Dreamless [MCU SI/OC] (Randomised Power Gain)

[Raguel'sShadow86]

Chapter 0 - Prologue

Woke up and decided to try writing, enjoy.
(Loosely following timeline, MCU is a clusterfuck)

June 23rd, 2010
7:16 am

A Flash of Blue

A light. An explosion. So much noise. Guns. Movement.

It flashes again.

A terrible roar—no, a cry for help?

More light. Flashing. I can't see. I'm blind. I need help. Someone's crying out. I have to see them.

And I do.

Like flipping a switch in the dark when you're half asleep, or reaching under a table for something you dropped without ducking your head. But I found it.

I flipped the switch.

Click.

The noise stops.

It fades into the background...but the color remains. Like a sledgehammer to the skull -- a swirling, coiling prismatic kaleidoscope of unnamable, incomprehensible hues. Depth and patterns and variety I've never seen before and never could.

It's too much. My eyes are wet.

Tears? No. Blood.

It flashes.

Blue.

It's loud. The color is loud. Everything is blue. Everything is loud.

It hurts.

I need to escape. Anything but blue.

An explosion of green, powerful, echoing, and deep. Drowning out another colour I can't see.

But It's not enough.

No more color. I flip the switch again.

The world turns GREY. Monochrome. Empty. Decrepit. It's almost...sad. Fading and dying and bleak and dull and familiar—

I open my eyes.

A breath. Then another. The bright beams of early morning sunlight leak through the gaps in my curtains, cloaking the room in a soft, golden-yellow glow. The flowing warmth overtakes the blue of my quickly fading memories of...something.

A flash of light green follows a birds tweet, though the pain and pressure behind my eyes rages and drags me back to reality. My strawberry-blonde hair -- just a little too short -- fails to shield me from the blazing ball of hate and fire in the sky.

"Ugh. What the hell," I mutter under my breath.

"Not quite, Mr. Guile," says a voice.

From outside my room.

In my apartment.

Where I live alone.

I bolt upright -- or try to. Somehow managing to get tangled in my navy-blue blankets and, quite artfully i'd say, slam my face into the rough, grey-ish carpet.

The door unlocks, and in walks—who the fuck is that? He looks...familiar. That's rare. And...he sounds...purple?

What does purple even sound like ? Him apparently. How the shit does he sound purple ?

"Who the fuck are you?" I ask, surprisingly composed, all things considered. He looks like a Tom. Or maybe a Nick. I feel like he's a Nick.

"Nick Fury. Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division."

HAH. Called it.

"And I'm here to make you an offer."

...huh?

------
- Now you may be wondering, what the hell is happening ? And that's a great question, but much like when you watch a movie for the first time with someone, I too have no fucken clue. so if you wanna find out, keep reading and we can figure it out together.

Randomiser:
Power Gain: ??
Power Synchronisation: ??

Thanks for reading !

 

[Raguel'sShadow86]

This is a total rewrite of my original first chapter, as it was kinda rushed, more like a summary of my ideas then it was a story, I'm trying a little harder and hopefully I've learnt so let's see how it goes.

Chapter 1: Like Clockwork

My first memory was understanding. It wasn't a slow process, more like the world clicked into place the very instant I gained consciousness. It unfolded in front of me, a spiraling kaleidoscope of parts, pieces, and patterns clashing, connecting, breaking, and moving. Every action, no matter how insignificant, caused ripples, caused pieces to shift, to loosen or tighten. It's not exactly like I gained the ability to see them, no more like to feel them. To Understand, to Know, like I just saw and my mind clicked it into place.

From that very first moment of sentience, everything made sense. Every word, every action, every object had a purpose, a cause, and an effect. The world was chaotic, it was random and uncontrollable and wild, but it had rules, they clicked and clacked and clashed but never broke, never bent. I'd never seen them, but I wondered, could they ?

I was only a kid when I fixed something the first time, just a toy. Not even sure how it broke, but something about that busted arm, dangling by a thin thread of plastic, it intrigued me, the pieces didn't click, but they could. It was instinctive, almost reflexive, i stole a lighter -- my foster mother at the time was quite the smoker -- I used the house to melt and mold the plastic, a block of wood as a base, I knew it wouldn't burn, I knew what to do, how to do it, how to slot the pieces back into place. And it wasn't just toys—I knew people too, understood them, I knew just what to say to get the kids at the foster home to shut up, i knew how to make them notice me and how to make them ignore me, I knew how to anger them, how to bring the to tears, and how to put a smile on their face. It was almost supernatural.

Everything just clicked.

The world IS a puzzle, not even a particularly difficult one, for me at least, It's just a matter of finding the right edges, the right slots, and putting them together in the right way.

But people? They're alive. They aren't unchanging, solid and inanimate like objectsz they have puzzles with missing pieces, jagged edges that don't fit the picture, the identity they try to project, even to themselves. They act nice, friendly even, some pretend to care, but deep down, they're selfish, vindictive, cruel, maybe worse even. They try to hide it, but not from me. I see the cracks in their masks, the gaps in their lies. And they hate that. No one likes being seen for what they really are. Even those that think they do.

So, I didn't make many friends. I was pushed away. Outcast. I was odd. Unique.

Foster life sucked. I bounced often. From one home to the next, one family, one school, one life, to the next, and the next, and the next. Some were almost decent, most weren't. I never knew my parents, nobody did. I don't have them to teach me, but I understood, i learned. I'd always been good at it, head down, fists uoz feelings buried. Sticks and stones. Sarcasm and honesty my weapons to tear down their masks. Words don't work often, actions speak louder and all, and the other kids didn't listen, so I learned to fight.

Eventually, I grew up, joined the wrong crowd. I fought more, earned a reputation, and got a little cash on the side. It felt good -- victory always does, even a false one --

Then came Paul.

An old bastard of a mechanic, picked me up out of the goodness of his heart. His own son having passed not too many years ago. He didn't want a replacement. Still don't know why he took me. The little hole-in-the-wall garage he called a shop looked like it should've been condemned before I was born. Peeling pale blue paint coated the walls, revealing the white beneath, the grey floor covered in visible stains of whatever-the-fuck that's been spilt on it the last dozen years. The rusted tools, the smells of oil and smoke embedded in the very foundation. I got familiar with it quick.

The very first time I picked up a wrench, my first day working in shop, it's almost like everything snapped into focus once more. Just like my oldest memories. Fixing things felt normal, natural, like I was built for it, like breathing. Broken radios, dead engines, shattered electronics, gadgets and trinkets and all, it didn't matter what it was. I could fix it. It just clicked into place. Word spread, and soon enough, I had a reputation: Evander Guile can fix anything.

By the time I hit adulthood, I thought I had life figured out. I moved into a dingy, dusty little studio apartment down in Harlem, nothing but a shitty curbside couch and an old box TV I'd patched up for the luxury. Darned thing only picked up the news. I had a stable job through Paul, enough money to live well, and a routine.

But I got cocky. I thought I was special, unique, that U had different rules, that I was untouchable, because I'd never been shown otherwise. I showed up late, left early, and only worked when I felt like it. I picked fights for no reason, broke rules just because. I tested people because I knew they didn't have my advantage.

But, as it always does, reality came to bite me in the ass.

------

November 16th, 2009
8:36 a.m.

I was late again, jogging through alleys reeking of the same familiar smell of smoke and oil. I'd slept in -- though it happens so often I don't know if I can call it that anymore -- gotten into a fight with some shitthead on the train, and now I was rushing to work.

Kinda, more like lightly jogging.

My phone buzzed.

Ring~

Hmm ?

Ring~ Ring~

I answered without checking the screen. "Yo, I'm almost there. Whaddya want ?"

"Is this Evander Guile?" a voice echoed. Not one I recognise.

I frowned. "Yeah. Who the hell are you, and why do you have Paul's phone?"

"This is Dr. Neuman from Harlem General. You're listed as Paul's emergency contact."

A weight dropped in my stomach. Like swallowing a rock. The natural, almost comfortable force of lethargy removed, replaced with a crippling, unfamiliar anxiety.

Click.

"He's had an accident—a fall. He's in surgery now. He... he won't be able to walk again. I'm sorry."

Click.

The words hit. Like a blow to the gut, or a car colliding down the highway sending me flying. I felt sick. My hand went slack, the phone slipped from my fingers.

Crack. Click. Clatter.

It's all I could hear. The sound of the phone skittering across the chipped pavement. The sound of pieces clicking together. It echoed in my ears, blending with the doctor's voice faintly buzzing through the speaker. Calling out to me ?

Shock. I don't understand. 'a new feeling' I remark bitterly.

Click. Click.

"If I wasn't late... if I hadn't slept in... if I didn't get into that fight..."

It was my fault. It all just clicks.

I could see the pieces. I didn't want to. But the gears turning in my mind, showing me exactly how every decision I made led to this moment. Showing me the ripples. The consequences.

And for the first time in my life, the puzzle wasn't satisfying to solve.

It was...

Shit.

---
November 17th 2009, ??am

I waited in the hospital room. One hour ? Two ?? Who knows.

I didn't do much, sat there, thinking, puzzling.

It didn't help.

They got to me eventually, he survived. He's gonna make it.

But he's never going to walk. If he's lucky, careful, if he follows recovery steps, he can use his arms again, but they couldn't do anything for his legs.

And the debt. He'll have to sell everything. His home, the garage, his car. He won't have anything left even if I give everything I've got.

There's nothing I can do. It's my fault. My mistake. And I can't help. I can't get that much money. How could I ? The viscous, slimy tendrils of guilt coil around my mind, it does nothing to help. I need a solution. I have to find one. it's all my f-

[Click.]

A flash. No, more like a memory but not quite, like remembering a.... feeling just at the back of your mind. But not really. Impossible to explain, but so so very jarring. It's something new. Not a part of the puzzle. Something... unique, Something-

I snap back to reality as the doctors dismiss me, something about needing rest, about how I can't do anything for him as I am.

They aren't wrong. I need better. To do better, to be better.

I manage to make it out of the building. Even walk a bit further, an urge overtaking me, a need. I don't like it. But I can't seem to care.

Everything seems dull, no one's out, no one to see.

And as I walk down an alleyway a few streets down, as I look up, take a breath, and-

And a puzzle piece bends.

As I take one step, and move a dozen.

The piece bends. It folds. And space follows. I've never seen a piece bend before. I'm making it bend. But not directly. It's not the same. I understand them. They are the natural laws, rules, the way things work shown to me instinctively. But this, this is something different, it's not a part of the puzzle. But I can feel it. Just like everything else, it just clicks.

And I see it. Like a pathway. Two of them ? Ahh. Understanding.

I feel tired. There's a pressure behind my eyes.

I follow them back. The puzzles. The folding. They look different, each a different path, a walkway, walls, a door, I can see them so clearly.

One is shifting, changing, clashing and grinding like a maze, but it stays straight. It never breaks, doesn't bend, the cold grey, no, not cold, just bland, bland, orderly. It just keeps clashing, loosening and tightening but never stopping.

The other -- this one's new, I can feel it -- silver, yet glassy. Not prismatic, nor ethereal, it's solid. Silver glass, how odd. It doesn't bend or wave or turn either, but it's not straight, I can feel, it helps me to feel, but that's not what it's meant for. It doesn't matter what direction you move, the destination is the same.

So I move. I take a step. Then another. And another. And-

I'm home. The rushing of wind, the cracking of SOMETHING, is it physical ? Imaginary ? In the back of my mind ? Who knows.

My last memory is taking a step, and falling into my bed from the doorway. The comforting embrace of silver my only company as it fades to black.

Powers: 2

{Understanding}
Type: Scientific
Class: Thinker
Theme: Puzzle
Effect: Allows the user to understand the world as a puzzle. Not necessarily sight, but tied into that sense. The user can see physics, the laws of the world around them, they can see the pieces, the building blocks, and how they slot together, tighten, loosen and clash.

{Warp - Fold}
Type: Scientific
Class: Mover
Theme: Slipstream
Effect: the user is able to fold space around themselves. They gain the ability to turn a single step into a dozen, or more. The very fabric of space folding, rippling and shifting around them. Other uses are yet to be determined.