Chapter 8 - Changes

1st POV - Makenzie (Hell's Kitchen, New York, 11:00pm 15th of January 2002)

I never used to struggle with waking up. As Alex, years of alarms for early morning sports, means I wake up at 6:00am with or without an alarm clock. Makenzie was no different. Being young and homeless and attractive meant I slept in short bursts—2-3 hours at most—before forcing myself awake.(AN: image of Makenzie here)

Now though, as my sleep schedules clash, making my nights fitful and two differing lives swirl in my dreams, waking up has become far more arduous. My late night activities only further impede my ability to get enough sleep for my developing body.

Thankfully, these late night hunts have been fruitful. Already I've found an abandoned bakery with a decently sized basement. Instead of turning the power back on, I've siphoned energy from a few of the nearby establishments, hoping to reduce the chance of being found. I feel a little bad about it considering some of these are legitimate businesses trying to get by, but I'm not taking much and before I leave; I plan to remove the criminal elements of Hell's Kitchen, which seems a fair trade to me.

I've also gotten my hands on a few laptops that I've tinkered with, giving me enough power to utilize Sombra. Theoretically. I'm going to test it out tonight by trying to infiltrate and copy Kilgraves' files unnoticed, before using the city's surveillance to find him.

Frustratingly, my activity around Hell's Kitchen hasn't given me any leads to his whereabouts. He's more cautious than I expected. Unfortunately, that's probably my fault, or rather Reaper's night on the town scared him into hiding. Hopefully, once the city's cameras are at my disposal, I'll be able to sniff him out, even if the city hasn't fully entered the age of electronic surveillance.

But by far the most worrying thing, something is happening to my power. Every night as I go out as Reaper, establishing myself as a boogeyman to criminals, I can feel something building inside me. I don't know what it is, but my plans hinge on my power. Without them, I'm nothing, a homeless orphan with this and that mental disorder. Worst-case scenario is running to the X-Men and placing my bets that Xavier behaves reasonably.

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. No point in continuing down that line of thought. I have my power now and there's no evidence it's going anywhere. I can't let fear paralyze me. There's much to do. On queue, voices sound from below me as a van rumbles to a stop on the street below.

"Alright. Let's make this quick, hands on your guns. Remember, we go in, inspect the product, and complete the trade before leaving. Boss wants this to stay quiet, so don't shoot unless they fire first." A man in a nice one piece suit stepped out from the passenger side door as a small group of thugs lumbered out from the rear of the van.

Hmm. More organized than most of the deals I've been knocking over lately, bad luck that their trade partners aren't quite as discreet. I'd heard them yapping about a deal and followed their little convoy to this construction site. I followed behind the men as they entered the site, dispersing and hiding when appropriate, but for the most part, superhuman senses did the job for staying hidden.

A gathering of floodlights up ahead alerted me and my unknowing companions that we had arrived at our destination. Splitting away from the group, I flowed upward to the second floor and positioned myself so that I could see exactly what cargo was being traded. In the back left corner of the site, there were three sealed crates. I patiently waited as the hoodlums below engaged in petty posturing, trying to intimidate each other to ward off betrayal.

Finally, the man in the one piece suit made his way over to the crates with the leader of what looked like a legion of heavily armed dock workers. The product coming through the ports is expected, but it's always good to confirm. I'll patrol the docks heavily next week, see if I can find more of these guys.

For now, as I watch the man wrench the first crate open, I tune back into the discussion below.

"We've split the delivery into smaller loads to keep that freak off our backs." The shipping man said as he stepped back so Suit could step forward and take a look.

"My employer won't be happy with these delays." Suit commented in a casual tone laced with menace.

Ship just snorted, clearly used to such behavior. "Yeah? Well, the delay will be a hell of a lot worse if that freak destroys our entire operation. So you ask your employer what he's willing to risk for on-time shipments."

I could not only see but also feel with my enhanced hearing and smell how Suit reacted to just the mention of me. His muscles involuntarily tensed and a faint odor of salt drifted around his body. I almost smiled at the terror I inspired in these men before catching myself. I wasn't here to delight in their torment; I was here to stop dangerous cargo from entering the hands of dangerous men.

And what a dangerous cargo it was. Suit shifted aside the top of the crate and I could finally get a good look at what was for sale. Guns, military grade weaponry piled high in the crate (AN: Image). Well, that confirms it. Suit works for either Fisk or the Hand. No one else involved in the ports has the capital to equip themselves with this level of firepower.

I hadn't planned to get rid of Fisk just yet. After all, his belief that he keeps the criminals of New York in order isn't incorrect. However, if he's gearing up to this extent, then maybe going into that ugly tower and putting a bullet through his head is the best thing to do. Whatever thoughts for later. For now, I look back down as Suit signals his men to unload the first crate and decide now's the perfect time to interfere.

Dissolving into my Wraith form, I didn't bother with subtly and swirled into the room like a black fog. Immediately, screams started as these disgusting parasites shot widely into the fog, hopelessly fighting to keep me from them. Laughter bubbled up inside me and this time, I didn't bother suppressing it. For all these assholes have done? For all they planned to do with weapons of this calibre? They deserved to go out in fear.

I reformed on the other side of the room, keeping everyone trapped within the room. The only way to reach the exit is to get past me. It didn't take them long to realize the situation they were in and immediately the room lit up loud bangs, unmistakably gunfire tore through the night air. If the previous shots didn't alert anyone, all of Hell's Kitchen could heat the current fight.

Yet, it was all pointless. I moved through the swarm, untouched. No bullet would ever penetrate a body such as mine. I could see in real time the horror spreading across the room as each thug reached that same conclusion and I finally ended this farce. My body tore through the room at a speed impossible for them to track. Clawed gloves tearing apart thug after thug, leaving them to bleed out on the ground.

17 seconds later, only me and Suit remained standing in the room. On the outside, he maintained his composure. It would have been impressive if my ears couldn't hear the hammering of his heart and my nose couldn't pick up the odor of salt and cortisol flowing down his back. I walked towards him calmly, picking up on the sound of sirens in the distance. Simultaneously, I calculated how many more steps he would take before falling over the cracked brick behind him.

3 steps later—as predicted—he stumbled over the brick and I picked up my pace, forcing him to crawl awkwardly until his back slammed into the opened crate of firearms. The moment he winced, I dispersed and reappeared directly in front of his face. Mere millimeters separating him and I. From this distance, I knew everything there was to know about him. I could tell the exact shade of his eyes, see every pore in excruciating detail.

"Who is your employer?" My voice was harsh — a gravelly edge sharpened by animosity, scraping against his eardrums. My hand punched through the crate before he could respond — an unsubtle way to discourage lying to me.

"My employer wishes to remain anonymous. I don't know who he is." His voice trembled slightly as he spoke, but overall, his ability to maintain composure was impressive. My hand ripped open his neck before he could blink, his eyes widening briefly in pain and fear before glazing over as his life faded away.

Wasting no time, I flew upwards out of the partially constructed building before teleporting to the roof of an office building 50 meters away. Suit took longer than I thought to arrive, so I changed my mind and headed back instead of continuing my patrol.

10 minutes later, I landed silently in front of my temporary residence, swiftly moving towards the basement, making sure to preserve the first floor. Once I got into the basement, I cancelled my transformation and made my way over to my makeshift computer. I surveyed my living area as I moved. A decently well-kept mattress in the far right of the room near the defunct freezer I've turned into my temporary washroom, a couple of workstations/benches across the room covered in supplies and blueprints ranging from the medicines for use with Oscorp to Omnics. Torbjörn has a habit of getting sidetracked while working.

Sitting down at the computer, I winced as the chipped wooden chair pressed against the bruises lining my torso. Pushing the limits of my superhuman heroes was straining on the very human body they used as a focus. By the time I get into Oscorp, I don't know if I'll even be able to move as Makenzie. Once in Mercy will be able to make appropriate serums to enhance my body. Although Moira is the better option, I don't trust Osborn enough not to snoop around once my genius becomes apparent.

Just as I was about to transform into Sombra and get started, the feeling that had been swelling within my chest suddenly reached a crescendo and a bright light seemed to tear itself out from within my chest. I slumped over, exhausted. Once it finished emerging and followed it with squinted eyes as it flew across the room towards one of my less occupied workbenches near my bed before slowly coalescing into a tiny figure.

Now on my workbench was an eerie, lifelike statue of Reaper(AN:Image). I stared at the statue in a daze for what felt like hours. It pulsed, slow and deliberate, each beat casting a wave of midnight black over its surface.

"Tomorrow's problem?" I whispered softly to myself before casting one last critical look at the statue..

"Tomorrow's problem." I said louder and with more confidence than I felt before turning back to the computer, already shifting into Sombra. My hands danced over the keyboard for a few moments before instinct took over and I accessed the computers through Sombra's digital interface. Getting to work on taking down the government's firewall that held people's personal data. It was pitifully easy, took only 5 minutes. I severely overestimated the government's programs.

Didn't Ultron struggle to get the American nuclear codes in the movie? I know that is the future and that the military spends more money than most countries will ever have. Nevertheless, feels like this should be harder. Deciding not to waste my good fortune, I quickly found every file they had on Kilgrave (A.K.A Kevin Thompson), Jessica Jones, and their families. While I was there, I also grabbed a file on Trish Walker, who I vaguely remember being Jessica's friend.

I saved it all before quickly backtracking my steps, erasing all signs of my existence as I went. Next, I built a program that would send a notification and video attachment anytime it recognized Jessica or Kilgrave on CCTV.

Finished, I stretched before checking the time. Just after 1am, I considered starting on making Mercy's identity before a quick glance towards the statue on my desk—which continued to pulse aggressively—made me think better of it. I have a feeling tomorrow is going to be a long day, so it's best to get as much sleep as I can. Besides, I won't start at Oscorp until Kilgrave's taken care of, so making Mercy an identity isn't really urgent.

Yeah, I'll just leave it till later. Standing up, I cancelled the transformation and groaned as the exhaustion I'd built up as superhumans fell onto my very young, very not super body. I stumbled like a drunkard as I made my way to the bed, grabbing onto my workstations to steady myself as I moved. Knocking things over as I went.

Reaching my bed, I gave up on trying to remove my clothing or really doing anything and collapsed limply onto my mattress. As darkness slowly consumed my vision, I got the brief feeling that I was being watched. Which isn't possible because the door to the basement is very much intact and very much locked, and I would have heard it if someone cracked it open. Comforted by that thought, my mind finally embraced the darkness.