CHAPTER TEN: THE CALL

Greg lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling, his arms folded behind his head. His Aura had done its job; no more cuts, no more bruises,

Greg lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling, his arms folded behind his head. His Aura had done its job; there were no more cuts, no more bruises, and not even a hint of soreness. Physically, he was fine. But the fight with Oni Lee wasn't something his powers could just erase. The weight of it lingered, pressing down on his thoughts, refusing to fade.

And beneath it all, there was the choice.

He turned the business card over in his fingers. The simple, embossed Armsmaster – Protectorate ENE felt heavier than it should have. It had been hidden away since he got home, tucked somewhere safe, but now it rested in his hands again, as if daring him to make up his mind.

Greg exhaled, closing his eyes.

Not long ago, he would have hesitated over something like this. Would have second-guessed himself, spiraled into overthinking, convinced himself he wasn't cut out for any of it. That version of him—the awkward, aimless kid fumbling his way through high school, invisible in the background—felt like someone else entirely.

Because now? Now, he had a purpose.

His Trigger had changed everything.

He still remembered the exact moment it happened. The terror. The helplessness. The gut-wrenching certainty that he was going to die. And then, the power. Aura had ignited in him like a second heartbeat, flooding every cell with strength, turning panic into focus, fear into clarity. He had survived that night because of it.

And since then, he had fought. He had trained. He had learned.

He wasn't the strongest cape in Brockton Bay—not by a long shot—but he wasn't that scared, uncertain kid anymore, either. He wasn't going to sit back while the city ate itself alive.

Greg sat up. His fingers tightened around the card.

He knew what he had to do.

. . . . .

Greg pulled his hoodie tighter as he stepped outside, the night air crisp against his skin. The city's ever-present haze cast the skyline in a dull, orange glow.

He flipped open his burner phone and tapped in the number.

One ring.

Two.

A third—

Click.

"Armsmaster."

Greg took a breath. No backing out now. "I'm the cape you gave the card to."

A brief pause. Then: "You've made your decision." Not a question.

Greg settled onto the back porch steps, keeping his voice low. "Yeah."

He heard the faint clink of metal, probably Armsmaster adjusting his grip on something. "And?"

"I want in," Greg said. "But not as a Ward."

A pause. Then: "You're certain?"

Greg exhaled through his nose. "I know what the Wards are. What they really are. I don't want to be stuck dealing with PR nonsense while people are dying. I want to help. But I want to do it my way."

Another silence. Not long, but enough for Greg to wonder if Armsmaster was weighing the pros and cons of his decision.

"You understand the risks," Armsmaster said finally. "The PRT will not be responsible for you. You'll be operating without official protection, without guaranteed backup. If something goes wrong, you'll be alone."

"I know what it's like to be on my own. I've been alone before."

"Hm." Armsmaster didn't sound convinced, but he also didn't argue. "Very well."

Greg blinked. He'd expected more pushback, more skepticism, maybe even a lecture about why this was a mistake. But the heroes—Armsmaster, Clockblocker—kept surprising him. Armsmaster had given him a choice instead of shutting him down outright. Clockblocker, for all his sarcasm, had actually seemed to believe in him, even if he thought Greg was reckless. It wasn't what Greg had braced himself for.

He wasn't sure if that made things easier or harder.

"You'll need to register," Armsmaster continued. "Officially. That means an alias, paperwork, an agreement with the PRT to operate as an independent hero. You'll be monitored, but not controlled. There are conditions, but they're minimal."

Greg nodded to himself. "That's fine."

"I'll arrange a meeting," Armsmaster said. "Tomorrow. Nine AM. PRT headquarters."

Greg hesitated. "And if I show up, but decide I don't want to sign?"

"Then we part ways amicably," Armsmaster said simply. "And if I find you in another ambush, I will bring you in."

Greg smirked faintly. "Got it."

Armsmaster's voice softened, just slightly. "Good choice."

The line went dead.

Greg exhaled, staring at the phone in his hand.

Tomorrow.

A new step forward.

A new chapter.