Reaper has had plenty of training to know when he's being watched. It only makes him metaphorically roll his eyes when he hears a soft sound of disapproval in his vicinity, and he gathers it's probably some dumbass punk snooping around.

There's quite a few oddities in this program, he thinks. It starts chalking up to Definitely Suspicious and Possibly Not a Virtual Reality, which... is really not all that better, but better than being monitored.

It doesn't mean he's going to let his guard down, and he's certainly not going to waste his bullets. He found out early on that he cannot materialize his weaponry anymore. Frustrating. But despite all that, he readies his Hellfire shotguns anyway and slowly– almost like he's fading into smoke, soft tendrils of black wisps fluttering at the edges– he melts into the shadows of a dark entryway. Not too dark that someone wandering in couldn't adjust to it quickly enough, but dark enough that he probably wouldn't be able to trust his own eyes.