Character Lore | Reznor Family (Patreon)

Irina Reznor – Mother

5’4”, piercing blue eyes, dark blonde hair, fair skin, and slender build with the face of angel, but the mind of a devil. Irina was a cunning woman, one who had a bright future ahead of her as a child, a future that had been lost to the several addictions she gathered out of frustration from being stuck on Cursa. Her penchant for drinking had not been a good mix for the gambling habits of Wade Reznor, and their life only got worse once they got together.

Wade Reznor – Father

6’, eyes and hair black as night, fair skin, and elegant yet slender build. Wade Reznor was never a kind soul, but his handsome face would let him get away with mostly anything around Cursa. Strongly believed his quick hands and attractive looks would one day help him score a big con, but gambling proved to be far more than he could handle, and shady deals with loan sharks became more than frequent on his life.

Life together

Wade and Irina met in a bar, getting married but a few months after, each trying to take advantage of the other’s possessions and finances. It wasn’t a loving relationship and children were never on their plans, so when Irina found out she was pregnant from Damon, terminating it only hadn’t been an option because of all the cons they could pull if they had a baby.

Damon was never beaten, never severely punished for anything – their child was but a tool to them, and they could not be bothered by what he did in the meantime. There were no schools on Cursa, children mostly got home schooled at best, but Damon got nothing – they taught him how to speak, how to walk, how to take basic care of himself, and that was it. Most of his days he was free to roam around Cursa, his absence hardly ever noticed by the couple.

Meanwhile, their debts grew. Irina spent more and more time staring at empty bottle bottoms, numbing herself to the world, Wade wasted himself away at card games, insanity clouding his eyes at the prospect of hitting that jackpot on the next time. Next time. Next time.

They lived deep within the slums on District 3, in a modest house with one bedroom (Damon slept on the couch), without any riches or need to splurge, and yet… debt collectors were their only visitors. Visitors they always managed to push off one way or another, sweet talking, paying a small sum back, handing over anything of value as insurance.

Until they pushed too far.

Taking a loan from a small, less civilized gang was, in theory, a good deal what with the smaller interest involved, but they were far from patient on getting paid back, and when Wade and Irina Reznor tried to sneak their way out of another collector, they paid with their lives.

*

A dull thud by the door had his brows furrowing together. Had they knocked something over? He didn’t know, couldn’t tell from where he stood on the kitchen – couldn’t care enough to go and find out either.

Irina’s muffled voice came from the adjacent room, checking on Wade, he assumed. No response came, but it was nothing out of the ordinary, the couple had never been known for their attention to each other. He shrugged it off, carrying on the climb to the highest cupboard.

There were cookies there. He wanted them. He was going to get them.

He had been halfway over when he heard a scream, followed by a second thud, loud enough that it caught him off-guard, causing him to slip and fall on his behind. He never fell, and that he did had annoyed him thoroughly, a snarl curling his lips when he turned to snap at Irina, only he was still alone on the kitchen.

The thuds he had heard weren’t things being dropped, no... 

And he wasn’t the last one standing on this house.

His frustration of having been scared faded, replaced by something different, something cold, something he had felt before whenever he had found himself in sticky situations, only in a much larger scale. Making no sound, he stood up, wary eyes on the door as he swiftly made his way to the sink, his thin fingers wrapping around the cold steel on one of their cooking knives, the sensation causing a tingle to run up his arm.

Silent, quick strides led him to the passageway, peering into the living room to check the source of chaos.

The first thing he saw were a pair of feet behind the couch, male, the scrapped ends of the pants worn letting him know who they belonged to. Wade.

Next, he saw a man crouching on the opposite side of the room, closer to where he stood, no more than three feet away and, in front of him… Irina. Her dark blonde hair spread out under her head, dirty, knotted, like it usually got after she spent the weekend with only bottles for company. Her eyes opened, staring at the ceiling – devoid of all life.

They were dead, he could tell.

“… such a pretty face, what a waste.” The man he couldn’t recognize mumbled to himself with a sigh as he closed Irina’s eyes. “Didn’t they have a kid or some shit? Can’t even find a damn pic of the brat around this dump, the hell am I supposed to do to find him?”

Ah, of course. He got it then. They owed money, he had expected this would happen eventually. Only he had absolutely no intention of going down because of someone else.

With the certainty he had only recently learned to carry himself with, he snuck up behind the man. He was twice his size, probably, but when crouched the man was actually shorter, making it easy for him to find a good angle to point the knife on the man’s neck.

“They didn’t care enough to take a picture of me.” The man froze at the feeling of cold, sharp steel on his skin.

“Let’s- let’s talk about this, eh? I can let you live, kid. I’ll tell’em I couldn’t find ya, nobody is gonna come looking for a kid.” The man stuttered, pleading for his life, but he realized it didn’t matter to him.

“Yeah, I’m not taking that chance.” He leaned closer to the man, pressing the knife harder, a thin line of blood blossoming on the man’s neck. “After all, a dead body gives off a much stronger message, ain’t it?”

A gurgling sound is all the man makes before falling to the side as the knife does its job. His wide eyes desperately searching for something, anything, when the boy steps over him, throwing but one glance at him before making his way to the door. The look he saw in them, it would haunt him until the afterlife. Empty, emotionless, colder than the steel that slashed his skin and drained the life from him.

No kid should have that look on their eyes, he thought with a hint of mirth. That kid… that kid was going places. It was hard to find a monster like that, he laughed, rather, choked on his own blood as life whispered away from him.

Outside, the kid looked up to the sky. Cloudy, as usual. At least there wasn’t a thunderstorm going on today, it was safer to walk outside like this. Looking down, he stared at his hands, the blood still wet on his fingers, and he methodically tried to wipe it out on his pants.

Irina and Wade were dead. He had never been fond of them, nor they were of him, but at least they gave him a roof to live under and kept food on the table.

He waited for a few moments. Waiting for the surge of emotions he expected to feel. Grief, maybe. Remorse for taking that man’s life. Fear for his own.

But nothing came. 

The first thought on his mind was, in fact, that he should have taken the damn cookies before leaving. Was he broken? Had he always been like this?

He didn’t know, nor cared at that particular moment. Slipping the knife on his pocket, he made a mental note to get a decent dagger soon. Or maybe just a scabbard. 

Pursing his lips, the boy started to walk, his feet guiding him to the one other place he felt safe at. Alisa. She’d welcome him, she’d let him stay there… she always did.

An emotion he had never expected to feel after what had just happened settled on his chest, letting a small, shy smile crawl its way on his lips. He was finally free.

Damon Reznor was free.