She tilted her head downward to stare at her perfect self, then lifted it again to arch the patented Hebert Eyebrow at him in silent question.

"I'm not a hormone-addled idiot either." He groused, turning away from her to continue stomping along the sidewalk, obviously in a foul mood.

God, she wished he was. That would make this so much easier.

At length, and amidst the sudden awkward silence that now stood between the two, Greg led her to the rear of an office building that obviously hadn't seen use in several years, and then quickly unlocked the door with a key from his pocket before slipping inside. She made to follow after him, but he stuck a hand out to block her.

"Wait a minute." He said before turning away from her.

"Hey guys, we got company! Masks on!" He hollered inside. He waited for a ten count with no audible response, then shrugged and moved out of the doorway, allowing her entry.

"Look, I get that you and I have a… a thing… but just…" he trailed off, like he was unsure of what to say or do on the topic then sighed, loudly.

"Look, I need to talk to someone about this, so-" he began.

"I'd love to listen to anything you have to say-" she tried hopefully.

"-someone that isn't you. Living room is on your left. If you hurt my team I will never forgive you." He said, and the force behind that statement was so abruptly powerful and violent that she was left trying to decide if she was offended or aroused by it.

Then before she could comment, Greg whirled and headed towards a stairwell that he promptly leapt to the top of in a single lazy bound.

Irked at the dismissal, but more than aware that she wasn't going to win any points by harassing the man, Gram grudgingly headed to the room that Greg had pointed out to her before leaving.

Her first impression of the room was that it reminded her of Trainwreck's junkyard.

It was a mess.

It was like someone had taken one look at this room, with its rich expensive looking carpet, mahogany bar on one end of the room, a large television screen against the wall and said; "This could look more like a frat lives here."

Soda cans, empty pizza boxes, and dirty clothing lay strewn about the room like a thin layer of sediment covering the floor. Two large fans were on and pointed at the same spot in front of the television, which was displaying a video game of some kind - she didn't care for the things - while the pasty, almost albino teen seated in front of it tapped away at his controller.

"…Hello? Are you one of Greg's friends?" She asked politely, carefully schooling her features to hide her contempt.

"If you ask him then he'd probably say I was, I guess. Are you here to break all our stuff and arrest us?" The blond youth asked lazily, dropping his controller in his lap and leaning back in his chair until he was staring at her upside down.

"That… wasn't an answer." She replied, again barely restraining her annoyance.

'Good impression. Good impression!' She chanted angrily to herself.

"It wasn't? Huh. So what's your deal? You're one of the Queens, I assume, on account of the hair. Babysitter? Parole Officer? Just here to check on us for mommah?" He asked patronizingly. She noted that he hadn't bothered to put a mask on to speak with her, and she couldn't tell if that was because he realized there was no point - or if he just genuinely didn't care.

She didn't even question the boy's assigned title for her mother.

It was more correct than he would ever be aware of.

"None of the above. I am here to support my future husband in his endeavours." She said blandly.

"…You're fucking Brian?" The blond asked incredulously.

"…who is-"

"You're fucking Greg!?" He amended incredulously.

"…I would like to be." She said with a shrug.

"Cool… cool. Hey, between you and me, you can drop the act. Can't play a playah." He said in a sing-song voice before turning his attention back to his game.

"I'm sorry?" She said politely.

"That. Stop doing that." He said idly and without turning around.

Gram considered that for a moment, then shrugged.

"Fine. I seek to make Greg mine. I would appreciate your support, as his friend, in this manner." She said bluntly.

"Yeah, G-man has a whole thing going on with Tats, so I dunno if-" he started to drawl.

"I will ensure that you stay free and clear of my mother's work and influence for as long as I am allowed to stay." She interjected.

He paused again, turning back towards her.

"You really think I'll sell out-"

"I will personally purchase and provide you with pizza every night." She added.

"From-"

"Big Rico's, yes."

"Tattletale and I are friends, I barely-"

"What was it you said? Don't play a player? Take the deal." She sighed out, already exhausted from having to deal with this pissant.

"Done! I'm Alec by the way. Regent on the streets, as it were."

"I had assumed that to be the case, yes." She said dryly. It was at precisely that moment that the door opened behind her, and she whirled around hoping for Greg…

Only to find a tall black man in workout clothes with a motorcycle helmet on his head obscuring his face.

"Regent, what the hell was G-man talking… about." He barked then trailed off as he laid eyes on her.

She resisted the urge to pose for effect. Barely.

"…Hi. I'm Grue. You've met Regent. Who are you and why were you brought here?" Grue stated bluntly, shoulders tense.

"Brian! Buddy! Chillout! Greg brought us a new team member. He's probably upstairs talking to Lisa about it now." Alec called out to him, not at all relieving the tension in his shoulders.

"We have a job today. We can't afford this right now, and we aren't being paid enough to hire an extra team member." He growled.

"Oh, I don't need money." Gram offered hopefully, once more in her demure voice, clasping her hands in front of herself as though scared.

"Still. I'll take it under consideration and talk to our boss, but for today-" Brian began to insist only for her new ally to chime in again.

"Hey, you said Wizard Girl or whatever was your sister, right? What's the junior league for the Oathbound upto nowadays?" He asked - completely changing the topic.

Curiously, Brian allowed the change, his head snapping first to Alec and then back to her again in quick order.

"The girls are… fine. I haven't had the opportunity to speak to them recently. I am quite fond of Ai- of the one with the sword. She has worked honorably towards her goals." She said primly, disguising the fact that she was literally born yesterday, and so, hadn't actually interacted with any of them at all.

"She's- they're good, though? Safe?" Brian asked slowly.

Gram allowed herself to snort at that.

"I assure you, if anything happened to them, mother would promptly fix it and then destroy whatever did it. There are few people safer." She said, trying to piece together the subtext of this conversation.

She knew Aisha had a brother but… he couldn't be.

Could he?

Ooh, that would be perfect!

Brian returned to staring blankly at her for a moment before speaking again.

"I… see. What exactly are your powers?" He asked carefully.

Mentally, she marked him as 'handled' in her mental book of grudges. Who was left? The dog one and the blond one, right?

"They-" she began only to pause when a voice next to her head rang out.

"Fou~" it cried in a high pitched cutesy tone of voice.

She practically flew across the room and through the wall to escape it. She didn't know why, but an overwhelming and somehow familiar sensation of primal terror coursed through her soul just from hearing that thing, and it was all she could do not to burn that half of the building down on instinct.

Brian did get to see what her powers were though. At least some of it.

So that was something.

* * *

POV: Lisa

"So the sword is a hot babe now? Damn, you lucked out, Veder!" Lisa said with a cheery tone and a cheeky smirk, even though inwardly she felt like someone had just punched her in the stomach and robbed her, leaving only the taste of ashes and bile in her throat.

She was aware that what she and Greg had going on was far from healthy. On some level, she even understood that she had gotten almost too used to it.

Toxic codependency requires both individuals to-

"Yes, thank you power, very cool." She thought to herself, clamping down harder on her fraying control. She had been eyeballing a map of the Heap all morning in final preparation for the job today. Ironically, she was only able to see the place because her job was to protect it and prevent bad things from happening to the crowds that would inevitably be there.

She was woman enough to admit that she disliked Nexus too much to ever be able to observe the property under normal circumstances.

"Yeah, I guess…" Greg said, sitting only a few inches away from her and twiddling his thumbs like a kicked puppy. The hell did he want her to say? Was she supposed to get angry or jealous here? They weren't really dating and she had already made it clear they probably wouldn't ever be.

She just wasn't wired for physical intimacy like that.

Still, the sad dejected look on his face made her feel all the worse, and she mentally screamed at herself when she realized she had taken his hand in one of her own before speaking again.

"Hey don't worry about it. I don't trust her, but no way Nexus-"

"Taylor. You can just call her Taylor." Greg interjected.

"I try not to humanize the things that go bump in the night, Greg." She thought in response. But instead she just continued onward with her statement.

"-no way she lets that thing get too far away without supervision. It kills Endbringers. Just ignore her and she'll probably go away eventually." She finished.

"I don't think that's going to work…" Greg grumbled to himself.

Privately, Lisa doubted it would either. But she wasn't exactly looking forward to picking a fight with anyone over it, so just this once, she hoped that doing 'the right thing' and going legit would give her enough good karma to dodge this bullet.

As though God himself was laughing in her face for the thought, the door to her room slammed open, and a surprisingly diminutive - but buxom - girl strode in. She could just barely make out Brian, Rachel, and Alec standing in the hallway outside.

"I have the solution to all problems!" The newcomer - Lisa assumed it was the talking sword, but only because Brockton Bay was where common sense came to die - declared haughtily.

"Wow, you figured out world hunger? Shocking!" She spat out sarcastically.

The girl frowned at that, then amended her statement.

"I have the solution to all our problems!" She repeated.

It was at this point that Lisa started to get a bad feeling about this situation. Actually, she'd been having that feeling ever since Greg walked into her room and she had resolved to let him down easy, for his own sake, but had ignored it because of the sick roiling in her stomach.

"Rachel has kindly pointed out to me that I may be overthinking things. After examining grandfather's situation, I now realize that either we are all happy, or that no one will be happy. Thus, we shall all date!" She declared imperiously.

"I already told you I already have someone I like." Greg said weakly, turning away from Lisa so she couldn't see his obvious blush.

"Yes! So you will date both of us!" She declared again.

Lisa's brain froze.

"You can't be serious!" She blurted out before her mind could catch up to her mouth.

"Yes! And as is only fair, I shall date both of you!" Gram continued.

"She can't be-" Lisa inwardly screamed, loosening her grip on her power all at once in a panic.

Is absolutely serious

"I- buh- that- what-!" Greg burbled incoherently in a daze from next to her, while she was too busy experiencing the novel sensation of her own brain shutting down and ceasing all cognitive functions, until Gram rolled her eyes and slid herself into the narrow space between the two of them.

"I am honestly glad we resolved that. It was very distressing." The sword-turned-woman said blithely, snaking one arm around both Lisa and Greg's waists.

"Now, about today's job…"

* * *