It was fair to say that Greg, in the grand scheme of things, hadn’t really known trouble.
Sure, he’d gotten into trouble before. Plenty of it, in fact. There had been arguments with his parents, lectures from teachers, detentions he still insisted were completely undeserved, and more than a few spectacularly embarrassing moments courtesy of his own mouth. Once, he’d accidentally started a rumour that Principal Blackwell was secretly a cape because he’d misunderstood a conversation in the hallway. That… hadn’t gone over particularly well.
But there was trouble, and then there was trouble. The sort that reached straight into your skull and shoved every coherent thought out of the way until all that was left was blind, instinctive panic.
Greg found himself rooted to the spot as the floating orb turned, his heartbeat thundering so loudly in his ears that it almost drowned everything else out. The motion was slow, almost casual, with no flashing lights or robotic announcement declaring him an intruder. One of the narrow grooves running around its polished shell simply separated enough to reveal a dark circular opening that was, without the slightest room for interpretation, pointed directly at him.
“…Oh.”
That was a gun. An actual gun… pointed at him.
Greg didn’t know much about firearms, but he knew enough to recognise one when he saw it, and he knew enough to understand that this was the sort of situation where panicking was completely justified. Who, exactly, was supposed to stay calm with a gun aimed at their chest?
This wasn’t a movie. There wouldn’t be a dramatic rescue at the last second or a sudden cut away before anything important happened. This was real life, and in real life, people who ended up staring down the barrel of a gun generally ended up having an exceptionally bad day.
Sure, capes probably had ways around that sort of thing. Brutes shrugged bullets off, Movers dodged them, and Breakers became smoke or light or whatever ridiculous thing their powers let them become. Greg’s power, on the other hand, was apparently attracting eldritch forces with an unhealthy interest in abandoned trainyards.
It wasn't nearly as useful.
His mouth had gone so dry it felt like someone had packed it with cotton.
“This,” he whispered to absolutely nobody, “was a terrible idea.”
Actually, that wasn't quite right.
Following mysterious dreams into abandoned industrial districts had been the terrible idea. Breaking into what was increasingly looking like Anakin Skywalker’s secret hideout had merely been the catastrophic follow-up.
Very, very concerningly, the eldritch force that had spent the better part of a week bullying him into coming here had now chosen the exact worst possible moment to disappear.
Typical.
Greg had known something like this would happen. He’d spent half the walk over imagining increasingly awful outcomes, after all. Maybe the dreams were leading him to be sacrificed in some bizarre ritual. Maybe there was a monster waiting to eat him. Maybe Cauldron had somehow been behind the whole thing because, at this point, everything eventually seemed to come back to Cauldron.
Instead, he was about to be shot by a floating metal orb.
Honestly, now that he thought about it, that hadn’t even made the shortlist. Still…
“I knew it,” Greg muttered. “God, I knew it, and I still came anyway.”
He really was an idiot. A complete, undeniable idiot.
Then another thought struck him. What kind of floating orb even had a gun? Seriously, who built something like that? What the fuck was wrong with Anakin Skywalker, for fuck’s sake?
Be calm.
Greg blinked, momentarily taken aback. “…How?”
The feeling hadn’t come through his ears. Nobody had spoken, and as far as he could tell there hadn’t even been a voice. Something had simply brushed against his thoughts, carrying reassurance and urgency in equal measure. It wasn’t language, at least not in any way he understood. There were no words to hear or syllables to untangle. It was closer to intent, wrapped up in images and feelings that somehow arrived already carrying meaning.
Be calm.
Greg stared blankly at the orb. “…Wait.”
The eldritch force was talking to him. Or maybe talking wasn’t the right word. Whatever this was, it skipped straight past sound and lodged itself somewhere inside his head, where his brain obligingly translated it into something he could understand. He had no idea what to call that anymore, and at the moment he wasn’t sure he cared.
Really, though, could his life get any stranger?
The universe, apparently taking that as a challenge, answered with the distinct metallic click of a hammer being cocked.
Greg’s soul briefly attempted to leave his body.
He was going to die.
He knew it with absolute certainty.
The confidence of that conclusion had barely settled before the presence in his mind exploded with a feeling so intense it nearly drove every other thought out of his head.
Move!!!