NOVEL NEXT Aggro 4.15
Aggro 4.15
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April 12, 2011
7:39 PM
The blond stared down at the collection of foods on his plate, his appetite nonexistent as he continued doing what he had been doing for the last five minutes. His spoon, held lazily between two fingers, drifted over to the mound of peas on his plate and a few of the green orbs found themselves trapped in his utensil, a thick spoonful of mashed potatoes holding them fast.
"...Could you pass the potatoes, sweetie?"
Without looking, Greg reached over with one hand to the bowl of potatoes just to his right and lifted them over the table as he handed it to his mother sitting opposite him.
"What's the matter, Greg?"
Greg blinked, his name catching his attention.
"You've been so quiet since we got home. Something wrong?"
Greg glanced up at his mother, his lips pursed slightly as he stared at the easy smile on her face. The teen leaned forward on the table, his elbow resting on the hardwood while his other hand lazily dangled a spoonful of leftover mashed potatoes precariously between his finger and thumb. "Hmm?"
"Greg," her smile wavered slightly as Greg inexpertly avoided the question. "You haven't said a word in a while. You feeling okay? I thought you'd be happy that the PRT cleared up the whole nonsense about you having powers."
Greg's lips quirked upwards as he nodded, giving his mother just the barest hint of a smile before he dropped his head again, going back to moving food around his plate.
Susan let out an audible sigh, her face screwing up slightly as Greg didn't even look up from his plate at the sound. She repeated it, exhaling louder and heavier as she tapped her utensil against her plate. This time, her pursed lips became an actual frown and she dropped her spoon onto her plate in a huff. "Greg!"
The young blond raised his head, staring into his mother's eyes as she mock-glared at him. "Huh?"
"How many times do I have to beg before...," Susan shot her son an expectant smile as he looked up at her, a slight huff escaping her, "before you'll talk to me, Greg? You've been all moody since we came back home."
Greg blew air out of his mouth, half-lidded eyes glancing up at his mom. After a few moments, he muttered something under his breath. Whatever it was, Susan didn't catch it, but she didn't press the issue, simply raising one eyebrow at her child.
"I didn't wanna bug you," he finally replied, still using his spoon to decorate his mound of mashed potatoes with ornaments of peas and tiny slivers of broiled chicken. "That's pretty much it."
"Well, come on, it's not like that's ever stopped you before, sweetheart." She said the sentence with a smile and a soft laugh, obviously expecting Greg to join in. It wasn't long before her laughter trailed away to nothing and the smile on her face began to fade as Greg went back to his food, the teenage boy slowly moving the same spoonful of mashed potatoes around on his plate.
"I just… don't know what to say right now." He gave a slight sigh, rolling his eyes. "Okay?"
"Come on, Greg," Susan snorted, rolling her own eyes at her son's absurd statement. "What have I said about lies in this house?"
Blue eyes rapidly blinked in confusion, Greg shaking his head as if trying to get rid of a persistent thought. "Lies don't…" The teen began, only to pause and stare up at his mother with an oddly serious expression. "Lies don't belong in a loving family."
"And don't you forget it." Susan smiled at him before turning back to her food.
"Mom?" There was a lightness to his voice, his tone bearing a fragility to it that hadn't been present in over a month.
"Yeah, swe-mpffee?" Her voice was muffled halfway through as she placed a thick slice of chicken in her mouth, her cheeks bulging slightly as she chewed. Her face was slightly comical and only grew more so the more Susan chewed, the chicken a bit too thick and far too dry for her to eat it comfortably, but Greg's blank expression didn't change much.
"How come you get to break the rule about lying?"
"Wha-" Susan tried to answer back through a mouthful of chicken but quickly found it pointless. Struggling to wash down the somewhat dry chicken with a gulp of water, Greg's mother blinked a few tears from her eyes as she cleared her throat with a stammering cough. As she wiped her mouth with a napkin, Susan turned back to her son, a forced and shaky smile on her face. "Wh- wh- wha…"
Her words were breathy and awkward, more gasps than anything else and as Greg simply looked at her, Susan seemed to only get more discombobulated.
There was a tense silence between the two of them that stretched on, Susan trying to conjure up something to say while Greg just stared at her, waiting for his mother to respond. Holding up a hand, Susan grabbed her glass and began to take another long draft of water, seemingly to give herself time to think. As she continued to gulp down the tall glass, her eyes never left her son's, his face bearing an uncharacteristically tired expression.
The entire glass empty, her trembling hands set it down on the table with a soft clink, forgoing the coaster entirely. She looked over at her son again, fake smile weaker than ever. "I d-don't understand what you m… what you're talking about, sweetie."
Greg's eyes narrowed a little, his lips pursing. "Second time."
Susan blinked. "Wh-what?"
"That's the second time you've lied to me today," his lips turned further downwards as he paused, glancing down at his uneaten plate, "At least, I think so. I'm not really sure anymore."
"G-greg!" Her voice jumped, slightly shrill as she gave him a stricken look. "I-I-I would never…"
"Third." He blinked slowly, a bitter smile growing at the edge of his mouth. "Wow, you're on a roll, Mom."
Susan's mouth snapped shut with an audible click, the woman simply staring at her son with a shocked expression. "...Sweetie, It's n-not like th-"
"The first time," Greg began, cutting his mother off as he recounted his memories, "was when I asked you if you called the PRT on me."
"I- I…" Susan shook her head, her face screwing up as she tried to force out words that refused to leave. "I don't…"
"You said no. That was a lie," Greg almost bit the word out, his eyes narrowing as he fixed his mother with a weak glare. "You lied to me, Mom. You hate lies."
You have gained 1 CHA.
"That's n… I didn't…. But… " Susan shook her head rapidly, her gaze fixed on her son. Her face flushed red, hands tight in front of her. "They said they w-wouldn't tell you."
"They didn't." Greg's fists clenched on the table, the teen wincing as his suspicions suddenly became an uncomfortable reality. His glare focused in intensity, actual anger starting to bolster it. "They didn't tell me anything, Mom. I figured it out myself. It was kinda obvious in the first place."
The teenager shook his head just the tiniest bit, biting back a cough as he stared at his mother. "I mean, who else? I literally have a friend -singular- and even if he thought I was a cape, he'd never rat me out to the government." Blue eyes narrowed again. "Because, unlike my own mother, Sparky actually trusts me."
You have gained 1 WIS.
His mother visibly flinched at that, her face contorting for a moment before she recovered. Her skin seemed to be getting redder and redder with each passing moment as she avoided her son's gaze. Visibly trembling, Susan raised her head to look at her son again.
"S… sweetheart, you don't understand," Susan brought her hands towards her face, nearly resting her head on her palms. "Things were happening to you! You were changing so fast. I was worried!"
"That doesn't matter, Mom!" Greg jumped up from his seat, shouting his anger at the top of his lungs. "You're my Mom! You're supposed to talk to me, not treat me like a criminal and rat me out to the government because you think I can shoot fire out of my eyes or something!"
"Gr… sweetie, I-" His mother paused, frowning for a moment before finally retorting with, "I thought you had powers, Greg! I didn't know what to do! The PRT, they're trained to help kids with powers, sweetie! I'm not!"
"Really, mom?" Greg huffed, beginning to pace back and forth furiously. Words flew from his mouth, angry and bitter thoughts that he would never have given voice too before."You didn't know what to do?"
"No! I d-"
Greg didn't give her a chance, rushing over his Mom's attempt to speak. "You couldn't ask me if I had powers or anything. Was that just too much for you? That's good to know. So, if I ever see you with blood on your hands, I'll just lock myself in the bathroom, call the cops and tell them you're a murderer?" Greg spat, throwing his hands in the air again. "Forget asking questions! Forget trying to help! I'll just let the government deal with you! That seems fair, right?"
Greg's arms fell to his sides as he took in deep, angry breaths, his fists clenched tightly as he stared at his mother. Even as he stared at her, the woman was obviously fighting tears, her mouth moving up and down as she struggled to find words. "But that would be alright because I thought you were a serial killer and the government is trained to deal with serial killers, right?"
You have gained 1 CHA.
"Greg!"
"No!" Greg interrupted again. "You would have shoved me off into the Wards and made me do whatever you wanted and acted like we were both happy about it, Mom! You know that's what would have happened!" The blond let out a scream of frustration, throwing his hands out again as he turned his back to his mother. "You still treat me like I'm still five, Mom, and you do stuff like this all time!"
"Th… that's not true!" Susan shouted in response, slamming her hands down on the table. Greg turned back around to face his mother as her spoon and fork clattered to the ground, scattering peas and mashed potatoes on the hardwood floor but neither of them bothered to glance at it, mother and son too busy glaring at each other in a way that was wholly new to the both of them.
"Really?" Greg let out an angry huff, stepping closer to his mother again. "Because you freaked out when I started hanging out with Sparky the first time!"
Susan clammed up again, her face becoming an entirely new shade of red. Greg watched his mother as she nervously adjusted her hair, brushing loose strands out of her face as she shook her head.
"My birthday's in a couple of months and you won't even talk to me about teaching me how to drive!" Greg continued, too caught up to stop now. "I brought it up last month and you said you'd get me a new bike, Mom! When I tried to talk to you about it, you freaked out and asked me to go play my games! You do this all the time, you know!
"You overreact and then you try to brush it over later like nothing just happened. All the time, Mom!" The teen shook his head, turning away from his mother with a tired expression on his face. "And now, you overreact and go to the PRT. How am I supposed to feel about that, Mom? You literally turned me over to the government."
"I was worried about you!" Susan repeated, face screwed up as she brought her hands down onto the table in anger. "Sneaking out of the house before five in the morning, your body changing out of nowhere, and you've been spending so much more time outside…"
"At my friend's house?!"
"Don't even try that, Greg!" His mother screamed back, tears starting to stream down her face. "I remember that redheaded girl you brought into this house! Changing your hair, wearing your father's cologne, dressing up every weekend to run out of the house and acting like I don't see any of this! Do you think I'm blind?"
Greg scowled, just now realizing how much his mother had paid attention to. Annoyance fueling him, he bit back. "No, but I think you overreact all the time! I think you don't want me to be like other kids. I think you hate me not needing you for everything. I think you hate the idea of me actually having a girlfriend and I don't even know why!"
"What are you talking about?" Susan replied, falling back into her chair. Her hands came up to wipe tears from her eyes, one napkin already stained with makeup. "I don't even know what you m-mean."
"Come on, Mom!" Greg replied, groaning as he thrust his hands into the air. He stepped away from the dinner table, shuffling his feet in barely repressed annoyance. "You freaked out when Emma was over the one time. Yeah, it looked bad, but you didn't have to act crazy, Mom!"
"Crazy?" Susan shot back, almost reeling at Greg's words. "Crazy? You think I'm crazy because I want what's best for you? Because I want to keep you safe?"
"No, I don't," Greg shook his head, gesturing wildly in front of him with a single hand. "I think it's crazy that you don't give me any space. I think it's crazy that you expect me to be inside the house all the time and I think it's crazy that you won't let me do anything without freaking out!"
"... You know what? Fine." Susan slammed her hands down on the table, tears openly falling down her face now. She sniffed, drawing the back of her blouse arm across her nose. "You're right! I'm wrong! You're growing up! You should be able to do whatever you want and go wherever you want."
Greg sighed at his mom's tone, the sarcasm evident. "Mom, come on."
"No, go ahead. Who's stopping you, Greg? Join the football team and run around with as many sluts that'll have you. You already have one," she hissed, her own hands in fists now. "Why stop there? You'll get bored of her before you know it! You always do!"
Me? Greg blinked in confusion, stunned by his mom's crying rant as much as what she was actually saying. "Mo-"
"And when you turn into your father, you can leave me and go spend the rest of your life whoring, drinking and gambling with a man who barely even looked at you while you grew up!"
"Don't compare me to him!" Greg shouted back, knuckles white as he clenched his fists tight. His father was a sore spot for both of them, his mother more than him, but it still stung to have that thrown in his face like that. "I'm not Dad!"
"Then stop acting like it, Greg! Stop acting like it!"
"I'm nothing like him," Greg fumed, his voice lowered to a tired mutter. He thrust his hands in his pockets and stared at the wooden floor, following the whorls and patterns with his eyes. "You don't know what you're talking about."
Susan let out a sort of sobbing laugh, the sound lacking any sort of real joy. "Oh, I spent over a decade married to that man. I think I know what he's like. He's heartless, uncaring, greedy and he only ever thinks about himself and the money in his pocket. He never loved anyone! Not his own parents, not his wife and certainly not his own son!"
There was silence between the two of them as Susan seemingly dropped a verbal bomb on the entire conversation. Mother and son continued staring at each other, unsure of what to say next.
Greg let out a breath after a few moments, the teen shrugging his shoulders as he looked back at his mom.
"Y- y… you know, Mom," Greg began, folding his arms together. He shook his head at his mother. "As bad as Dad was, I could never see him calling the PRT on me. Not without even talking to me, at least. I think… I think… I'd call that love."
You have gained 1 CHA.
Another silence filled the dining room, Greg's words their own bomb. Susan's expression seemed to crack the longer Greg stared at her as she sat there, her face shifting from anger to a painful sadness, as tears began to flow in earnest.
"... I didn't…" Greg licked his lips, his mouth suddenly dry. Greg stepped forward, trying to reach his mother with an outstretched hand. "Mom, I d.. I didn't mean it like th-"
Before he could so much as touch her, Susan stood up from the table and turned her face away from her son. Tears dripped from her face as she fled the table, leaving Greg behind with his hand out, a regretful expression on his face.
The teen dropped himself back into his seat at the table, leaning back with an exasperated sigh as his mother ran up the stairs, every single footstep loud enough for Greg to hear. Her angry footfalls continued as loud as ever until she finally reached her room, and the angry slam of a door was heard throughout the house.
The blond sat up a moment later, his face falling forward to rest on his open palms. I could have let it go. I should have let it go. I didn't need to tell her I knew. Greg couldn't help the thoughts creeping up on him, used to excusing away his mother's faults as simply "love." This time, however, those same thoughts were countered by other, less appreciative ones. She lied to me, though. She always talks about how lying is bad and evil and destroys families and she lied to me. She called the PRT on me. What kinda mom does that?
Greg growled, the teen gritting his teeth as he slammed his fists down on the dining table. The sound of shaking plates and utensils met his ear in a din but the blond paid it no mind, slamming his fists down one more time with an angry stream of curses.
The two of them had gotten annoyed with each other before, as family members often do, but to the point of both of them screaming and yelling? Never. Greg couldn't recall ever screaming at his mother like that and he knew she could say the same.
Whatever it was that had just happened between him and his mother was almost historic. I yelled at her. He sighed, rubbing his forehead with one palm. I screamed at her. Called her crazy.
Bitter feelings crept back up again, Greg fighting back the guilty thoughts as he remembered what his mom had said. She called Emma a slut, though. She doesn't even know her. She said I was like dad. She called me heartless, greedy, a monster. What kind of mom does that?
Guilt and bitterness continued waging a war inside his mind as Greg let out a quiet groan, sinking down further into his seat. "Something has to be wrong with me."
Greg already knew that, though. When the results were basically shoved right in his face, what else could he do but accept them?
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
Three Hours Ago
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The teenager sat atop the futuristic exam table as he faced Doctor Wells. He was silent, as he had been since the doctor had informed him the scan was complete just a few minutes ago.
A few minutes ago.
Greg blinked, a slight undercurrent of nervousness working its way up his chest as he continued watching the man with a silent intensity. He had spent more time simply waiting in here than he had taking the test, nearly a full five minutes of raw, nervous silence as the doctor read screen after screen.
Part of him wanted to shout, just to startle the man enough to make him say something. The rest of him really wished this moment would last forever, where he was still just some normal kid to the PRT, someone they'd have no reason to care about.
Realistically, he knew that wouldn't work out. He knew what the doctor was seeing on those results and he knew what was going to happen next. Sighing, Greg muttered to himself, "Let's just get this shit over with."
"Doctor."
The man looked over the screens, the pair of glasses on his nose tipping forward ever so slightly with his movement. "Yes?"
"The results." Greg paused to lick his lips and raised the back of his hand up to his face, brushing the space between his lip and nose simply to scratch an itch. "It's been almost five minutes and… well, you've been real quiet."
The doctor nodded at Greg, raising one hand to scratch at his thick beard as he did so. "I have been, yes. I was just looking over the results to get a detailed understanding of your situation."
"And?" Greg asked, not in the mood to drag things out. If he was going to get exposed, better it happen quick like a band-aid than torture himself by having it be stretched out forever. "What did it say?"
Doctor Wells looked at Greg over the brim of his glasses, his expression unreadable. "You're asking if you're a cape, you mean?"
The teen nodded slowly, gulping slightly as the doctor narrowed his eyes at him before casting another glance back at the screen. "Yeah, that's what… what I want to know."
Wells mouth turned down into a frown, the sight of it barely visible through his thicket of a beard. His hands clasped behind his back, the man pulling himself to his full height. "Mr. Veder, according to the scans, I truly can't say. The results are at best inconclusive."
"...What?" The teen blinked at the man, less in confusion and more from the sheer shock of what his words meant. "I d-don't…" Licking his lips again, Greg continued. "I'm not sure what you mean."
The doctor shook his head slightly, muttering something under his breath as he rubbed the bridge of his nose. "First, let me explain something," he began, rather loudly, "the overwhelming majority of parahumans possess a formation in their brain called the Corona Pollentia as well as another lesser portion called the Gemma located somewhere between the frontal and parietal lobes.
"Roughly eight percent of these growths are so oddly placed or shaped that they cannot be detected using a traditional MRI. However, this device," the doctor paused, his teeth gritted for some odd reason, "is designed to surpass the function of any conventional method of scanning the human body, with a very thin margin of error."
Greg sat back listening to the doctor explain the situation with nothing but a blank expression on his face, well aware that the only reason he wasn't outright grinning was because he had the foresight to bite his lip. "So, what you're saying is that I'm within that margin of error?"
"What I'm saying is that officially, the H.I.I.D. could not detect the presence of either a Corona Pollentia or Gemma within your body. That presents us with two options. Either you fall within the very slim margin of error of the H.I.I.D. or you have no potential at all to be a parahuman. As your body displays a few minor… oddities," Wells took a breath, rubbing his nose again, "I'd assume it was simply the first. However, none of these differences are necessarily out of human possibility. So…"
Greg raised an eyebrow. "So?"
"I have to ask," Wells stepped around from the screen, his arms folded across his chest, "have you come into contact with any Tinker-derived substances?"
"You mean Tinker drugs, right?"
Wells nodded stiffly.
"Not that I can remember, doc," Greg said with a shrug. "Besides, cool kids don't do drugs."
"That's… that's good to hear." Wells told him, the man's large hands holding onto his clipboard with a tight grip. "Unfortunately, this officially means that you are not a parahuman, in the legal sense."
"Mmm." Greg closed his eyes, nodding slowly. "Tragic."
"Indeed."
"Sooooo, now that the big mystery is cleared up," Greg raised his eyebrows as he pointed to the door, "mind if I get on out of here?"
"Actually, there's something I'd like to discuss with you first." Wells dropped the clipboard at the terminal next to him, crossing his arms in front of him again. "I'd rather you hear this before you leave."
"Come on, doc," Greg sighed, glancing sidelong at the doctor as he kept one eye on the door. "Is it really that important?"
"I'd like to think it is," Wells replied, in his blunt, measured tone. "It's something I have some level of experience with at least."
"Of course it is," Greg murmured to himself, letting out a slight groan. Shaking his head, he continued. "Okay, what is it?"
The doctor was quiet for a long moment, the odd silence seeming to stretch as he kept his gaze locked on Greg.
"Doc?" Greg asked, leaning back slightly from the man's intense stare.
"Tell me. Have you ever heard of Aspergers?"
Ambiguous Disorder Diagnosed:
Asperger's Syndrome
Ever since you were a little kid, you've always been a little bit off. Impulsive, obsessive, socially obtuse and emotionally needy, you're a bit of a weirdo. You now know that you have Asperger's Syndrome. Thanks to the help of a PRT doctor with good advice, you're now more aware of your own mental state. (-70% reduction to overall WIS, 90% reduction to overall CHA.)
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Now
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Bip-bip-bip
Bip-bip-bip
Bip-bip-bip
Bip-bip-bip
Bip-bip-bip
Bip-bip-bip
Bip-bip-bip
Blue eyes blinked slowly, Greg raising his head from his palms as an annoyingly familiar noise hit his ears. As he felt the vibration in his jeans, Greg quickly realized what that vaguely annoying sound was. Reaching into his trouser pockets, he pulled out his candy blue flip phone and stared at the caller ID of the person texting him. A smile slowly crept across his face, replacing his forlorn expression.
"Huh. Emma."
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Spoiler: STATUS