CATASTROPHIC

Gregory Flores is not as impressive as she'd imagined he'd be. The Senitel hero sitting on the opposite side of the table was rather ordinary, a contrast to the grandiose image his family member had conjured up. Then again, Marcus Flores never learned to keep his mouth shut. Hence why she barged into Greg's office. Hence why he was currently reading a six-part Twitter thread from the phone she practically pushed in his face, while Mileva taps her fingers against the armrest of the chair.

Tap, tap, tap. If it was anything else, she wouldn't be here, anything else but:

@Marcustflores: (6/6) If you're still not convinced Kozakova's cheating at this point – i played her three times, THREE TIMES, and she literally predicted every move i was going to make. Like i'm sorry???? The only way this tracks is that she's a super???

Tap, tap, tap. She could have stayed calm and ignored the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. But her decisions, as of late, haven't been exactly sound, exemplified by her reply:

@Milkakozakova: Or  - i'm just good. Maybe if you stopped being so obsessed with me, you could actually get some practice in. Get decent even.

Fuel for the fire, so they say. It spawned six more messages. Tap, tap, tap.

"Don't you think what your relative is doing is slander, Mr. Flores?" she sighs. "Look, I know he's not your responsibility, but he might listen to you, so could you…"

but forgive greg if he could care less about what cousin marcus is doing now. as the black sheep of the flores family, any monthly gatherings is just a chance for relatives to exchange stories about marcus' latest fuck ups because it's always unintentionally hilarious.

his twitter feud with some capybara meme account? comical. him feuding with what he realises later is a bot? classic. this feud? not so much, not when a chess champion like mileva kozakova is at the end of his long-ass twitter rant.

he truly can't believe what he's reading. this is shit mileva can sue him for. something that can besmirch the flores name, something the family has worked hard to keep clean. turns out the family should've paid more attention to the black sheep. sometimes they all forget how much of a loose cannon he can be.

it's greg's fault for dismissing marcus when the cousin heatedly ranted about losing again to mileva. the threats of taking this twitter isn't so idle as he assumes.

greg pushes the phone back to the other, all while racking up excuses to 'clear' his cousin's name.

as she asks him a question she has asked herself numerous times, her words, for once, lose their bite. curiosity replaces it; she wonders if he’ll have an answer. 

or if, like her, he cannot fathom being anyone else but who he’s made himself to be.

“can you even imagine that happening?”

( you don’t know how far you can fall until you hit the ground. ) 

then the moment of gravity fades, a laugh sputtering out of her when he explains exactly why he’s not in paragon. why he doesn’t want to be. 

“right,” she drawls, that one word dripping in mocking skepticism. “you? not wanting the spotlight? i swear i see a new article about you every two weeks. weren’t you in time last year?” she suppresses another laugh. “someone like you can’t be happy with just being second-best.”

"i'd still be gregory flores," he answers unyieldingly. "what defines me isn't my money or the company. my powers, my whole being. that's me." a scoff to match hers. "honestly, if you're lost then that's on you for letting your career or possessions or whatever define you."

and no, he doesn't want to imagine what happens if he loses everything— so he ignores her question and divert the attention elsewhere. "you experience loss all the time, so grow up."

once more, he rolls his eyes. "well, articles are just part of being a public figure." such salt to the wound. she seems to know which buttons of his to push, but he's not going to let her see that. this is surely why nsa paired them up together. so they can rile each other up then wear each other down— then remember who they are truly at the mercy of.

"what makes you think sentinel is second best?" he challenges. "paragon is nothing more than show monkeys nsa parades around."

"Right. Uh. You might be disappointed," they mutter, wincing immediately. The self-deprecating words sound worse when said out loud. "Sorry. I-I mean―" Their head moves in a short, almost-violent shake, ears growing hot. "Never mind."

but what's the point of dwelling in that, when he's pretty much fashioned himself to be anything but his father?

"hey," he starts. "don't sell yourself short. from what suzu tells me, you are invaluable to the team." and people who are skilled and trustworthy tend to come in short supply these days.

"it's an alloy we've been developing for the past few years. we wanted something light but durable for our hardwares." greg explains, his voice is probably a bit too excited for his taste. "it's supposed to make our products more affordable too."

ryoji fiddles with the strap of their average, black cloth mask as they watch greg withdraw another batch of tech. as suzu and them continue to build and prepare for infiltration of nero's empire, they believed it worthwhile to view what greg had to offer.

but they're still wearing a mask around him. trust only extends so far. past that, though, they're not sure if they wish for greg to recognize them. working in the flores' facilities --- a different time, different life.

ryoji clears their throat. "so what exactly am i looking at here? prototypes?"

seems that the sentiment is shared by this dolor.

no real name shared, but greg could respect that. what are secret identities for?

still, he couldn't put a finger on it. the voice sounds... familiar.

"we still call them prototypes but we've tested them a couple of times." he tries to focus on the task at hand. greg opens the secured briefcase and produces a gun. "gotta equip you with offensive and defensive weapons... or do you have a preference?"

Pedro Pascal as Dieter Bravo

“you act like you’re surprised.” glancing up, she smirks back. a beat follows. “you know i always like cash. aren’t you developing new weapons, too? the more you give, the more you get.” the bait tossed, she waits for him to bite. “i’m sure we can work something out.”

but how are they to deal with men like buchanan? "he's both." he wants to show off— and show that he's capable of levelling the playing field. supers be damned, everyone can be super now... for the right price. "and now that people know you can get your powers from a bottle, they can and will try to make themselves, right? this will show up on the streets sooner or later."

an investment in crux has surprisingly yielded good results for him. what's the harm in giving his new tech? "we can. what do you want?"

it's routine by now: debrief all relevant heroes then find wherever greg is located to deliver the same news. and ensure it gets through his head. and after that, do what's within his limited power to see that greg --- tech heir and sentinel by choice --- follows through.

it's the worst part of kiran's day.

so yeah, kiran's surprised when he walks into greg's space and witnesses the other --- frazzled? intensely focused? kiran can't recall the last time he saw this --- if ever.

"uh --- want to explain to me what you're doing?

and of course it's kiran, the guy nsa always sends to make sure greg plays nice with others. a visit from him is due, given the circumstances, but before kiran can even say anything, greg raises a finger. a wordless 'hang on, i'm busy'. it's not until he senses his devices downloading cctv footages that greg finally speaks—

"why? gonna chide me for taking initiative?"

"Yes, Gregory, I'm at work. And I work in my office. Your powers of deduction never cease to astound me," she quips, eventually looking away from the two holographic monitors that display progress reports on their most recent trainees. Her gaze follows him as he takes a seat, fiddles with the pen. (Her pen.) Two months. Has it really been that long? "Worst time, best time, semantics. Perspectives! Maybe I was having the time of my life precisely because you were one Pacific Ocean away." The smile Andy offers him is saccharin-sweet, sardonic, but tired. Where to fucking begin. "Seen the news yet?"

however, this is serious matter. life or death, as they would call it, and despite the attitude that greg seems to project to the world, he does care. "yes, i have watched the news— surprising, right?— and we have to talk about it." he sets down her pen with delicacy. "this shit is dangerous, and if you or anyone from nsa have information about anything, then you better share it with the class. we gotta make sure kronos can't perfect the serum or better yet, have anyone replicate it."

his commentary on discipline goes ignored as she plays with the water in a bucket next to her, languidly manipulating it into the air. it’s the latter remark that earns a reaction, water elongating into a spear. the thing is, he’s not wrong, and that’s not what bothers her—she knows she’s being complacent by way of rebellion. rather, it’s the reminder of what she isn’t anymore; who she could be isn’t who she wants to be.

i qualified for it twice.

“oh, but i cheated, you know? so apparently, it doesn’t really count.” in moments like these, she remembers that anger is a weapon, too. she hones it, sharpens it, gives it a shape. freezing the spear, she drags her hand back and sends it straight for the punching bag. 

it pierces through. “don’t worry,” she flicks her gaze back to gregory, “i’ll make sure to do stuff like that next time. get me on that fast track to paragon. maybe you’re right—i don’t really want to be nothing.” in her irreverence lies a thread of truth: obscurity doesn’t suit her. “but you’ve got a lot to say for someone who’s not even on that team. what’s keeping you from paragon?”

it doesn't surprise him that she manages to manipulate the water and pierce the bag. not because he has faith in her (no, greg would rather be caught dead than to be found having faith in anyone), mostly because he knew the nsa would never recruit anyone less than stellar. they've got a reputation to uphold.

and he understands the anger that seems to underpin her movements and her words. but i cheated, you know? “so that’s your baggage, huh? people saying you cheated?”

though, is there something else...?

doesn't matter. he'll suss it out of her.

the same way it seems that she's trying to. (stop prying, kid.)

there's nothing greg hates more than his plan not going accordingly. he fancies himself a mastermind, and while plans change all the time and he’s come to cope and adapt to those changes, he’ll never admit that if it ever strays from his initial design.

"what’s keeping me from paragon is that i don’t want to be in it in the first place. too much exposure. sentinel is better that way." he grits out. "i can still do whatever i want."

The heavy bass beat reverberates through the wall, muted, encapsulating. Like a countdown. Jax squirms in their seat, wishes they had remembered to grab a drink just so their hands would be occupied during the.... meeting. With Greg Flores. The Flores. They know, of course, that he is both CEO and a Sentinel hero, tidbits of knowledge gathered from watching the news. Other than that, he is a face attached to a name, a tycoon in two spheres, and they cannot imagine why somebody like him would possibly be interested in meeting them. It's bizarre. They literally own a FLO gaming device at home.

Seconds pass by and their hearbeats grow more frantic, churning out an unwelcome rhythm against their ribcage. It's just a chat. A normal social interaction. As someone who needs to write a whole script in their head before making any kind of a phone call, however, the fact doesn't help much in quelling their nerves.

it's inevitable that greg would meet jax. truth be told, the reason greg got involved with crux in the first place is to meet them. from the files greg read— stored somewhere in the nsa system (absolutely not obtained questionably, what are you talking about?)— there's a potential that they could even be more powerful than him.

well, isn't that interesting?

if only greg paid more attention to them (or even realised they were a trainee), maybe they'd still be with nsa. maybe greg will even have a protege or mentee he actually gives a shit about.

greg's chuckle is unusually light, as if jax is the only person worthy enough to see this side of him. "please, greg is fine," he insists as he shakes their hand. "nice to meet you jax. heard great things about you."

at the same time, it's rare that he's this awkward, but it's reasonable, given greg doesn't have much experience with 'mentoring' (unless it's unwittingly). this is genuinely the first time that greg looked forward to meeting someone, to bond with them.

but clearly, she hasn’t, with the way she’s been flinging daggers of ice into a punching bag at the end of the room. mimicking repeatedly what otto had shown her with shadow, she’s about to send another one flying when gregory appears. distracted, she lets it fall from her control. it shatters in two on the floor, and she looks over her shoulder at him. 

“don’t you have, like, actual work to do? because you’re just soo busy every time i want to ask you something,” retorts lunara. “it shouldn’t, anyway. it’s not like you have elemental powers. how could you teach me about that?” don’t tell me—is he actually here to check up on her? she’d rather have the thinly veiled disinterest. “but since you seem to care so much, nothing happened.” she shrugs, her nonchalance almost daring him to object. “i slipped up. happens to new supers all the time, doesn’t it?”

remind him to never mentor anyone else.

"this is part of the work. just shut up and appreciate the fact i'm the one checking up on you. you want trainers instead?" he no longer hides the spite. "i might not have elemental powers but discipline is universal regardless what powers you have." sure, henry's got a soft heart, but when it comes to mastering your powers, he's disciplined, strict, focus— it might be a by product of having to hide his identity as a super. no fuck ups mean no one will suspect anything. despite not subscribing to the same philosophy, greg continues to carry his teachings with him... one way or another.

"for someone who qualified for the olympics, you're cutting yourself too much slack." if she's offended by the statement then so be it. he knows how to push people's buttons, even makes an art of it. "if you don’t want people breathing down your neck then stop slipping up. or up to you, go be a lowly trainee forever.”