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CH 80: Backpack
🕑 Added 2025-01-17 15:00:00 +0000 UTCReid screamed in agony. Everything burned, and ached. Stabbing, throbbing pain lanced its way over every area Reid empowered, and his brain had long-passed the stepped-on-a-lego pain and gone into full on brain-melting and imploding sensations.
He learned more about his 'updated' body and changes as he worked his way through the process of rebuilding himself. The threads within him had nearly imperceptibly moved - he either didn't need to change anything there, or it ended up being a simple task to 're-define' where he needed to pull and wind himself to get the results he was expecting. With a decent amount of rest and just a bit of practice, he'd be back to battlefield power-ups like he'd done against the salamander.
Rebuilding himself was incredible as much as it was painful. The same 'density' of power that made it difficult to do minute healing work actually sped up the empowerment process. Sped up being relative - as Reid had been at it for almost a day by the time he hit his new ceiling in both main stat categories. Raising stats that much just wasn't a quick deal.
Power: 35 -> 62.5
Constitution: 35 -> 62.5
Part of Reid had hoped to see a change in his 'upper limit', but he hadn't gotten that lucky. The hill still came, and stopped him when he reached 50% of his control stat. Nearly doubling his two major stats had to be enough.
Compared to them, Dexterity, Perception, and Intelligence seemed comically low.
Lycra had tended to Reid through his full day of screaming, painful self-improvement, and then another four days where Reid just slept. When Reid finally woke up, they'd already chewed through most of their rations and water. Reid was still recovering and groggy when he woke, and they decided to take things easy. There was a version of this whole thing where they skipped straight to mole hunting, but that wasn't happening with Reid's current state.
Instead, they did enough mining in a tunnel on the way back to fill the mine cart, and returned to the processor area, tired and ragged. A few miners they knew gave them commiserating and understanding looks - trying to venture out on your own was something many of them did as they got used to the tunnels. But their week spent integrating themselves with the rest of the miners had done well, and no one questioned them on what they'd been doing or where they went.
Half their crystal haul was turned in for their debts, and the other half they kept for backpack shopping.
That was when Lycra insisted on doing the shopping himself while Reid relaxed and rested some more. It brought back a vivid memory.
#
At the call center, Reid had used the same backpack for his things every day, for years. One of the zipper pulls was replaced with a folded and taped paperclip. The top handle was cut off because it had been torn apart by a dog. One of the straps didn't adjust properly, so Reid had tied it permanently to itself.
One of the young kids he'd hired unexpectedly showed up with a brand new backpack on Reid's birthday.
He knew the kid was from an upper-middle class family. He had this job not because he needed the money to put himself through college, but because his parents had told him he needed experience being at the bottom of the ladder. And the parents had chipped in to gift Reid the new bag - apparently their son had said good things about Reid, so they liked him.
But - Reid's first instinct was to leave the brand new bag at home the next day and instead bring his old one into the office.
It was still usable - so he should still use it.
The math added up properly in his head, and Reid realized he applied it to much of his life. Things only got replaced or thrown away once they were absolutely spent. It was only the image of the kid, seeing him choosing to use his old bag over the gift, that pushed him over the edge to use the new one.
But he still kept his old, broken backpack in his closet.
Because it hadn't been fully used up yet.
#
He knew hoping Lycra didn't suffer from the same mentality was a wasteful exercise. Reid had grown up with far more than his friend - and there was a good chance Lycra would've chosen for himself the cheapest, simplest, most 'not used up yet' bag he could find. So when Lycra insisted on going shopping for himself, Reid had decided to try something - and told him to get bags for each of them.
No matter what Reid used for himself, he'd always worked to ensure Sara and Susan had the newest, best, most intact and useful versions of things she could. He would replace their bags ten times over before he even considered doing the same for himself. And he figured Lycra might think the same way.
Of course the bags needed to fit both of them - what if they needed to switch in an emergency! And of course they needed two - because what if they got separated. Lycra had seemed skeptical at first, but agreed.
Reid hoped it would work. The best outcome was that they'd end up with one good bag, and one junk bag. He'd make Lycra take the good one, and Reid would either use or scrap the worse bag for himself. Lycra would complain, but he deserved to have something nice. Or as nice as they could get in this land of discarded trash and dropped valuables.
#
Lycra came back two hours later, head hung so low it was nearly dragging on the ground. When he finally lifted his head, it revealed a welt forming under one eye, and the other filled with burst red veins where he'd very obviously been hit.
He was already apologizing to Reid as he approached, and Reid felt rage boiling deep in his stomach - that someone had dared to do this to his friend. It took a good ten minutes for both of them to calm down enough to hold a rational conversation.
Lycra had gone to one of the larger 'stores' in the shanty area, and fell in love with one of the bags they had there. It was the most pristine, rugged backpack in the entire 'marketplace'. The proprietor offered Lycra the chance to pay to be part of an 'auction' where he could then bid on the pack. Then more people - probably friends of the shopkeeper - had joined in and driven the price for the item higher than Lycra could afford with what he had left. They claimed he placed a final bid to win the auction, over what he had on hand. And oh no - when they 'realized' he didn't have the funds, they were so willing to work with him, take what was left in the cart as an advance, and told Lycra to come back with the rest, plus interest.
He'd refused, and didn't let go of the crystal cart. That was when things got physical, and Lycra was hit, multiple times. It turned out, he also had a broken toe and a bruise on his abdomen from kicks and stomps.
Reid took his friend down to the care building - where the 'first aid' station was. The staff were friends of Win and she volunteered there often, so Reid felt comfortable leaving Lycra to have his wounds tended and treated. Not that he'd really left by his own choice. The medics on hand ushered him out of the building and told him to come back later. There wasn't a real visitors section, and without magical healing - medicine took time.
Reid partly blamed himself for the whole ordeal. Sending someone who might not have much experience with spending money out to buy something wasn't a good idea. Doing it in this setting, despite the friendly veneer, was downright dumb. He was almost as angry at himself as he was at the proprietor.
Reid picked a rock off the ground, and squeezed until it started to fracture in his hand. He let the pieces crumble away and fall to the floor of the cavern. He didn't want to make waves. Laying low and blending in was part of the plan.
But the assholes had hurt Lycra.
There were three rules in this place. Reid was about to add a fourth.
#
#
The stall was made of mostly-grey metal and canvas parts, which gave it a uniform drab look that set it apart from the other makeshift storefronts.
It was manned by a melting-beaver looking thing named Percival, and three bearlike beings that were definitely muscle milled about nearby.
Reid ignored the bears and slapped both hands down on the counter top so hard, it half collapsed. The beaver thing made gestures with its head, and Reid found paws on his shoulders. They tried - and failed - to move him as he spoke.
"You ran a game on my friend. Then you hurt him." The words were low and clear. "I'm here to explain something to you. It's a new rule, and it's called 'Don't fuck with Lycra.' Simple stuff -."
A bear tried to drive claws down into Reid's back. That probably stopped most trouble. Having natural claws in a space where everyone's power and toughness were restricted put you above the norm.
The sharp claws slightly punctured Reid's skin, and went no further. He turned on the bear that had stabbed him, and gripped its claws between his hands. They snapped like toothpicks. Then Reid snapped the bear's hand for good measure, and it roared in pain. He grabbed it by the scruff of the neck. Another tried to get him in the face with a clawed strike, but Reid was fast enough to swing his 'hostage' bear into the path of the blow. Instead of just stopping the claws from hitting Reid - it had the bonus of the first bear slamming hard enough into the second that it was launched across the walkway and into a stall on the other side.
The shopkeeper was shouting, and more muscle started to appear. Some wore matching colors or outfits, and Reid realized the entire shady section of the shops was coming to face him.
That was fine. He needed to get some anger out.
#
Reid sat atop the shell of a bipedal crab. He held its dominant claw to the ground with his foot, and addressed the beaver-like shopkeeper, cowering behind the remains of his front counter.
"If I snap this claw in half, will it grow back naturally?"
The beaver shook his face side to side - not his whole head, but just the face. It was gross.
Behind Reid, the other minions dumb enough to jump into the fight groaned and cried. Every few minutes, one was carried away in a mine cart, towards the caretaker building to see the medics. They were not exactly pleased with him at the moment. Broken arms, fingers, and legs were difficult, slow-healing injuries. Reid had made dozens.
He gave the crab's shell a pat, then strode forward to the remains of the melted beaver's shop.
"Your employees are rude. So, Lycra. On the shorter side. Big yellow eyes. Happy pointy smile. Came here for a backpack. Do you remember him?"
The shopkeeper nodded.
"Alright. And the new rule is...?" Reid tilted his head expectantly.
The beaver looked ready to run, but thought better, and spoke in a halting voice. "Don't mess with Lycra."
Reid slapped a palm down on what was left of the counter, and it folded in on itself. A piece of it bounced off the shopkeeper and landed on the floor.
"Close enough! Now - all of this" Reid swept an arm behind him at the groaning goons. "Was a warning. I thought about breaking you, too - but I think you get the point. Spread the word to your friends on the new rule. Anyone fucks with Lycra, I'll drag them down into the dark tunnels and break their goddamn legs."
Reid didn't quite know when he'd started to lean over the remains of the counter, but his face was inches from the shopkeeper.
"Are. We. Clear?"
The beaver nodded once, slowly.
"Great. Now give me the fucking backpack."
#
#
Reid sat at the table he'd used on the first day - a table he apparently now 'owned' - and tried to give friendly waves to the miners he knew. More than a few that were previously friendly with him hurried away when he got their attention.
He was just about to get up for some water when a familiar wide form approached.
Jim looked angry.
"We got rules! Ya can't jus go an hurt people like that now! Darn medics already overworked, an now they got too many to tend!"
Reid bristled. "Those rules also say don't steal - but I didn't see you shutting down that stall. Are you in on their racket? What, they pay you as a group?" Reid rose out of his seat as he continued, and watched the man's face went from blue to purple. "I did what I needed to. I stopped thieves, and a ring of shady muscle from taking advantage of people. I did your job - and I did it better. So don't you dare try and tell me I can't protect my own."
"Roc, catch!"
Win's voice boomed out and grabbed the attention of everyone in the canteen area - most of whom had been closely watching Reid and Jim's developing argument.
A pickaxe sailed at Reid in a lazy arc - handle first - and he snatched it out of the air. He was too busy being confused to interrupt Win as she continued shouting.
"Roc and I are going to go blow off some steam! When we get back, it means everything here is settled!" Curt and decisive nods spread around the witnesses in a wave. There was some tradition at play that Reid wasn't getting.
Jim excitedly gathered himself and ran over to Win. "Ima come witcha - he and I- !"
Win's voice was lower, but just as commanding. "No. Just us two."
She turned and walked towards a barely-lit tunnel off to the side, and waved behind her.
"Come on, pinky! Let's go."
