Pushing open the creaky wooden door to "The Limping Leprechaun," Reid took a deep breath, bracing himself for the heady mix of stale beer, peanuts, and the ever-present fog of cigarette smoke. It was a dive, alright, but it was the dive—the very essence of underground, local flavor, so authentic it bordered on grungy.
Reid looked back at Archer with an expression that hovered somewhere between concern and a dare. His eyes narrowed as if to say, 'You sure about this? We can skip it, you know. It's a madhouse in there.'
Archer rolled his eyes in return, the exasperated gesture a wordless response: 'Oh, for heaven's sake. Do we have to do this every time? I'm coming in, whether it's a disaster zone or a royal ballroom.'
With a half-smile that revealed more than a hint of admiration, Reid shrugged and swung the door wide, inviting Archer into the lion's den.
No matter how many times they'd been here, the entrance was always like ripping off a band-aid—a wince, a little discomfort, and then the sudden realization that you were waist-deep in the chaos. Archer grimaced openly.
Their eyes instantly located Ellen Reindeer, who was situated in her usual corner, an enclave surrounded by an odd assortment of regulars and drifters. Ellen was a brilliant engineer and artificer who preferred the ambiance of a pub over a sterile lab. She was a wild contradiction—someone who would only lift a finger if it turned a profit, yet inexplicably, she'd do absolutely anything for Reid and Archer. But she had a price, and that price was manners. Ask her politely, and the world was your oyster—or in this case, your ever-overflowing pint of Guinness.
Well, only for Archer and Reid. If anyone else were to ask her favor, she would have ensured it cost them an arm and a leg. If there's anything she loved more than alcohol, it'll be cold hard cash.
Tonight was no different. Ellen was engaged in her favorite pastime: tossing back shots like she was hydrating for a marathon. Her once long hair was now chopped to shoulder-length. In the few seconds that Reid and Archer were staring at her, she had chugged a pint of beer. And yet, in a twist that defied the laws of biology and physics, she didn't seem the least bit drunk. When she caught sight of Reid approaching, her eyes twinkled devilishly, and she leaned in, pretending to stumble, arms flailing dramatically towards him.
Reid, an old hand at navigating Ellen's idiosyncratic social rituals, rolled his eyes. He didn't pull away but expertly pivoted his body, allowing her to land her arms where he deemed non-invasive. And that was his shoulders.
Before her hand could latch onto other parts, it was stopped by Archer. His eyes met hers, and for the first time that evening, Ellen looked genuinely taken aback.
Two things had her gobsmacked: One, Archer was back in this godforsaken city. And two, the man had used his Ability—a ring of frost now circled her wrist.
"Touché," she mumbled, examining the ice lattice around her wrist before shooting a playful glare at Archer. She rubbed her wrist against her denim shorts and the frost promptly fell apart.
Archer shrugged and motioned towards the VIP room at the back.
"Same old Archer, still a spoilt prince," Ellen chortled.
Reid could only shrug in response, "Well, don't you love it."
The trio made their way to the VIP room, which was as close to opulence as "The Limping Leprechaun" could manage. Plush leather seats, an exclusive bar, and well-maintained decor.
Ellen sank into the leather couch with a contented sigh, "So, my favorite enigmas, what brings you to my sanctuary?"
In this den of iniquity, among well-worn bar stools and under twinkling fairy lights, Reid and Archer were home. They were among friends—people who understood their lives, their complexities, their challenges. Ellen was one of those rare gems, an ally in a world that often felt like a labyrinth.
Yet, that doesn't stop Archer from producing an artifice that reinforces the room with noise to prevent eavesdropping. Something that Ellen had gifted Archer herself.
"Ah… I have made an upgraded version though!"
Archer raised an eyebrow but decided to not speak. If Ellen wished to gift him, she would do so on her own accords.
Reid fished around in his pocket and produced the communicator, laying it out on the table before Ellen. Her eyes fell on it, and when she picked up it, she recoiled as if she had seen a live grenade.
"Ugh, is that Kirby's handiwork? Amateurs," she snorted, flicking the device away from her as if it were contaminated. "Won't catch me dead touching that junk."
Reid, sensing an opening to exploit her competitive spirit, launched into a tirade. "Amateurs, right? They don't even hold a candle to you, Ellen. This guy thinks soldering two wires together makes him a tech whiz. He was explaining to me about the work he was doing! Doesn't take a genius like to even know half the things he was working on. Come on!" Reid laughed, "I could understand what he was explaining!"
Ellen softened. It was a subtle change, but her eyes glinted for a moment as her ego purred from the massage it was getting. She reached for the communicator, a smirk unfurling on her lips.
"Well of course. You always fall asleep when I talk about my work. Amateurs wouldn't hold a candle against me. Let's see how bad the damage really is," she mumbled, invoking her Ability. As she tapped into her unique gift, her eyes dulled and took on a far-off look.
Both Reid and Archer knew that when Ellen engaged her Ability, the rest of her senses flatlined. It was as if her entire neurophysiological system shifted gears, rerouting all available sensory bandwidth into a hyper-focused, analytical state. Her brain went into overdrive, her neurons firing at speeds that could match a supercomputer. But the flipside was that she became completely cut off from her environment. Conversing with her at this point would be akin to trying to chat with a statue; she was utterly and unreachably engrossed in her craft. It was the Limit of her Ability—a sensory lockout that was the price for her unparalleled expertise in all things mechanical.
Archer had leaned back into the sofa, arms akimbo and taken a quick nap.
After what seemed like an eternity, but was probably just a couple of minutes, her eyes flickered. At first, they were empty—a blank stare that reminded Reid of looking at a monitor that's been unplugged. Gradually, her irises danced back to life, contracting and expanding as they readjusted to the world around her. It was a weirdly hypnotic process, like watching a computer reboot its system, its optical drives recalibrating before finally humming back to life. The science behind it was deeply complex, involving a rapid-fire series of neurochemical resets that would boggle even the most seasoned neurologist.
When her eyes had regained their usual mischievous gleam, Ellen finally spoke. "Well, the news isn't good, boys. This isn't just a communicator; it's also a recorder. And whoever did the wiring did it in such a way that you can't easily backtrack it to retrieve whatever's been recorded without frying the whole circuit."
She leaned back, propping the communicator up on the table as if it were Exhibit A in a courtroom. Her eyebrows vaulted upwards, as she looked directly at Reid. "But you already knew that, didn't you?"
Reid couldn't help but smile at Ellen's perceptiveness. "Oh, you got me. Paid a little visit to Kirby earlier. Let's just say, I managed to glean some 'memories' from him about how he rewired this bad boy up."
Ellen's eyes narrowed, her playful tone giving way to a more serious timbre. "That's dangerous, Reid. Meddling with Kirby's? You know how that might affect you."
Indeed, it was a risky play. Memory retrieval was a slippery science, one that treaded dangerously close to the realm of cognitive neuroscience. It involved sifting through billions of synaptic connections, neural pathways that were incredibly delicate and sensitive. A single misstep could cause irreversible damage, corrupting the integrity of the original memory and, in extreme cases, result in catastrophic neural breakdown. Moreover, Reid's Ability was not exactly a scalpel in these delicate operations; it was more like a pickaxe. Double-edged pickaxe.
"Yeah, I know," Reid said, suddenly serious. "But sometimes, Ellen, you gotta take a calculated risk, especially when there's more at stake. Besides," Reid jammed his thumb in Archer's direction, "he was there."
Ellen considered this, her gaze not wavering from Reid's. Finally, she sighed. "Well, when you put it like that, who am I to argue?"
But they all knew that Ellen's faux-casual acknowledgment veiled a more profound understanding. In their world, "calculated risks" often walked hand in hand with profound consequences. And each of them, in their way, had been burned by such consequences in the past.
Reid leaned in, sharing with Ellen the details about their prior meeting with Kirby. "A few days ago, someone approached Kirby about modifying this communicator. Real shady guy, couldn't even be bothered to disguise his intentions. When Kirby refused, he got a little physical."
At the mention of "physical," both Archer and Ellen's demeanors shifted. It was like a charge passed through the air, suddenly electrifying. Archer reached across the table and touched Reid's arm, his fingers subtly gripping. Their eyes met for a fraction of a second, but the communication was transparent. It was as if Archer's gaze was asking, "Are you okay?" and Reid's returning nod was a soft whisper saying, "I'm fine, don't worry." Archer's frown lightened but the grip did not slacken.
Ellen cleared her throat theatrically, breaking the silent exchange. "Hey, there's a third wheel in the room who's not privy to your nonverbal little chats, y'know?"
Reid laughed, his face tinged with the red hue of mild embarrassment. "I'm good, Ellen. Really. A little roughing-up is nothing I can't shake off."
Reid nodded at Archer who let go of his arm. Getting back to business, Reid launched into a highly technical explanation of Kirby's handiwork on the communicator. "So, after I accessed his memories, I found out Kirby had restructured the circuit pathways and integrated a redundant auxiliary microcontroller to store recorded data. The guy's used some complex algorithms to safeguard the content."
Almost as if on cue, Ellen activated her Ability again. As her eyes faded into that otherworldly blank state, she scrutinized the device. When she came back, she was grinning like a Cheshire cat. "I've got it. I know how to reverse Kirby's monkey work."
Reid's eyes sparkled, but he quickly veered into logistics. "How long do you think it will take?"
Ellen shrugged. "A couple of days, maybe."
Reid's expression twisted into a frown. "Can you make it one day?"
Ellen opened her mouth to argue, but before she could unleash her indignation, Archer pulled a blank check from his inner jacket pocket and slid it across the table to her. Her eyes met the check, and for a split second, they became twin beacons of green dollar signs.
She snorted, folding the check and tucking it into her pocket. "Alright, one day it is. But let the record show, I'm doing this because we're friends, not because you're bribing me with your filthy lucre."
"Understood, completely," Reid said, his voice oozing charm but the grin was still on his face. As they stood up to leave, Ellen tossed Archer a small object—a soundproofing artifact that looked as sleek as it was functional.
Archer received it with a nod, his eyes communicating a wordless "thank you."
"A man of little words… still."
And Ellen wasn't done. She reached under the table and pulled out a simple but elegant necklace. "This is for you, Reid," she said, handing it over. "It's infused with a suppression matrix that should help you control that pesky second Ability of yours. Think of it as a stabilizer; it will ensure that you don't draw too much energy from the ambient ether, thus allowing you a split second to remove yourself from skin contact before the memories, emotions, and pains flood into you."
The science behind it was nothing short of revolutionary, involving the use of finely calibrated crystals that absorbed etheric frequencies, similar to how noise-canceling headphones work but at an energy level. It was a marvel of metaphysical engineering, designed to work in sync with Reid's unique neurobiological signatures.
Reid took the necklace, his eyes reflecting genuine gratitude. "Ellen, you're a genius."
"Just doing my part to keep the world spinning," she quipped, a sparkle of satisfaction lighting up her eyes.
With a final round of goodbyes, Reid and Archer left Ellen to her devices—literally and metaphorically. As they stepped out of the pub into the dimming twilight, Reid couldn't shake off the feeling that the recording that the communicator held was more trouble than it looks and had been.