Reservoir Dregs

“Her… You weren’t supposed to hit her…!”

The first thing Pisha heard was Bandages’s voice.

“Don’t you dare touch her.”

It was followed by Anma.

And finally, the fleshy squelching of her corpse pulling itself back together. Each time she managed to come back to life, her body regenerated quicker than the last. A warm burst of veins spiralled around her nerves. Wet blood and flesh pasted themselves to her bare muscles like a paper-mâchéed mummy. If only she could hurry up and become used to the pain, too.

The bandaged girl came into focus above her. Her face was hovering above Pisha’s, her sapphire-blue eyes watering. Droplets of her tears mingled with Pisha’s drying blood.

For some reason, the ground below Pisha felt soft. And it was moving.

A dangling bandage brushed Pisha’s cheek. As the girl shifted overhead, her stained dressings sagged, exposing the deep scars peppering her tan neck like endless tally marks.

Scars…

Pisha had figured the hospital get-up was some condition for her ability. Turned out they were only there to cover up some scars. It was almost disappointing.

She wasn’t jealous. Well, maybe just a little. An immortal couldn’t be scarred even if she tried. But covering them up was completely pointless, there wasn’t anything to be ashamed of. They were just a byproduct of her ability.

That ability. It was surprisingly simple once you figured out the trick.

Pisha hacked up blood, rolling her head across the soft surface.

Ah.

Skin. It was skin. She was in Bandages’s lap.

The colour drained from the girl’s face. “You… were dead. How are you…?”

She looked like she’d just seen a ghost. To be fair, she sort of had. Pisha sat up and swayed to her feet, ignoring the throbbing skin still taping itself together.

The concrete beneath them was equal parts blood and paint. Bandages sat with her legs tucked to the side, her hand still suspended in the air. Anma stood past her, pistol trained on Bandages, and on the third story past her, the sniper trained his rifle on Anma.

The Mexican standoff of myth. How cliché.

Behind the staircase, Bats dug his fingers into the concrete and crawled towards his machete. His wounded foot left behind a steaming trail of blood.

Anma cocked her gun, and the sniper responded by bolting his. The last time, he’d taken under a minute to reload. It wouldn’t be long until he fired again.

Pisha hacked up a final clump of blood and wiped her mouth.

“So what?” she asked, her words slurring. “We stand here, guns pointed ‘till somebody shoots? What is this, fucking Reservoir Dogs?”

Anma didn’t turn away from her target. “Pisha. Not the time.”

“Reservoir… What…?” Bandages’s gaze darted between the pair nervously.

Pisha rolled her eyes, glancing behind them. “Dogs.”

“Pisha!—” Anma spun towards her.

“Reservoir Dogs,” Pisha said. “You know, the scene at the end. Everybody’s got their guns pointed at each other. They’re all thinking ‘If he shoots, I’ll shoot.’” She jabbed one hand at the sniper, then the other at Anma. “That first gunshot goes off and everybody reacts. They pull their triggers without a second thought.”

She snapped her fingers. At the same time, the red dot reappeared, dancing between her and Anma in uncertainty.

Pisha laughed. “The only moron left alive was the one who dove under the ramp. Probably off pure reflex, too. But it saved his dumbass in the end.”

She teetered, smearing the growing puddle of blood underneath with her trainers.

At that point, both Anma and Bandages were staring at Pisha with looks somewhere between confusion and annoyance. The sniper’s red laser landed on Anma’s forehead, flickering through the thickening red steam like a lethal laser in a spy thriller.

Of course, they were only looking at her like that because they hadn’t glanced behind them.

“I don’t…” Bandages trailed off. “What does that… have to do with anything?”

As she finished her question, the dot stabilised on Anma, prepped to fire.

Pisha kicked her leg up, splashing blood forwards through the air like a deadly sprinkler. “Just buying time, dipshit.”

The kicked-up blood instantly vapourised in the air.

It made sense, really. Everything they’d tried had failed. But when Pisha jumped in front of Anma, she did it on pure instinct. Luckily for them, their team had the perfect candidate for not thinking.

She just had to get it across to him without anybody else noticing.

From the crimson mist, Bats vaulted towards Bandages. His expression was blank, his unfocused eyes shifting around the room on pure autopilot.

Before Bandages could react, he jutted his hand into her neck like a black belt chopping a slab of wood. She crumpled to the ground, her light dress billowing upwards behind her, and the archive room suddenly felt breathable again. Like the brain fog they’d been dealing with had finally cleared.

Pop.

Bats’s machete shot up. Highlighter-yellow paint splattered the blade. “Shatter.”

The metal shattered like an amateur ceramic vase, disintegrating into splinters of steel. He wasted no time before dropping into a crouch, crumbling the concrete floor beneath him. It burst into chunks of stone as he launched himself onto the second story in a leap that defied gravity, like he hadn’t just taken a gunshot to the foot minutes earlier. Sizzling clouds traced the arc of his jump in a bloody crescent.

The sniper reloaded their rifle again. As Bats aimed another leap towards the third story, they fired. But that time, Bats didn’t bother blocking it.

The projectile pelted his leg in mid-air. Freeze.

As he landed, jagged ice crackled into existence around his joints. He tried taking another step towards the sniper, only for his foot to become encrusted in frost. It snaked its way up his legs, reaching his waist and sealing him in a half-built living snowman.

The sniper racked another pellet as Bats was frozen mid-stride. Then, Bats snarled.

With a roar even Pisha could hear from the first floor, he tore his right leg forwards and shattered the ice. Frosty chips scattered into the air. He vaulted forwards, dragging his frozen left leg behind him like an iron anchor. Haemorrhage was the real deal.

The sniper tried firing again, only for a shimmering chain to lash around his barrel. He missed by an entire yard and sprayed the dome ceiling with pink pigment. “Disintegrate.”

A hole punched through the roof, raining dust on the third story. At the same time, the violet chain whipped down towards the first floor and the rifle teleported to Anma’s feet. The remaining ice around Bats’s leg instantly shattered.

There!

Pisha lunged, dropping to her knees and sliding forwards to snatch the rifle. She ejected the ammo and let it clatter to the ground. Bats gave a cocky thumbs-up and slammed into his opponent with the prime strength of a draft-year quarterback, wrenching the shooter’s arm behind his back.

The pair tumbled onto the ground, kicking up dust, as a grin tugged at Pisha’s bloodied lips.

She let the rifle’s barrel hit the ground and leaned against it. Game.

Above, Bats snapped a brace on the sniper and lugged his body over his shoulder.

He cupped a free hand around his mouth. “All good down there!?”

Anma let out a long breath and lowered her pistol. “Yes, Bats. All good.”

She brought out her own brace from her belt and shuffled towards Pisha and Bandages.

Right. Bandages.

Pisha glanced at the unconscious intruder. Her chest rose up high and fell down low peacefully, her soft breaths fluttering the bandages wrapped around her delicate face.

She was a strange one. Asleep, the girl looked as harmless as a doll. In reality, she’d nearly killed them, but had the nerve to act like it was all one big accident.

She wasn’t anything like Moroya’s other goon, though. Nothing like that swordsman. It was almost like she genuinely didn’t want to hurt them.

Too weird. Her gaze wandered towards the staircase, and the gory mess Bandages had left behind.

Decent intentions or not, C.B. was dead. Bonnie was in rough shape, too. They weren’t good people by any stretch, but it was never her call whether they lived or died.

Anma stopped just before Bandages. She clipped the brace around her neck, then dialed her muzzle and warped the abandoned briefcase to her side.

That briefcase. Bandages had mentioned something about Moroya and a device. That must’ve been the reason she was there in the first place.

She'd be lying if she said she wasn’t a little curious about what was inside. But I guess we’ll find out soon enough.

Pisha lifted a hand in front of Anma, but Anma stared at her palm like she’d held up the middle finger instead.

“High five?” Pisha asked.

Suddenly, the glass skylight shattered. Starry light bled into the archive room as a hollow crack echoed through it like a three-story cavern. Three figures dropped through the falling debris. They shot towards the floor of the first story like falling anvils, slowing down only inches before landing. Right in front of Anma and Pisha.

Anma’s pistol flared. It lit up the man closest to them in an orange blaze. But he was already ducking as the bullet reached him, moving like he’d seen it coming. By the time the final fragment of the ceiling tumbled to the ground, one of them had reached Pisha.

It was a face she could never forget. Not after Koto. Moroya.

Their hand landed on her shoulder. “Visible.”

Instantly, night seemed to overtake the room as the entire space dimmed. Moroya vanished and was replaced by a human-shaped, black void of light. Their silhouette swirled and distorted in front of her. It was like she was looking right through them.

They’re—Why’re they?—

Bats landed on the first floor and joined them as Anma fired again. From behind her glasses, her eyes darted across the room. The remaining two intruders’ weapons disappeared, glass shards warping into existence in their place. Bats didn’t miss a beat before bounding towards the strangers.

Moroya slid a cold arm around Pisha’s neck. “That’s enough. We wouldn’t want any harm befalling our Pisha, would we?”

* * *

Intercity Excursion Force, Case File #13

Subject: Muzzles.

Description:

Research into Othered suppression had been ongoing since the Takae Institute’s inception, although the first mass-produced muzzle was not designed until the early 2010’s. This initial iteration was utilised primarily within Special Advancement Centers.

In 2015, the Association for Othered Advancement unveiled the second-generation of muzzles, facilitating the reintegration of Othered into Japanese society. By 2025, the integration of Large Learning Models (LLMs) allowed these devices to actively inhibit the neurological processes enabling Othered abilities.