"I've never been particularly fond of violence. But these are bad people. Bad people that need to be stopped. So let's get crazy. Let's get weird. Let's get... well... ba̴̖̰̹̜͓̰̕͞N҉̸̡̤̙̥̝͔͍A͔̭n̴̡̼͇̣̼̣̜͖̦̰͟a̘̦̙S̳͍͜."

My Friend Greg

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

Running. Running. Jumping.

Again.

Hey...

Jumping. He did that a lot.

Greg...

Falling too. Falling up.

Falling down.

Falling side-to-side.

Broooooo...

Falling almost never hurt.

Almost

When it did, he wasn't the one hurting.

Bro!

Falling hurt meant blood.

Splatter.

Blood.

Warmth.

WAKE UP ALREADY!

Amber eyes snapped open, Greg Veder bursting upright in his twin bed with a wide grin that seemed to never fall away. He didn't know why nor did he care too much to think about why that was, the too-wide smile a comforting sight he believed for others as well as himself; at least, whenever he looked in a mirror.

Y͚̙̗ͨ̿͗͋o̝͚̞̻̫̹̫͕̝̎ͩ̒ͣ͒̇͌̅u̫͉͖̰͔ͩͧ͛ͅ ͎͉̰̣̻̟̥̰̃̇h̜̳̠͎ͩ̂ͩ̂̓̓̓̚—ã͙̰̬̣ͣv̲̙̀̂͂͋̓̆ͤͭĕ͚̫͋͋̾ͦ█̙̤̬̇͂̆̔ͬ̽̃█͉̟̯̥̝̬͕͕͈ͮ͒͐█̯̙̖̮̼̹͎̮͇ͥͦͪ̔̊█͚ͦ͗͒̈̒̊̃ ͉̭̻ͫ̂o̱̻̒͛͗̊̊ͯw̩̉͑n͔̮̮̑̎ ̙̘͖̙̪̼̎̏ͥ̾ͣͯ̚█̱̦͊͒ͬ—█͉͉͚͛̆̾̂̾̀͂̎ͅ█̱͍͓͖̻̫͓ͩ̂—█͚̞̭̠̥̙̇█͔̟͔͂͊̓̄ͧͩ͗͌ͅ█̫̙̥͈̩̠̳ͮ͛̑̐͌̍█̮̖̗̜̟̞͈͎̦̊̑̾ͧ█̣̝̦̭̍̍̋̾ͪ█͙̱̤̣͕͆̀̓̆͗̂̓█̻͕̰͇̬̋͐͆█̙̭͇̘̠͙̭ͤͦ̂̒̆̊̀͋█͉̦͕ͫ̏̆ͮ ̙̰͌̽̆̓̔â̞̜̻̰ͯ͗ͮn̻̭̳̫̖͕̤̙̝͐ͦͭ̈́ͪ͒̂ḓ͉̫͇͖̣́ͣ̏ͫ͑̅͋͐̚ recoṿ̉̓e̦̙̠̼̳̺̍̎̃ͅr͖͎ͫͤ̂̏̄͋e̦̝̩͆ͅd͓͈̻̭͎̊ͩ͊.̫̗̞͕̠ͧͦ̂̈̈ͣ̊̍ͨͅ

̘͉̜̝̼ͩ̚[̮̮͔̒͗ͯ͊̓̓ͤ̎Ḫ̗̟̺̲͐̈ͮ͛͑ő̦͎̲̦̼̞̼̎͋m͎̭͈̫̫ͤ̈ë͇̜̯̗͎̻͎̭́͌̍̈ ̲̠͙̯̗̹̩̏̎̾S̞̬͕͇̹ͥ̐͗͒w̠̜̠ͨͬͫ̓͆̇͑̾e̜̩ͩ̓e̜̬̭̫̺̝̯͒͑ͥt̯̘̼͈͍̖͂̍ͥ̎̚ ̮̍̐ͤ̿H̰͗ͫ̊̔̋̓̏͊ö̱́̂̌͗̓ͨm̹͙̔ë̞͙̰̯̟͓͔́̆̂ͩͨͯͥ—]̺̞͙͈̹͌̓ͬ̐͊ͭ̐̓̈́ ̬͔̲̲̼̻͖͈̂̚B͔̟̙̥͇͚͎̉ͨ̈̇̌̚o͈̫ͩ͋̅ͤn̩̱̯͉̻̎̒͋ͪ͛ͯ—u͓̜͕̳ͣ͗͆ͧs̭͖͚̞̲̳̭̘ͨ͗̓ͫͥ͆ͯ ͉͍̻̪̂̉̋̈́̐ͯ̾̈ȧ̦̲̠̹̞̰ͤ͆̅ͫ̑c͔̯̟̫̙̤͍̮̳ͥͯ̒͗̏t̳̘̠̖̪͋̋͊ͤ̄ͪ̔i̳̜̙̠̹͚̥̤͗v͔͕̦͖͖̜̐̄̓̒̓̽͗̍e͎͕͚̊̄ͩ̉.͙̞̐̇́̾́͑ ͙͚̲͉̙̻̘͑̽

̳̮̼̽ͧͯ̉1̦̥̦̟͚̘̩͔͐ͣͤ̅̓ͪ͆̿ͣ̒█̦͚̣̒̿͛ͅ█͕̭̭̻̳̙̱̽̾̒ͥ͋̃͌█̭̤̘̝͖̤̼ͬͧ͑̃ͧ̉ͦ̃█̤̹̘̩͔ͮ̓ͫͮ͂̋̋̆̔̒█̦͚̣̒̿͛ͅ—█͕̭̭̻̳̙̱̽̾̒ͥ͋̃͌█̭̤̘̝͖̤̼ͬͧ͑̃ͧ̉ͦ̃█̤̹̘̩͔ͮ̓ͫͮ͂̋̋̆̔̒█̦͚̣̒̿͛ͅ█͕̭̭̻̳̙̱̽̾̒ͥ͋̃͌█̭̤̘̝͖̤̼ͬͧ͑̃ͧ̉ͦ̃█̤̹ͮ̓ͫͮ͂̋̋̆̔%͚̬͔͍̩̙̮̀͂ͮͪ́̋̎ͪ͑ ̯͇̻̗̳̳͙̗ͬ̋̒̐̓c̲̻̔̇̅͌̄h̻͈̯̯̦̗ͮ̂̃́ͥa͍̬ͫ̃ͫ̈n̖̖̎ͩc̦̫̆̊ͦ͑ͥͭͣ̌e̮͈͚͌ ̭͔͇̘̥̋̀̀ͨ̚̚o̱͋͒f̣͖̮̲̽͊̅ͪ ̲̱̞̹̪̅̽ͦ̊̿ͥr̼̭̲͐̿ͩͮ͋e̯͓̟̰͇̘̬͍ͥͪ͋̂c̳̏̋̋̽̀̓o̜̝̹̝̼͊̄ͤ█̰̖̮͍̲̻̌̆ͩͅ—█̍́ͣ̏̉ͧ͆ͅ█͙̝̭͍͖̲̟̔̓̇͑̚█̖̑̔̋̋̄̚ ̤͇͕̻͍̲͕ͨ̈́ͮḟ̫͔̰̪̗̙̤̺̋͌r̞͔̙̫̮̘̹̟͉ͪ̊ͪͨ͊̄̒o̳̫̰̼͌m̙̪̫̗͔ͫͭ̉ͬ̏ͥ̽̄̄ ̦̖͇̺̰͋̆ͬ[̙̥͍̼̜͔̱̽ͨͅͅD̹̘̞̟͖̰͔͍̅̆͌̊̑ͣ█͎̦̪͔̪͛͌ͦ̀͐̊̌█̲͕ͬ͌ͨ͑̃̊█̠̺̮̰̰̮ͧͬ█̣͙͍̹̣̥̠ͪ͗ͯͥ̇̔ỉ̬̼̝̞̞̤̥͐̓̾̿͌ͅt͙̦͍̤̦̼̦̙̮ͧ̓͑ͭ́ͤ͗a͎̮̤̦̠ͣͯ̈̀t̺̺̪̱̹̣̬̖̆͋͒ǐ̖̭͕͉̲̭͙̣̿̒̉ͅn͉̯̓ͬ̏g͓̳̱̦̎̓]͔̖̭͎̘ͥͧ̂́̿͌̑͐̚ ̘̩͔̒█̦͚̣̒̿͛ͅ█͕̭̭̻̳̙̱̽̾̒ͥ͋̃͌█̭̤̘̝͖̤̼ͬͧ͑̃ͧ̉ͦ̃█̤̹ͮ̓ͫͮ͂̋̋̆̔ ̻̰̩͌̓̂ͯ̎ͨ̂u̖͖̺ͨ͗̊͒̐̈ͅp̣̭̜̳̹̭̟͖͚͛̃ͫ̎͆̽̒̒̒ō͇̭̹̩̋̚ͅn͈̭̠̜ͮ̿͑͆̃ͣ ͈̙̟͈͈̈́̿͗̎̋́̽ͨͧw͔̰̤̲̰͎ͯ͗ͦ́͑ͬä̭̗́̃̊ͤk̺̯̻͓̱̪̟̝͋̽̐͒͐̈̇i̥̖̯̤̱̿̾̽̌̆n͎̹̪͖̹̞̳͎̈́͂͛̏ͪǧ͔̖̱̭̼ͭ ̘̩͔̒█̦͚̣̒̿͛ͅ—█͕̭̭̻̳̙̱̽̾̒ͥ͋̃͌█̭̤̘̝͖̤̼ͬͧ͑̃ͧ̉ͦ̃█̤̹̘̩͔ͮ̓ͫͮ͂̋̋̆̔̒█̦͚̣̒̿͛ͅ—█͕̭̭̻̳̙̱̽̾̒ͥ͋̃͌█̭̤̘̝͖̤̼ͬͧ͑̃ͧ̉ͦ̃█̤̹ͮ̓ͫͮ͂̋̋̆̔.̺͇̄͂

"Good morning, Brockton Bay!" He shouted out to no one in particular, literally leaping out of bed and immediately stretching his arms out and above his head. The dark-haired boy darted over to his window, quickly lifting it open and sticking his head out to enjoy the fresh morning air. "Would you look at that! Another sunny summer day!"

The little birds on the tree branch just a few meters from his window seemed to share in his good mood, chirping back at him in with the lilting noises only birds could make. Sighing happily, Greg ducked back into his room, yellow curtains fluttering from the sudden motion as he left the window behind on a march to the closest hallway bathroom, towel in hand.

Stepping into the bathroom, Greg once again met his face in the mirror and froze for a moment, confusion marring his smile, before quickly shooting himself a wicked pair of finger guns with as best a wink as he could manage. "Looking good, guy. Looking goooood."

Not his very best wink, of course, but he had just woken up. The tap began running as he turned the nozzle as hot as it could go, splashing scalding water into his face without a care. He stuck his entire head under the faucet for a few seconds before he finally shut the water off, shaking his head like a dog would to dry itself. Dark shoulder-length hair splattered blood-stained water all across the counter and Greg found himself freezing up again...

Greg Veder stared back at his reflection, golden eyes once again blinking with clear confusion, before he grabbed the toothbrush on the counter without even looking down, applying toothpaste to the bristles much the same way. He raised his hand—

He raised his hand and pulled, the quick jerk he felt in response sending a shiver up his spine. He did it again.

The world rushed past him as the board beneath his feet carried him. He kicked, flipping up and pulling out a second.

Both hands now.

Raised. Twitching.

Again.

Again.

Again.

He jumped, flipped, spun, darted.

Every single way he could think of, the actions coming to him faster than he could conceive of them.

The guns in his hand fired.

He dodged.

Bullets, blades, fists, bats…

His yellow shirt, bloody and warm even in the cold night air as he shattered a window with a single kick.

Glass flew around him. His gloved hands found a large piece, a wide eye his target and— [ͪͭ͐̾̈́̉̒͛́͜P̶̓̄ͤ͊̚o̐ͪ̎͠s̶ͪͥ̒ͩ̈́͂͒̾̚͡ť̢̅̈́ͤ̕͞-ͭͪ̐̑͆ͪ̎҉̵████̶ͬ͗̐͑̈͋͑ͩSͪͣ̄̚͜t͛ͩ̂̏̊̑ͮr͂ͤͦ͡eͩ̊͗͒s̡̧ͯ̒̓́ͭͬͮ̍̐s̍̔̽̈̈́̾ ̎͐̊̄ͨ̀͟͞██—██]̛̂͛̅̅ͯͧ̆ ́̄ͤ̉͒͠nͥͭ̌e̡͐̍̐ͮ͘͜g̊̎̍̂ͪa̎͒̍̎͏̧tͮͯ͆̌̋́̾̒͝e̷ͥ̍͐̌̊̒͠dͭ͂̊͌ ̢̐̇̈b͌̂͆̚y̵̴͛ͨ͌ͨ ̴̉͘G̢ͧͮͯ̔̓ͨ̉a̸͋̈̍͞͡mͦ̆͐̄̾̅́̕͞eͣ̾͊̈̃͐̉̓̿͘r̸ͨ̊̿ͪ̕'̵͆̌̒̀̾̇͌̊͘sͩ̐̾̉ͯ̂́ ̴ͨ͆͊̂ͦ͊̎ͬ̍҉M͗iͤ̾n̆ͪ̽ͮ̍ͫͦ̇d̛ͭ̇̎̉̊ͨ.̢͗ͤͭ̾̑ͧ̎͝

He blinked.

...Huh. Greg blinked again, wondering why he wasn't in the bathroom anymore. A tongue across his teeth confirmed that he had already brushed… ok. A hand raised to his head told him he had also brushed his hair while the lack of smell coming from his underarms telling him the same towards the areas of bathing and deodorant as well.

The fact that he was already clothed didn't go unnoticed either. Thumbing the new flannel shirt he had on, he sat up at the dining table and found himself staring down at the breakfast plate he didn't remember making for himself. ...Weird. Did I sleepwalk or something?

Before he could give more thought to the situation, the sound of running water caught his attention; the sound coming from right inside the kitchen just around the corner. Mom? His smile dimmed somewhat, Greg more confused than ever. I don't remember seeing her this morning.

The fifteen-year old stood up, glancing down at his plate one more time without even the slightest feeling of hunger. Shrugging, he reached for the yellowest banana on the bunch in the middle of the table and taking the time to push his chair back into place before he walked away from the dining room, confusion warring with curiosity as he stepped into the kitchen. A familiar face stood there at the sink, turning to the side with a sud-filled frying pan—

—he hurled upwards like a frisbee.

The skillet flipped through the air, end over end, for a second or two. He stared up at it, the world suddenly slowing down as the single pistol in his hand seemed to lock onto it's inner surface.

Grace that didn't feel like his and dexterity that could never have been natural came to life as he repeatedly pulled the trigger of the gun he had aimed into the air. K̢͏̗͇̘͓Í̺͍͇̟L̙̩̦̘̺̬L͙͓̲̪̫ ҉͏̬̳̝̫͈͍T̝̩̥̻̩͈H͓̭͓͎̖E̙̭̬M̶̛̳͍̜̬͈͚͓̮ ̴̕҉̯̪̟̝ͅA̛̞͈̰͠L̠̳̲̹̰̕L̲̗̣

Bullets flew up and ricocheted immediately, lead finding itself at home in the fleshy bodies of tattooed and armed gang members surrounding him.

Five fell. Five more.

He hurled himself into the air, fingers enclosed around the frying pan—

—still in her hand as the sound of footsteps on wood reached her ears.

Familiar, yet still unexpected.

"Mrs R~Mom?" Greg suddenly found himself even more confused, his somewhat higher-pitched chirp of a voice immediately shifting into a lower, slower drawling thing halfway through. That sudden change came second to the fact that the words immediately on his lips had become something else entirely.

Even that came second to the sheer surprise of seeing the person in front of him in his house.

Sparky's mom stared back at him with some confusion herself, gloved hands on her hips as she left the half-washed frying pan on the counter. "Was that supposed to be a question, Ax? Who else would I be?"

Ax? Greg found himself wondering, the question a screaming thought in his head for a moment before he suddenly found himself calm again, the low smooth – yet incredibly familiar – voice that wasn't his responding in his place. "Nah, mom, wasn't a question. Just a yawn, y'know. Still kinda beat, I guess."

"Beat, huh?" Mrs Ramon nodded, a look of understanding on her face at his words. "Well… Can't say I'm really surprised." She suddenly surged forward, enveloping him in a hug that was both unexpected and frighteningly intimate, the teenager sinking into the embrace with worrying familiarity. "I'm just so happy you're doing better."

Better? He gripped his mom a bit tighter, that word wiping the smile from his face as he found himself pondering over what that could mean. Did something… did something happen? He glanced around the suddenly unfamiliar kitchen, realizing that this looked nothing like the one he had eaten in almost every day for as long as he could remember. The island in the middle of the shiny wooden floor, expensive-looking oven and the array of—

—chef's knives in the apartment kitchen and he grabbed the largest he could find at a moment's notice. It spun in his fingers in a display of skill that most would be hard-pressed to match before it suddenly shot forth with speed and force that none of the men around him would live to ever see again.

The blade embedded itself directly into the forehead of a gangster on the far wall, the thug in the middle of reloading his rifle as fast he could. He slumped to the ground almost immediately, but not so fast that the teenager in the black mask wasn't able to dart across the room and tear the knife from his skull.

He spun again, grabbing his skateboard from the floor in a single smooth motion and shot off. Sneakers slapped against the bloodied floor as he rushed back in the opposite direction he came from; seemingly paying no attention to the last remaining Empire member as the leather-clad skinhead tried to make a break for it. D̗̰̩͍͓͙̰̞I̵̸̧̯̟̺̬̻͙̯͓É̵̛̪̜̰͍͉͕̻ ̴͓̞͖͡ͅD͇͍̝̘̯͇̻̹I͝҉̛͈̞ͅE̘̦̮͜ ̗̝̦̜͔̗̯͖͖́͟͡D̶̺̭̪̟̥́Í͕̟̝̖͍̗̬͝E͖͟͜ ͔̺̗̺̭͇D͏͇͔̦͚͘Ì̢̡̹͕̝͉̟̪͕̺E͘҉̞̼̩̩͙̳̺͖̤

The teenager leapt, feet crashing through the tall apartment window as he launched himself outside, flannel shirt flapping behind him like a short cape. Knife still in hand, he released the knife, as if to let it fall with him, before suddenly flipping himself over in mid-air and kicking the hilt of it with enough power to launch the—

—knives artfully arranged around the main cooking spaces; all of it was nothing like his mom's simply crafted kitchen. Susan Veder knew how to cook, but she wasn't some sort of professional or anything. "Doing better?" he couldn't help but ask, trying to pull away from the embrace.

Mrs. Ramon didn't ease up, though, as she continued speaking. "You've just been so quiet these last couple of months, barely saying a word locked in your room all day. Your dad and I were worried you were dumping your pills again." Mrs. Ramon continued, hugging even tighter as her voice began to tremble slightly. "I know you miss your friend but I can't lose you."

"...What?" Amber eyes blinked as wariness was replaced with dread entirely. "Mom, wha-"

Mrs. Ramon finally pulled away, a sad expression on her face. "I could never thank him enough for what he did. That bullet would have gone right through your head if he... if he..."

The boy in her arms could only widen his eyes, wariness and confusion reaching an all-time high. What…

"Greg saved your life, baby." She hugged him again before brushing his hair aside to plant a wet kiss on his forehead. "Don't let it go to waste."

Axel 'Sparky' Ramon froze in his mother's arms as she pulled back and patted his cheek, turning back to the dishes as her son tried to reconcile what he had just learned.

A soft, familiar laugh crept it's way into his ears and Sparky found himself looking down at his hands, feeling so empty that he couldn't even muster any more confusion at the world; the smile that wasn't his no longer on his face.

The banana in his hand, however, wore it proudly.

"Hey, buddy," it spoke up, Greg Veder's voice loud and clear to no one else but him. The banana was far too expressive, in as much as a banana could be.

With a wide, manic smile, the thing shot him a wink with blue eyes that shouldn't belong at all on a piece of fruit. "How about another rampage tonight?"