Last night had been a bust but tonight was an epic win.

"Again, absolutely fantastic!" Jan handed me a bottle of chilled artesian water, which I cracked open and took a sip most refreshing after baking under the studio lights.

"Thanks," I smiled, sipping more water and settling into the plush seats of the armoured PRT van. She was like a convert, and all it took was an apology and a display of normality.

Jan smiled again, looking at me like a proud mother convinced it was her nagging that had propelled her son to greatness before settling back into her own seat to fill out some paperwork for Piggot and the youth guard.

The interview itself had been surprisingly easy, even though it was entirely scripted I hadn't felt the need to go off on a tangent and instead could focus on making the most of what I was given to work with. I think, perhaps, that mum had been wrong when she had told me to be myself, myself. I could be myself without having to be completely, purely, myself at all times. Certainly, there were times when being like the old Greg was appropriate, and there were times when it was not, but that didn't mean I had to cling onto either my, or others, image of myself. I had more layers than that, I could be many kinds of Greg and all were myself.

It was a very deep realisation, I was sure.

The drive back to the PRT building was smooth and uneventful, without even a hint of Coil's machinations to murder me. I doubted he could bait the Empire into it again, so the next one was likely to be from some unaffiliated mercenary group. Personally, I expected it to be La Strada, an imaginatively named roving merc band, or maybe some more Fallen; this time with cape backup. There was a lot he could do, but I didn't think it was worth worrying about him hiring guys like the Slaughterhouse. Almost no one was that stupid, and I didn't think Coil was stupid. The only reason I thought it was him was due to that chance meeting with Tattletale. If I'd never seen her, or thought to Observe her, Coil wouldn't even be on my radar.

We arrived and got out of the car, Jan bidding me a good night before heading off to her office while I continued on to the Wards room with trepidation heavy in my gut. My gloved hand tightened on the handle of the big vault door, high tech leathery material creaking softly with the force of my grip. I inhaled slowly, opened the door and slunk inside.

My lip curled as I scanned the empty room, the television still on the same channel I'd left it on before my interview. I crossed to the lounges and threw myself down, wriggling against the discomfort of the new armour of my uniform for a few seconds before I switched it for my usual oversized sweats.

I stared at the floor.

My personal phone appeared in my left hand and I wriggled around in the sofa into a more comfortable position, clicking the phone on. A missed call from Sveta, a video one from Tyrone, a text from Amy and finally a message from Savannah. A well of something swelled up in my chest, forcing it's way up my throat and out my tear-ducts. I squished it back down with a few deep breaths and wiped my face on the worn sofas' fabic.

I opened Amy's text first which read, 'Vicky and Dean were impressed you didn't act like a complete fucking cretin.'

Okay, so Dean was exonerated and possibly based and I'd repaired Victoria's seepingly mediocre first impression of me. God Bless Amy. That freckle faced bitch, even if she didn't say it, I knew. She was the most impressed of all, having seen me at my most miserable worst.

I made a mental note to use my considerable future clout to aid in her likely plans of normalising lesbian step-sister relationships, if she was still into that in a few years time. But who knew, maybe once she moved out she'd get over it and find herself a nice girl.

'Thanks homeslicey,' I shot back. 'Tell them I say, "hello".'

I was too nervous to look at Savannah's message, so instead I face-timed Tyrone. The app rang a few times before he picked up, the half dozen voices fighting for dominance on the other end of the line coming in heart wrenchingly clear. Past the edges of Tyrone's unattractively close face I could see the whole team vying for space.

"Yooooo!"

"Hey guys," I grinned, waving for the camera. "How did I go? I think I killed it."

Tyrone shouted "yo!" again, drowning out the others but I got the gist of it.

"Aw, thank you," I used the motion of sitting up properly to turn the camera away from my face so I could wipe my eyes. "You guys are the best."

I wrapped up my call with the Boston crew and hugged my phone to my chest, leaning over to rest my elbows on my knees. I was going to transfer there permanently, I decided, once all this gang shit was over with. Mum… and dad would support me wholeheartedly even if it meant having to drive there every weekend and not getting to see me during the week. That was hard on me too, even though I had good friends there and could call home whenever I wanted, but I realised somewhere along the way that it was worth it to just be out of Brockton and everything in it.

I wiped at my eyes again, sniffling slightly, and called Sveta.

I realised immediately that she was probably either not at the asylum phones or would panic that I was calling and lose control of her tendrils. I let the phone ring out. Best to wait for her to call again.

My breath shook with my hands, but it was time to stop being a pussy bitch.

I opened Savannah's message without even looking at the text preview.

Savannah: Cool interview

Savannah: Armsmaster's published his alloy on the intranet but I still can't fathom how he gets the plates so thin without compromising on both elasticity and strength. Even when I attempt to copy his method my results are clearly subpar, if you've reviewed his field reports…

The message continued on like this for a bit. I wasn't very surprised, both Fred and Daisy were big Armsmaster fans and their specialties barely even crossed. Savannah's speciality including power armour made it only natural for her to fangirl over the second most famous living Tinker in the world if you didn't know that he was secretly a massive chode who used naive Wards to further his career and traumatise them with Nazi's in the process.

I harrumphed. It was a feeling so complicated; on one hand he was a chode, and on the other he was the only person I could remember having even remotely high expectations for me and then believing that I could reach them.

Greg: Thanks :)

Greg: His power lets him condense technology, which extends to increasing the density of metal alloy without sacrificing anything and that's why his suit isn't twice as big. There's probably nothing you can do to replicate the effect without developing a power stealing ray

It was a good thing that even if she had a huge crush on him, and even if I introduced them, Colin was way too autistic to even realise the fact.

I snorted, inhaling shakily and put my phone away. It was much ado about nothing, at any rate, and the same as my former crush on Miss Militia; it wasn't allowed to happen. I sat up and sighed, stretching extravagantly, then got up and headed back to the exit. I lingered at the door for a moment, scanning the room one last time, a seething breath hissing out through my teeth at the sight of the television still muted on the wrong channel. I spat on the floor and slammed the door shut.

"Thanks, Mac," I said, extending a fist.

"No worries, kid, you have a good one," Mac bumped the proffered fist and I hopped out of the PRT van and onto the curb, shutting the car door behind me.

As the van politely indicated and pulled onto the quiet suburban road I walked up my driveway, and after quickly wiping my shoes on the mat because I was a good boy, opened the front door and stepped inside. The house was dark, dark and quiet, save for light spilling out from the edges of the kitchen door.

I turned invisible.

It fucking couldn't be, right? How could he have arranged something like this so quickly? Did he even expect to succeed?

Colourless smoke seeped from my skin, drifting as soundlessly as my steps over the wooden floor, it collected at the door and I guided it under and around. I covered the kitchen floor with it, mapping out the position of chair and table legs. The smoke drifted higher, the gaps in it letting me feel where everything was. There was one person sitting at the table, and as the smoke drifted higher I felt their expectant posture and nobody else was in the room it was just dad.

I dropped my invisibility, dismissed the smoke, and flung the kitchen door open.

'Fwee!~' went his party pipe, reaching out like a tongue almost to the hefty cake sitting in front of him on the table.

"Congratulations, my little pop-star Greg!" Dad removed the party pipe from his quivering lips. "V-veronica would be so proud!"

"Dad, I…" my voice caught as I gasped, almost a sob, nose and eyes both welling. My eyes flickered to mum's empty chair and back to dad's face which was steadily crumpling like an anguished ball of tin foil.

The tears that started to run off his nose mirrored mine and I quested forward into my chair, sinking into it and then sinking my face into my hands, hiding sobs.

The cake knife clinked against the plate, the motions sounding clumsy, before clattering to the table.

Dads howled his anguish to the sky while I sobbed silently into my hands.