Chapter Text
Incisor 1.1
April 24th, 2010
His father had always said that if you were good at something, you shouldn't do it for free.
Reid respectfully disagreed.
Well, disrespectfully disagreed. There wasn't anything much less respectful than a bullet to the brain.
Reid decided that if something was fun, you should do it. And if you happen to get paid, that was just the cherry on top.
For example, robbing liquor stores.
Very fun.
It was odd, doing this when the sun was up. Night usually added some gravitas, some atmosphere. The morning sun made the tense and dramatic moments into a comedy instead of a drama.
That may have also been the result of the large amount of high quality cocaine he had liberated from the Nazis last night. He could still taste the acrid drip in the back of his throat, and while it wasn't necessarily pleasant, at least it was something.
Additionally, the short Asian woman behind the counter was quick on the draw and apparently had no regard for her own well being. Reid hadn't even finished deciding whether to pull the trigger or not before she grabbed a shotgun out from under the counter and aimed at his center mass. It was honestly impressive.
Well played, Mrs…
She wasn't wearing a name tag. Inconvenient. He preferred to learn their names, just for fun.
It was something to do.
But he didn't speak whatever language she cursed him in, and he didn't think he would have time to communicate his question.
The gunshot was as explosive as ever. Reid idly wondered if his power protected him from hearing loss.
It certainly worked just fine on bullets and buckshot.
The display behind him exploded as the pellets passed straight through him without noticeable effect. All that perfectly good whiskey, wasted.
Good thing he preferred vodka.
"Money, please. And smokes. And vodka, if there's any left intact by the time you're done."
Sometimes, they were quick on the uptake. Other times, they were stubborn.
This tenacious lady was one of the stubborn ones. Another display exploded as the metal that should have torn his heart out sailed through him like mist.
"Demon!"
Her accent was pretty heavy, but he got the gist.
Reid inspected the slide on his favorite pistol.
Should he just kill her? Take a kneecap? Her pinky toe?
He sighed sadly. For all that he was generally pleased with his parahuman abilities, it took all the rush out of his self-destructive pastimes. The excitement was noticeably absent, when he was untouchable.
So, instead of killing the spirited shopkeeper, he just walked through the counter to grab a pack of cigarettes for himself.
She shot them before his hand could close over the box, the whole row of Marlboro Lights exploding in a puff of white confetti.
Okay, that was pretty funny. Well played, Mrs Shotgun.
However, her furious screaming still barely got his blood flowing. The electric current was weak and short-lived.
The gray haze was returning. Unacceptable.
He decided not to grab a less enjoyable pack of smokes. He needed an excuse to do this again, after all.
Reid reached through the top of the register and closed his fist around a bundle of cash before withdrawing it. His powers were convenient like that.
From what he could tell, his abilities had zero directly damaging applications. He couldn't reach into people's chests and pull their hearts out, or solidify his body inside them.
But he couldn't be injured. Anything that should hurt him just… passed right on by.
Even if he wasn't paying attention. He imagined some exasperated guardian angel flicking the switch on and off for him.
There were other limitations, of course.
He couldn't move to anywhere he couldn't see, and he needed to pass through a surface in order to get there.
Anything that didn't directly damage him didn't get automatically ignored, although he could still choose to pass through it if he was paying attention.
He hadn't found an easy way to bleed off unwanted momentum. The idea of jumping off of buildings was fantastic, but he was slightly concerned about what to do once he built up too much speed to safely land.
Although, if he didn't find something else to get the color back, he might just take a leap and try to figure it out. Either he would come up with something, or it suddenly wouldn't be his problem anymore.
The good news was that his power had seemingly endless indirect applications.
Like grabbing cash out of a closed register. Stealing cocaine from Empire stash houses. Sticking his arm into a wall, out of the floor between someone's legs, and shooting their dick off from fifty feet away.
He was reasonably sure that guy had been a Nazi, so it was warranted. But also, it was fun, which was far more important.
The last unbroken bottle of vodka was inches from his grasp and sweet, sweet protection when it followed its brethren and exploded in a shower of crystal stars.
Okay. There were limits to his patience, and the implication when someone pulls a gun to rob a liquor store is that they will shoot the cashier if they don't hand over the required booze, which had, at this point, been denied to him. She didn't need both kneecaps.
Reid turned to confront the old lady about the inconvenience and was surprised to find a thin man in a demon mask instead.
Interesting.
The electric current was back, baby. This was fantastic.
Oni Lee wasn't the most powerful cape in the world, but he was infamous and deadly. Reaver had been itching for something new.
Even though he still couldn't help thinking of himself as Reid. Old habits die hard, and apparently killing his old self wasn't as easy as he thought it would be.
Reid held up one finger in the universal 'one second' gesture. Oni Lee actually paused.
Audacity had its benefits.
He put his earbuds in and reached down into his coat to hit play on the Walkman.
Life was better with a soundtrack.
I met her in the summer,
Down by the Golden Bay,
Reaver swung his arm up to level his father's stolen .40 S&W at the demon man.
His heart beat a heavy staccato on his eardrums.
The ruined shop exploded as he and Oni Lee open-fired.
Lee exploded into ash and the wall behind Reid was suddenly perforated.
It felt so fucking good to pump the trigger with reckless abandon. Thunder echoed and his ears rang to the music as the recoil jarred his arm and he fought with the unruly pistol like a bucking beast.
Fuck making every shot count; eat some fucking lead, demon man.
More clones exploded into ash and Reaver was already moving. Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on your point of view, the teleporter was a sneaky bastard.
One Oni Lee appeared beside him and stabbed him in the gut, which slid through him like butter. Several more clones popped into existence around the shop one after the other, all turning to open fire as plaster and debris rained down around them.
The clone next to Reid also dropped a grenade, which was slightly more concerning. Reid wondered if the old woman had left the shop or not.
Out of curiosity, Reid pushed and suddenly he was falling through the floor, grabbing the grenade on his way past and…
He took it with him as he fell out of the ceiling on the other side of the shop. That was excellent.
Like flowers in the water,
I can't forget her face,
A casual toss in Oni Lee's general direction gave him more warmth than three lines of the Nazi fuck's best coke.
As the non-metaphorical explosion finished what the gunfire started, Reaver fell through the floor again and ended up flying sideways out of the exterior wall of the building on the other side of the street.
He was getting better at landing from those types of lateral shifts. He barely stumbled as he landed on his feet, his coat swirling dramatically around him.
Oh yeah. That's the good stuff, baby.
Hopefully Oni Lee didn't die that easily. He would be disappointed if the fun was over already.
The demon man appeared on the partially collapsed rooftop of the ruined liquor store.
Fuck yes.
Reid dropped to one knee and shoved his hand and pistol into the ground, the weapon reappearing on the edge of the roof.
Oni Lee exploded into ash as bullets ripped him apart and the dance began anew.
No wonder she's a stunner,
It takes my breath away,
Reid pulled his hand back and spun as another clone appeared beside him, grenade already in hand.
Oni Lee reappeared on a different rooftop down the street.
Reid cackled as he blew the clone to bits and caught the live grenade.
He reached into the window of a beat up parked car, dropping the grenade onto the roof where the most recent clone landed.
The explosion took out a solid chunk of the building's facade in a beautiful shower of shrapnel.
Reid ejected the empty magazine from his pistol and pocketed it before pulling out a full replacement and smoothly sliding it into place.
He should get some grenades for himself. And another pistol. And maybe a hat. The dust and debris was getting in his hair.
Oni Lee appeared next to him and they both raised their guns in almost identical poses.
Arm straight, shoulders angled. Twist at the waist, right foot forward.
Boom.
They shot each other in the head at the exact same time. The synchrony was glorious.
Not that it did anything meaningful to either of them. Oni Lee popped like a piñata of ash and Reaver's head wasn't real.
But still. It's the aesthetic.
Like flowers in the water,
She dances in the rain!
…
April 27th, 2010.
There was hardly a shortage of shitty motels willing to rent a room to a suspicious looking guy in a trench coat for cash.
It was still better than the gray room, even if these rooms were getting more bland by the day.
The dance with Oni Lee had been fun, but as always the rush was short lived. The fog began to encroach again as soon as the novelty wore off.
Luckily, these types of motels didn't care if you smoked in the rooms. Gray mist coiled around Reaver's head.
What to do, what to do, what to do.
Reid briefly considered shooting himself to see if his power would protect him from himself.
That would probably be fun.
Well, not fun. But interesting.
He aimed the .40 cal. at his own palm and pulled the trigger.
The bullet passed right through him like smoke.
Reid sighed.
He supposed it was too much to expect that he could get something out of this whole deal.
Someone was shouting.
Oh. Even motels like this didn't approve of random gunshots. Now he would have to move again. Shit.
Well, at least he could rob the front office on the way out. That was something.
…
May 2nd, 2010.
"Are you going to pay for that?"
Reid glanced up from the gray herringbone Scally cap he decided to acquire for his 'costume'.
The salesman was looking at him with a disdainful expression that could only belong to comfortable, self-righteous folks who considered their relative financial security to be a product of their own excellence and not random chance.
Reid was highly familiar with it. If he weren't dead, he would probably wear it himself.
"Of course," Reid said blandly.
Then he shot him in the knee, the hollow-point .40 S&W shredding the cartilage and tendons like tissue paper.
The next time he ran into Oni Lee, he was going to try and steal his gun. He needed some more variety.
The electric current sparked through him briefly as the man collapsed with a scream of indignant agony.
Another day, another dollar. And a new hat.
…
May 4th, 2010
Reid sat at the empty bar and nursed his Black Russian.
It was pretty good, as drinks went. Didn't have the same snap as drinking straight from the bottle though. Not as rough around the edges.
A pained groan sounded from somewhere on the floor behind him.
Well, not totally empty.
He thought that the asshole would have managed to crawl farther before giving up. Gut shots couldn't possibly hurt that much. He hadn't even used one of the hollow-points.
And now Reaver couldn't even properly enjoy his drink in peace.
It was a sad, sad day when even shooting Nazis couldn't cheer him up.
He probably would have shot him regardless. The waste of air was making too much noise. But hearing him brag about his initiation helped move the metaphorical needle from 'probably' to 'oops, now everyone is screaming'.
I wonder who will get here first… the Empire, or the Protectorate?
He swirled the remaining coffee and vodka around in his glass. The caffeine didn't really do much for him, compared to his other preferred pick-me-ups, but he had hoped that a change of pace might push back the fog.
It didn't.
"Ingress, you're under arrest. Keep your hands where I can see them and do not resist."
Looks like the Protectorate was on the ball tonight.
Bodysuit with circuitry pattern. Battery?
Originally, Reid had been itching for a fight, but… now it just seemed pointless. The fire had already gone out. He would try again later.
Reaver downed the rest of his drink with a sigh before glancing out the window over the bay and putting his hands behind his head. He let his torso flop backwards on the bar stool and once he was parallel with the floor, he pushed and dropped through the stool and the floor and suddenly he was lounging on the rough metal of a ruined container ship in the Graveyard.
His eyes were cold and dead as he pulled out a cigarette. The thin flame and cherry ember reflected nicely off the starlit water.
He put his earbuds in and took a long drag, but even the music and the gray mist couldn't drive away the cold tonight.
…
May 5th, 2010.
"Good morning. I have a bone to pick with the image department?"
The receptionist at the front desk of the PRT headquarters barely spared him a glance before suddenly recoiling in surprise and fear.
Ahhh. That's nice.
You know what else was nice?
Not being called Ingress by the PRT.
What the fuck kind of name was Ingress? For a villain? He fucking killed people, dammit.
Mostly Nazis, because they had the best drugs (also, fuck the Nazis), but he probably hurt some innocent people in the meantime. And that salesman. It wasn't like he was really checking, and Oni Lee blew up a bunch of buildings before he gave up and ran away.
Automated containment foam sprayers activated overhead and rained rapidly expanding suds down onto him and the receptionist.
That sucked. For the receptionist.
Reid just wandered through the bubbles until he found the edge and almost ran smack into a PRT trooper.
"Rude. I just stopped by to inform you that my name is Reaver, so you can update your records accordingly."
The PRT trooper in question shot him with some kind of tinkertech taser that passed straight through his chest and did absolutely jack-shit.
Reid just shook his head sadly and walked away. They just had to take all the fun out of it.
The cold was leaking back in.
…
May 8th, 2010.
Reid woke up suddenly as rapid gunfire echoed through the neighborhood surrounding his most recent shitty hotel room.
A lot more gunfire than normal. Huh.
Most of the gangs had automatic weapons, but none of the capes really used them and the big fights usually escalated into cape brawls.
Also, that was a lot of fucking bullets.
Interesting.
Reid threw on his least-destroyed white button down, gray slacks, sturdy brown leather shoes and loosely looped tie.
Shoulder holster with his favorite gun, then his gray trench coat. Add the cap and bandana for a bit of spice.
Reaver was ready to party.
He also bumped a wee bit of his stolen ivory candy. For luck.
With a casual step forward, he was outside and falling towards the street three stories below.
Showtime, baby.
He slid into the sidewalk feet first at a respectable velocity and reappeared flying upwards, upside down, out of the pavement at the other end of the street where the majority of the oppressive gunfire sounded.
He arched his back and let his coat flare around him as he fell upwards, his momentum quickly dissipating until he flipped halfway around to land on his feet on the roof of the two-story convenience store at the end of the block.
Between the fall and the cocaine, the warmth in his chest was nice. The night was colorful, and not just because everything seemed to be on fire.
In the flickering flames, he and the figure across the rooftops surveyed each other.
The tall woman wreathed in fire cut an impressive image. Her samurai armor was trimmed with blades and human remains, a sash of bleached bones and empty skulls stark against the blood red plates. In one hand, she held an over-sized tinkertech longbow, and mounted to her armor on the other shoulder she wielded a massive rotating mini-gun that was almost certainly the source of the gunfire that awoke him.
Her eyes promised death and fire and he was so fucking excited to burn.
"You here to dance, fancy-boy?"
Her voice was low and dangerous but managed to carry over the rooftop despite the screams and the raging fire below.
Reid spun his pistol around one thumb before pulling back the slide and chambering a round with a jarring, metallic crack.
"My choreography might be a bit rusty, but I don't mind if you step on my toes."
The heat intensified and the electric current thundered in his chest.
"Someone's got a death wish," she hissed.
If only, if only, the woodpecker cried.
"Anything, to feel alive."
…