Berry Newmark
Berry Newmark (a.k.a. Kintsugi)
Physical Description
General Physical Condition
Physically fit, in spite of his progressively horrific diet.
Special abilities
Reflexive dexterity. Agile. Remarkable sense of balance, hand-eye, hand-foot, foot-mouth coordination.
Apparel & Accessories
Keeps a pair of thick rigger gloves hanging out of a pocket at nearly all times. Has a tendency to pick up things around him and sequester them into his pockets for later analysis (read: petty theft).
Mental characteristics
Personal history
, a street-level criminal boss with connections around the city.
He took me in when I was young. It started small. Hey kid, here's a nickel, mind following that guy and letting me know where he goes? Hey, mind taking this over to Uncle Hector, alright? Don't open it, or he'll know. I'll get you a ice cream if you can get that security guard to turn around for a little while. I knew it was wrong, but what should I have done? I didn't have a home to go back to, and here's this guy that's got it all, with a buncha' friends, who wants to give me stuff for doing crap.
He paid to get me into school. He adopted me. Well, shit, I don't think he ~legally~ adopted me, but he greased enough palms that he may as well have.
It was fun. I won't deny that. It's still fun. I don't- I don't do it like I used to. I know what's right and what's wrong. But I know what's fun, too. There's grey areas, right? Overlap.
Mr. Dream rose up, and took me with him. Arm's length, but there weren't a whole lotta' helping hands besides his. It started small, but it didn't stay that way. And I kinda' knew. No, I definitely knew. He was doing bad. Real bad. But I didn't- didn't think of it as 'bad'. It was just what he did. The kind of things he had to do, to make a living. That didn't make it okay - right? I know that. I do. But then, I was twelve. I was ~twelve~. What was I going to do? Run away from everything I could ever want?
Then there was the doctor. Doc' Shift. He's big time. Bigger time. Dad-... Dream, Dream's bad, but Doc's real, real bad. They worked together a few times, and-... I don't know if it was an experiment. I don't know what they agreed on. I was still twelve. And Dream, Dream said that the doctor wanted to give me a check-up and gimme' something to make me better. I thought, well, I don't feel sick, but you two would know better than me.
I'd seen a syringe before. Plenty. But that one, that one spooked me. It looked like it was filled with marbles. I was twelve...
Nothing happened. Not for a month. Dream looked happy, and I didn't see the Doc' for a long time after that, so hell, everything was fine. Then a kid at school threw a ruler at the back of my head and I caught it. I didn't know that I knew it was coming. But there was some twitch, and bam, it was in my hand. I didn't even turn my head! It was the coolest thing I'd ever done!
So, you know. I was shot up with some kinda' experimental super-juice, is how I figure it. I get headaches if I do too much of that kinda' stuff, but that's the worst of it.
So, right, why I'm here now. So. Once that developed a little more, I was.. more useful, dad reckoned. Dream. Dream reckoned. So he'd send me on errands again, like he did when I was younger. Except they were different. I wasn't distracting mall security, I was stealing from jewelery stores. I wasn't delivering packages, I was beating people who wouldn't pay what was owed. I wasn't following people, I was tracking them down, breaking their windows, stealing their cars and spraypainting shit on the sides of their homes.
And I loved it. Every minute of it. Doc- Not that Doc, the Doc I talk to now - they say that I gotta' admit this kind of thing. I can't lie like that. Shouldn't lie like that, at least. Not to myself especially.
I was deep-in. I was hanging out with the gang, just like Dream used to do. I felt like I had it all figured out, at the ripe old age of fifteen. I just did what I was told, reaped the rewards, hung out with cool people and lived it up. Did a lotta' favours for a lotta' people. A lot. Looking back... Ah, screw it. That's not why I'm here, is it?
I'm here because Dream told me to kill someone. I'd thrashed a few people, but never ~bad~. Just enough for them to get the message. But there I was. Dream, the closest thing to a dad I've had, handing me a gun and telling me to go downtown and put a bullet into this guy who'd robbed us. I took it. I held that gun and didn't even fucking ~think~ of the-
I was going to do it. That's what's stuck in me. 'Sure, no problemo pops, what's for dinner?' But on the way there I just felt... Bad. I was bad. Am. Am bad. It's not gone, not all of it. Maybe it never will be. But right then, inching closer and closer, I felt like scum. I was a thug. I was the worst thing alive. But, hey, I was just doing what he told me, right? Nothing bad had happened before. A bloody nose here, a bruise there, but he was always there to patch me up, so what's the problem?
I didn't get through the front door. I threw up. I tossed the gun down a storm drain. He taught me to do that, too. 'Do it, then toss the piece down a storm drain. See you later, slugger.'
So I ran away from home again. It's lonely. But I've got enough to live off. I still go to school - he's still paying for that. We don't talk. I think he thinks I'll come back to him. Maybe I will. But... Nah. I get queasy, whenever I go by any of his old haunts. I owe him a lot, but... I won't pay him back. I'm making my own way in the world now.
I live out of a van, sure, but it's honest. I cover my own expenses. I can look after myself, right? I'm sixteen. I could get a real driving license if I wanted. I can do anything. I'm in control of who I am, right? Right? I'm not a bad person. I'm not. I swear. Tell me I can be a good person. Tell me.
Please.
Gender Identity
He/Him
Education
He's doing pretty well in school. A straight-C student. If he buckled down and focused, he'd probably be hitting Bs' and As'.
Instead he spends plenty of time showing off - he's made a hobby out of conducting new pen tricks, like standing it upright on one finger and bouncing it between fingers without having it fall over.
Gym's the worst for him. Not that he's failing it, not even close, but his tendency to act up goes into overdrive. Cartwheels, handstands, backflips and more. If he can find an excuse to do it, he will. For whatever reason he refuses to join any relevant clubs, despite requests.
Employment
For a long time, it looked like he was fairly wealthy. Nobody knew how, but he was always up-to-date with fashion, gadgets and all of the staples of high-school life. He never spoke about his home life, which added a bit of mystery to it.
More recently though he appears to have fallen on hard times. Curious students followed him one day and tracked him down to a van. At first they were surprised that he owned a van, then they discovered that he was living out of it entirely.
He seems happy and vaguely healthy, at least.
Social
Contacts & Relations
Mr. Dream, the crime boss who raised me. He's practically my dad. I can't stomach the idea of going back under his wing, but I can't change what's already happened. He made me who I am, for better or worse, and he treated me right. Shame he doesn't treat everyone that way.
Doctor Shift. I don't know a whole lot about him, but he's worse than Dream, that I know for sure. He injected me with something, when I was younger. I don't know what it was, but it did something to me, made me move faster, react faster. I haven't tried, but I feel like I could dodge a bullet. Not going to try. Bad idea.
Trigger-Finger. Knew him through Dream's gang. He owns a pawn-shop. Nice guy. Really nice. He sells weapons to whoever wants them under the table, but everybody needs a living.
Family Ties
My family? My real one? They're out there, somewhere. I ran away from home. A train was involved. I don't think they miss me, but what do I know? I barely remember their faces.
I live in a big house with a pair of geniuses.
View Character Profile
Age
16
Date of Birth
10/12/25
Children
Gender
Male
Eyes
Blue
Hair
Black, but it's kinda' bright I guess?
Height
I dunno', 6"3?
Weight
Some.
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Love and Glory
A rumbling engine and a chorus of crickets. A few parties, loud enough to be heard booming through into the late night air for scant passing moments. The world looked different now. Hot summer nights had faded into memories and the cold was pushing into the season's territory. The rider atop the engine felt the wind flow around his face like a cleansing shower, blowing away the doubts the day had left him with while he chewed on a piece of sugary bubblegum.
Most businesses that were open this late wouldn't let Berry through the door. But convenience stores weren't picky. The Now-Mart's green and white sign made it look like a pharmacy or a gas station, but it was just bodega. He'd used his first fake I.D here. The owner saw through it easily enough - he was fourteen, not twenty-two.
Berry activated the thumb-lock on the scooter and parked it up by the side of the street, lifting a satchel bag off from the rack and marching through the door to the tune of an automated bell. Ding-Dong. 'Yo, Rube.' He punctuated his greeting by popping his gum and giving a loose-wristed salute.
Rubel was the owner's son. He was good people, as far as Berry could judge. 'Berry. You paying or am I calling the cops tonight?' He was half joking. Seventy percent joking. Three quarters kidding. He'd caught Berry trying to shoplift a couple times, some years back, but let him off on the virtue of Berry being young enough to get away with it. He wasn't that young now.
'It's all good, Rube. I've got cash, I've got cash. How's the night?' He picked up one of the ratty recycled baskets and dumped his satchel into it. The late-night chirping of the store's music was just barely audible - set low by Rubel, so he could watch things on his phone when there were no customers. Some old, cheap or free song - I heard you mention my name, can you talk any louder~... 'Any sign of that cryptid dude I told you about?' Berry reeled his jacket's sleeved up to his elbows - to show Rube he wasn't slipping anything up them.
Rube was sat back on the chair behind the counter, watching Berry on the camera while sipping his cola. It took a customer like Berry to make him put his phone down. 'The math teacher? Why would I care?'
'He's weird, or something. I don't know. I hear things.' The basket was being steadily filled. Box of soda cans. Bulk bags of potato chips. Discounted sandwiches that would be thrown out in a few hours if they didn't sell. As much as Berry could afford to be a cheapskate with.
'No. Saw an Amish guy, though.'
Berry perked up and looked over the aisle towards him. 'What? No you didn't.'
'I swear. Had the hat and everything.'
'The fuck? Here? How's that possible?' A fistful of candy bags. Mixed ones. A bag of sour, a bag of sweet, and a little tub of miniature chocolate bars. Halloween specials. The store's song kept going. But I can't say the words you want to hear~.
'Yeah man. Funkiest guy I've seen in weeks. How do those hats even stay on?'
Berry squatted down to look at the cartons of fruit juice. How do the hats stay on? They're just hats aren't they? What did he mean?
Ding Dong.
Two people stepped in. 'Hey man,' she let it roll out, slow, like man were a four syllable word. 'You got any scratch cards?' The other one stepped over to the upright display refrigerator. Shifted his head around the two-minute microwave meals. You may not be an old fashioned girl, but you're gonna get dated~.
Berry was watching through a break in the aisle. Rube spoke up. 'We don't do scratch cards, sorry about that.' He was on edge. The woman was tall, wearing a thick glossy jacket and sunglasses so bulky you could see them from behind her. The man stepped along the row of cases, his body covered up by a raincoat. He was looking over his shoulder every few steps, checking through the aisles.
One of these nights, then. Berry knew a lookout when he saw one. He'd been one, before. A better one. This guy was moving too fast, too suspiciously.
He kept low, and slipped between the aisles as the lookout checked them. The woman let out a sigh, long and melodramatic. 'Damn, damn, damn. I was really looking to win big tonight, y'know?' Oh she was one of those ones. A performance-thief. A bragger, almost justified by the corny song playing for her. There are some things you can't cover up with lipstick and powder~.
'All clear!' the lookout yelled once he made it to the last aisle. He reached into his raincoat and pulled out a sawn-off shotgun while charging towards the front.
'Looks like this is how I'm winning big after all!' Berry could almost read her script for her. He watched through the slots of the aisle as she took out a revolver and vaulted the desk, sending the papers, leaflets and ads scattering. Rube floundering, the wheels on his chair rolling him into the corner. 'Open the register!'
Rube wanted to say something, but he was in shock.
'Open it! Now!' She kicked his chair to shake him. Berry tensed up. This was bad. He looked around the aisle for a weapon-
'HEY! FUCK! You missed one! Get the fuck over here!' She saw Berry on Rube's camera. Shit. Improvise, Berry. This is what you're good at.
'Alright! Alright. I'm coming out, okay?' He held his hands up and stepped out of the aisle.
'Open the fucking register!' She waved the gun at Rube, then back to Berry. 'Get over here! Up front! Hurry it up!' Her cohort levelled the shotgun at Berry as he stepped into the open.
'I'm here. We're all good, yeah? We're all peachy.' Berry's eyes moved fast. Shotgun. Revolver. Rube. Fuck. Gotta' think fast. Gotta' stay in control. How would Crea handle this? Laser beams. Don't have those. Shit. How would Jacob? No idea. Something spooky. Dan? Teleport behind them, grab the guns. Not an option.
What would dad do?
'Why the revolver?' Berry tried to look calm. Unbothered.
'What?'
'The revolver. Why? It's an intimidating gun, for sure, but any gun's intimidating when it's in your face.' Stay cool. Make them acknowledge it.
'The fuck? Kid, I will blow you the fuck away if you don't shut the hell up.' They weren't looking at Rube. This was good. Better, at least. A small part of Berry remembered that he had never tried to dodge a bullet before. He didn't like that he thought of that right then.
'No, for real though. Why? Because it's a classic? Best you could find?' Berry took a half-step forward, his eyes bouncing over to the lookout.
'Shut the fuck up.' The shotgun was pointed straight at him now. 'You shut the fuck up.'
'Open it!' She yelled at Rube. He was cowering, trying - and failing - to get it open, his hands were shaking so hard.
'Look at him, shaking like a leaf, you're scaring him. Hell, you're shaking too. First time?' Berry's knees were shaking - but he could hide that. He just needed to get them riled up a little to open up an opportunity.
She aimed back at Berry. Both guns were pointed at him. She stepped around the counter, angry-panic in her eyes. 'What the fuck do you think you are?' She stepped in, closing the distance more.
'Sure, yeah, I guess you might not miss from there. Maybe take another step closer to be sure.' Overdoing it now. Too much. Cool it down, Berry.
She twisted her head to her lookout, then back to the boy. She wanted to step forward, but she felt like it was a trap. She wrapped both hands around the revolver. 'Don't think I won't fuck you up just because you're a kid.'
Her hands were steady. Clear. Still. Good. Berry wasn't particularly religious, but some distinct echo of a prayer sounded out through his mind. This could work. Surely. Why not? It made sense, right? Yeah. Yeah, it was going to work. Do it, he told himself, hard, egging himself on.
Berry spat the bubblegum out. Time slowed to a crawl as it soared through the air, a strange, dense pink chunk. With the grace of fate and the deft precision Berry had been imbued with, it hit its mark - and glued itself onto the revolver's hammer.
The second it landed he was moving. He ducked, weaved and propelled himself towards the shotgun, grabbing the barrel and forcing it down to the ground. A loud, muted click - the revolver failing to fire. Berry's palm slammed up into the lookout's chin, forcing him back while Berry pulled on the shotgun. In his shock, he let it go, and Berry slammed the butt of it into the man's belly, sending him sprawling backwards.
A second click - the revolver, again. He spun around and used the shotgun to smack the it out of her hands, then kicked it out of the air to send it spinning down into the aisles. In a fluid motion he snapped the shotgun open on his knee and hucked the shells out before tossing the weapon over the counter, next to a stunned Rube.
The lookout charged, grabbing Berry from behind and lifting him up as the woman picked up a glass bottle and swung it. Before it could connect Berry kicked a foot up and into her arm, removing the momentum from the swing. He then slammed his head back into the man's face, twice, three times, and on the fourth he let the boy go and stumbled backwards to cradle his chin.
Another swing. Berry sidestepped it, grabbing her wrist before leaping over the counter towards Rube, dragging her forward with him until her body slammed against the side and her wrist was twisted around.
The lookout was bounding out the door when Berry let her wrist free. 'You can go, too, y'know.' Berry said to her while she recoiled back, grasping her twisted wrist. She looked around - she wasn't even sure what for - before she sprinted out. Ding Dong.
Then, silence. Silence broken up by the song still playing. Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, girls talk~. Rube caught his breath, gulp by gulp. 'Is-... Was-... Berry, are you-'
'Yeah, I'm cool. Y'sure he was amish, though?'
'Wh-... What?'
'Why would there be a problem with the hat staying on? They just wear hats, don't they?'
Rubel's eyes drunkenly danced between Berry, the shotgun, the mess. 'Wha-... What do-'
Berry dealt with adrenaline by trying to act like he had none. By pretending to be calm, he would feel calm. He knew, deep in his heart, that what he did was possibly the coolest, most ridiculous crime-fighting bout of heroics he had ever pulled off. But acting like it was no big deal would just make it even more impressive to-... Just Rubel. Still. Worth it.
He came back to the checkout with his basket, planting a hand down on the counter as Rube spoke on the phone. Police. 'So, do I get all this for free or what?'
Catch My Fall
'I know the owner. It was no problem.'
It was hard to eat with a stomach tied up in knots. But it was his favourite burger joint in town, and they grated the pickles for him - they hadn't done that in a long, long time. Berry's shirt was new, a short-sleeved navy blue number with a black floral pattern. He had to pick something new to do this with. He had to make a good impression.
The dark loomed in through the windows, cut into strips by passing headlights and lingering streetlights. Murray's Burger Shack was a small place - it was mostly for take-out, but tonight there were two people sat in a corner booth.
'Yeah. I guess they wouldn't want to say no to you, right?' Berry wouldn't look up at him. He kept his eyes locked onto the bowl of fries. Busying himself with analysing the curves, the lines, the shapes made by random chance.
The man opposite him wasn't eating. His hands were cradled together on the tabletop. He faced the teenager with even, level attention. 'They would not. Because we've looked after them, they look after us.'
'Sure. Yeah. Whatever you-'
'You sold the van.' He interrupted Berry. 'Why'd you do that?'
'You caught that already, then... Yeah. I sold it. Didn't need it anymore.' Berry took a bite out of the burger. Even before he finished the bite he brushed the sesame seeds and crumbs from his lap.
'Because of your new home.'
'Because of that. Figures you'd have kept tabs on me.'
'Why'd you call?' He asked, leaning back into his seat. It wasn't an easy question to answer. Berry didn't like it. He felt like he had to, on some level. It had been a long time since they last spoke - even longer since they spoke in person. And with everything he'd been going through lately, he couldn't stop himself from making the call.
He put the burger down, but kept himself hunched over it. 'I'm not coming back.'
'I'm all for giving you your space, Berry. You've got to work some things out by yourself. I get that.'
'If you're giving me space, how'd you know I sold the van?' He raised his eyes up and looked at the man he called father. He was well-dressed, in a salmon dress shirt with the cuffs rolled up to his elbows. The kind of image he liked to wear; a smart, hard-working people person.
'You think I'm going to let you loose without being there to help you if you need me? You're still a kid, Berry. Of course I'm going to keep an eye out for you. You're my boy.'
'Fuck off...'
Mr. Dream leaned forward, planting his folded arms on the table. 'I messed up. But I know that. You don't have to do that shit if you don't want to. But you're family, and we're worried-'
'Fuck off! You told me to murder a man! I was- was fourteen! That's just- just- fucking- shit! For what? Owing you money? I don't want to be a part of that shit. Not anymore. I'm out, and I'm not coming back.'
'We're family, Berry. It's not by blood, it's by care. You know, no question, that I've got your back. You know I want the best for you. I know you didn't like what happened - and that's fine. We know that now. I'll never ask you to do anything like that again, alright?'
Berry's hand gripped the edge of the table, his knuckles turning white. 'Yeah... Doesn't change it. Doesn't change what you do, what you make people do.'
Dream's calm was all-encompassing. Suffocating. 'It doesn't. But we do what we do to look out for our own. And you know the kinds of people we work against.'
'Like that fucking matters. You're just as bad. Handwaving away a human life because you can spin a fucking tale about it being justified. You make your money off all the same shit they all do, too.'
'We do it smarter. Cleaner. We don't hurt people out of the game. We don't put gen-pop in danger. We steer clear of the real evil shit. You know this.'
'Lesser evil's still evil, dad.' Berry shot back.
Dream gave Berry another calm, measured look over the rim of his glasses. No ice. No warmth. Just stating facts. 'I've made a point of not telling you what to do since you ran away. But you haven't gone after any of my businesses, Kintsugi. You haven't gone after me. You've been going after all kinds of criminal, but not my kind of criminal,' he unfolded a hand and laid his palm out towards Berry, 'in fact, you've been doing what I would've been telling you to do, for the most part.'
Berry had no argument to make. He just stared. Turned to stone.
'Why'd you call me, Berry?' There was something else in there. Concern. Genuine, real concern. That's what stung the most. 'You wouldn't call me if you just wanted to argue. You've done that a thousand times over in your head already, I bet.' He had. 'So what's wrong? I've made time for you, kid, so talk.'
Berry's hands rubbed over his face. 'Shit. This was a bad idea. God damn it, I shouldn't have-'
'Berry.' Dream's voice was stern. Commanding. It drew in respect and exuded authority. 'Tell me what's wrong.' He cared. Berry knew he cared. He always cared. It didn't change who he was, didn't change what he did, but he was right. He wasn't Berry's father, but he was his dad.
'It's a girl.' His mouth moving ahead of his mind. 'I don't know what I'm doing and I don't want to hurt anyone but all I do is make things worse and hurt myself and-'
'Ssh. Calm down.' Dream was smiling. There's the warmth. The confidence. Berry needed that right now, and Dream wanted him to have it. This was why he called, deep down. He just wanted to ask his dad for advice. 'Tell me all about it, kid.'
Note to Self, Berry
Note:
Crea - August 1st
Myra - January 4th
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