"I'm not much for sleeping," Greg replied. "Too used to being awake when it's dark."
"That's gotta make doing your day job suck."
Greg laughed. "I'm a paralegal for a big fancy law firm. You know what they do with me? Give me tedious shit to research and ignore me. I take naps in the file room and library all the time." He grinned. "Helps I can go through stuff when I need to hide."
"You can't help getting yourself into trouble, can you?" Dixie shook his head and took another bite of cookie, chased it with a swallow of milk. "How did you get into thieving? If you mind telling, don't feel obliged."
Shrugging, Greg replied, "How does anyone usually get into breaking the law? We were flat broke. My mom begged for help from all kinds of people—people she'd helped a hundred thousand times. They all turned her away, and some were really fucking mean about it. Poor as we were, I never was tested, so my meteor genes were never identified and put in the system."
Meteor genes, also known as 'super genes', were the mutations that showed up in people without any rhyme or reason that science had yet figured out. In the first couple of decades after a meteor crashed on the planet in the late 1600s, enormous pieces landing all over the damned earth, not much had happened. Well, plenty had happened to the environment.
Weird shit hadn't happened to people at first. Plenty had died or been permanently injured, but nothing weird. But on about thirty or so years after, by the best estimates of historians, weirdness started showing up in people right around puberty, people that had been born in the last 15 years, give or take a few.
And that had triggered the Great Witch Burnings. Those had lasted longer than anyone liked to admit, and supers had gone deep into hiding. Didn't show up again until an especially powerful super had decided that 'inferior' humans should die. He'd destroyed half of Europe before he'd finally been killed. It was only after that the world governments came together to do something more effective, seeking out and registering supers, establishing tests, regulations, protections, etc., that life got considerably less dangerous for everyone.
Not long after, groups like the G.O.D. had sprung up. But there were plenty of supers off the grid, and 'villains' who ranged from petty criminals to those intent on changing the world in ways the government didn't agree with. About the only thing everyone agreed on was that the whole thing was a goddamned mess. Too many thought the G.O.D. was the solution, and anyone who disagreed wound up dead or lived in the shadows.
"So you turned to stealing?" he asked.
"The first time wasn't planned," Greg replied. "We were at her boss's house, trying to convince him to cut her a break, advance a paycheck, something, anything. I was only ten, was waiting in this opulent hall full of fancy, expensive shit polished to within an inch of its life. It was like being on a stage set, even back then I knew that. All for show, and he didn't give a damn about any of it except to prove that he had it and no one else did. So I took this stupid little clock just to be a jerk. I shoved it into my bag under all my homework and gym clothes… and days later, still nothing had happened. We needed money for groceries and I thought of my dumb trophy, took it to a pawn shop, and made five thousand dollars."
Dixie whistled.
"So I did it again, same house, slipped in there one day after school and stole something from his office. Looking back, I think I probably got some of his staff fired. But back then, I was a stupid kid tired of hearing his mother cry."
"Yeah," Dixie said quietly. "Ain't nothing worse than hearing your mama cry. If I'd been you, I'd've done the same."
Greg looked at him. "You had it rough, too, huh? I'm sorry."
"Ain't nobody in this business doesn't have a rough story," Dixie said.
"Still, I'd think someone with the name 'Turncoat' must have a story that packs some extra bang."
Dixie rubbed his fingers across the back of his neck. "Not many people defy and betray the Dogs and live to tell the tale, that's for sure. My dad used to work for them, and me alongside him. Ain't a story I'm inclined to share, but my parents are dead now and G.O.D. wants me back something fierce."
"I'm sorry."
"Thanks," Dixie said. "Your mom still around?"
"Yeah, though she's overseas and no longer related to me, according to the paperwork. That cost me big, but she's safe and that's all I want."
Dixie nodded, then finished his cookies and milk and stood to put the glass in the dishwasher. "How'd you get mixed up with Byron and the rest of this anti-G.O.D. crusade? I assume you're part of that."
"I steal stuff for him sometimes—what else does anyone pay me to do?" Greg asked with a crooked grin. "And I've got useful connections via the firm, so pretty often what I steal is information. How about you?"
"Byron found me, actually. Me and a friend of mine who came with me when I got out of the clutches of the G.O.D. We were both banged up pretty badly. Byron helped us get back on our feet. Now we do odd jobs here and there, chip away at the G.O.D. when we're able."
Greg pursed his lips, eyes going distant as he lost himself in thought for a minute. "You were on the news recently, up around Arrow City. There's going to be a memorial parade for the dead at the end of the week. Some new super villain was mentioned, too."
"Countdown," Dixie replied. "Yeah, shit got interesting up Arrow way. We
