CHAPTER SEVEN: UNWANTED ATTENTION

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♦ Topic: New Cape in Brockton Bay?

In: Boards ► General ► Parahuman Discussion

CapesFan98 (Original Poster)

Posted on January 14th, 2011:

Have you heard about the guy who just wrecked some ABB enforcers downtown. Who is he? Where did he come from? And seriously, why hasn’t anyone ever heard of him before now?

. . . . .

(Showing page 1 of 9)

► SpitfireAZ

Replied on January 14th, 2011:

Pretty sure no one has a clue, but I’ve been glued to every news feed since this went down. Some guy in black bodied a bunch of ABB thugs near the docks, and now everyone’s talking about it. No emblem, no known powers, just showed up and took them apart.

► BrokenSky (Cape husband)

Replied on January 14th, 2011:

Did anyone get footage? All I’ve seen are blurry phone pics. There’s a lot of speculation, but no one knows if he’s independent or working for someone.

► CynicalSam

Replied on January 14th, 2011:

@BrokenSky: Probably no good footage yet. It happened in ABB turf, and most people aren’t dumb enough to start recording when Bakuda’s guys are around.

► Wyrmtongue

Replied on January 14th, 2011:

I’ve been sifting through PHO all morning, and I think I found a pattern. The guy was first spotted near 5th and Main, fought off a group of ABB, then disappeared. No one’s confirmed how he fights, just that he’s fast, strong, and not subtle.

► NyxShadow

Replied on January 14th, 2011:

@Wyrmtongue: You’re acting like this isn’t huge. A cape we’ve never heard of shows up, wrecks gangsters, and disappears? That’s a big deal. If he’s not with the Protectorate, then what’s his angle?

► ChatterboxBB

Replied on January 14th, 2011:

New cape spotted downtown? This city just keeps getting weirder.

► ByteMe

Replied on January 14th, 2011:

Who the hell is this guy?!

► CrashOverride

Replied on January 14th, 2011:

Speedster? Brute? Some people are saying he took a hit from an ABB enforcer and shrugged it off. Others say he moved too fast for them to react. Tinker gear? Stranger power?

► RedSunrise

Replied on January 14th, 2011:

ABB’s not gonna like this. If he keeps hitting them, expect Lung to step in.

► Grimalkin

Replied on January 14th, 2011:

Spotted near 5th and Main. ABB turf. Not a smart place to make enemies.

End of Page.  1, 2, 3 … 9

. . . . .

Greg sat on the edge of his bed, phone clutched tightly in his hand, his thumb flicking absently across the screen as he scrolled through PHO. The glow of the screen illuminated his face, casting shadows that seemed to deepen with every passing second.

He swallowed hard, the knot in his throat tightening.

He'd expected some buzz—stopping a robbery wasn't nothing—but this was more than he was comfortable with. Some posters were already speculating about his powers, trying to pin down what he could do. Worse, others were wondering if he was gang-affiliated.

And then he saw it: the post that made his blood run cold.

Spotted near 5th and Main...

His breath hitched, already imagining faceless figures lurking in the shadows, watching, waiting. He could almost feel their eyes on him.

That was way too close.

"You knew this would happen," Weiss said, her tone as matter-of-fact as ever.

Greg groaned, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. "Yeah, I knew," he muttered aloud, though the room was empty. "But I didn't think it'd happen this fast." He dragged a hand through his hair, his fingers trembling slightly. His heart pounded in his chest, a relentless drumbeat that refused to quiet. "What if someone actually comes looking for me? What then?"

"They will," Blake said simply. Her tone was always so calm, so sure, even when she was delivering the worst news. "No gang takes kindly to outsiders meddling in their business."

"Great," Greg muttered, sinking back against the headboard. "Just great."

Yang's laugh rang out in his mind, loud and dismissive. "Please. You kicked those guys' asses last night. If they show up, just do it again. Easy."

Greg clenched his fists, frustration bubbling up. "Yang, it's not," he snapped. "This isn't some back-alley brawl. These people don't fight fair."

Exactly, Blake cut in, her voice cool but edged with warning. "Mot gangs don't play by rules. If they see you as a threat, they won't just come after you. They'll make an example of you."

Greg shivered, the weight of her words settling over him like a heavy blanket. He'd seen what gangs were capable of, what they did to people who crossed them. The images flashed in his mind unbidden: broken bodies, burned-out buildings, messages scrawled in blood. The thought of that kind of attention turning on him made his stomach churn. He wasn't much of a hero yet. He wasn't ready for this.

Ruby's voice broke through his spiraling thoughts, soft but insistent. "So… what are you gonna do?"

Greg exhaled slowly, the sound shaky and uneven. He stared at the ceiling, as if the answers might be written there in some invisible script. "I don't know yet," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

But deep down, he knew one thing for certain: he wouldn't have the luxury of indecision for long. The clock was ticking, and sooner or later, he'd have to make a choice. The only question was whether he'd be ready when the time came.

. . . . .

Greg tried to go about his patrol like nothing was wrong. He really did. But the moment he stepped outside, the world felt almost heavier, like the air itself was pressing down on him. Every shadow seemed to stretch a little too far, as if someone might be lurking just out of sight. Every pair of eyes that lingered on him a second too long sent a jolt of panic through his chest. Did they know? Were they with the ABB? His mind raced, spinning scenarios he couldn't shake, no matter how hard he tried to convince himself he was overreacting.

By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, his nerves were frayed. He'd taken the long way home, weaving through backstreets and side roads, avoiding the usual routes. Just in case. The streets were quieter here, the kind of quiet that made his skin crawl. His footsteps echoed faintly against the pavement, and he couldn't shake the feeling that they weren't the only ones.

That's when he saw him.

A figure stood on the rooftop across the street, silhouetted against the dim glow of the city skyline. A man in a black bodysuit and red mask, motionless, seemingly staring right at him. Greg's breath caught in his throat, his blood turning to ice.

Oni Lee.

Greg swallowed hard, forcing himself to keep walking, to act normal. His heart hammered in his chest, each beat echoing in his ears. The last thing he wanted was to start a fight with someone like him. Not here. Not now.

"Stay calm," Blake murmured, tone firm as if she expected him to do something stupid. "He's watching you. Studying you."

"So what do I do?" Greg's voice was barely audible.

"Don't run," Yang cut in. "If you bolt, he'll know you're scared, and might attack. Just keep moving carefully."

Greg clenched his fists, forcing his legs to carry him forward at the same steady pace. He turned the corner, his pulse racing, and risked a glance back.

The rooftop was empty. Oni Lee was gone.

Greg let out a shaky breath, his shoulders sagging for just a moment before tension snapped them back into place. "Okay. That's bad, right?"

"That's bad," Blake confirmed, grim.

Greg didn't need to be told twice. He picked up the pace.

. . . . .

Greg didn't go straight home. Not after spotting Oni Lee. The thought of leading someone like him back to his doorstep was enough to make his skin crawl. Instead, he wandered toward the Boardwalk, sticking to the open, well-lit areas where an ambush would be harder to pull off. The Boardwalk was always busy, even at night, and the crowds offered a thin veneer of safety. Still, the city felt different now, less like a place he lived and more like a hunting ground. And he wasn't the hunter.

The flashes of cameras erupted around him as people took pictures, some recognizing him from the PHO threads, others just curious about the guy in the makeshift costume. But the attention didn't make him feel safer. If anything, it made him feel more exposed. He needed a distraction, something normal, something to ground him.

Which made it almost laughably ironic when he spotted anotherperson watching him.

Leaning casually against the railing by the water was a guy about his height, dressed in a white skintight costume with stylized grey clocks inscribed across it. Clockblocker. A Ward. And he was looking right at him.

Greg froze for a moment, then sighed and forced himself to step forward. Running now would only make him look suspicious, and the last thing he needed was to give the Protectorate a reason to keep a closer eye on him.

"Lemme guess," Greg said as he approached, his voice dry. "You're here to tell me to stop playing hero?"

Clockblocker snorted, amused, but his words were edged with something more serious. "More like making sure you don't get yourself killed. But hey, if you already know it's a bad idea, my job's easier."

Greg hesitated. This wasn't what he'd expected. Clockblocker wasn't warning him off or making threats. He was just… talking. It threw Greg off balance.

"…You knew I'd be here?" Greg asked cautiously, his eyes narrowing behind his mask.

Clockblocker shrugged. "Word gets around. You made an impression last night, and you aren't exactly hard to find."

"Yeah," Greg muttered, glancing around at the crowd. "So I've noticed."

There was a brief pause, the hum of the Boardwalk—laughter, chatter, and the distant hum of the ocean—filling the silence between them. Then Clockblocker sighed, his tone shifting to something more serious. "Look, I get it. You did something good. You stopped a robbery, helped some guy who probably would've been screwed otherwise. But if you keep this up? You're gonna piss off the wrong people."

Greg stiffened. Too late for that.

Clockblocker must've seen the reaction, because he tilted his head, studying Greg with a knowing look. "They're already watching you." It wasn't a question, but a statement. A fact.

Greg hesitated, then nodded. "Oni Lee."

Clockblocker let out a slow breath, his shoulders tensing slightly. "…Okay. That's really not good."

"No kidding," Greg replied flatly.

Clockblocker studied him for a moment, then pushed off the railing, stepping closer. "Look, I'm not gonna pretend I know what your deal is, but if you're serious about this, you need backup. You need training. The Wards can help."

Greg didn't respond immediately.

"This city chews up independent capes, man," Clockblocker continued, his voice softer now, almost sympathetic. "The Wards can help. Training, support, backup—"

Greg glanced away, his hands clenching at his sides. "And rules. And PR. And the PRT breathing down my neck."

Clockblocker sighed. "Yeah. That, too."

Greg frowned beneath his mask. "And if I say no?"

Clockblocker seemed to deflate in that instant, his shoulders sagging slightly. He didn't look mad at the refusal, just… tired. "Then I'll probably see you in the hospital. Or worse."

Greg exhaled slowly. He wanted to argue, to insist he could handle himself, but he'd thought about it, of course. Clockblocker wasn't… exactly wrong. Brockton Bay was dangerous, especially for independents. The Wards had training, coordination, resources. He had enthusiasm and a cheap costume.

The city chewed up solo capes all the time. Uber and Leet were a joke, but they still had experience. People like Skidmark were still around because they knew when to fight and when to run. Greg didn't. And if he screwed up, there wouldn't be a do-over.

If he was honest with himself, what chance of survival did he?

"I'll think about it," Greg muttered.

Clockblocker's expression was unreadable behind his mask. "You do that. And if things ever get out of hand, call the PRT. We can help."

Greg swallowed but gave a stiff nod. He wasn't sure how much he trusted them, but… it was still better than nothing.

With that, Clockblocker turned and walked away, the crowd parting around him as he disappeared from view.

Greg stood there for a long moment, staring after him in contemplative silence. The ABB knew about him. The Protectorate was watching him. He was in it now, whether he liked it or not.

And he had no idea what he was going to do next.