A man in his late thirties, Sean, stood in disbelief as he held an empty envelope. Sean had been running the group home where Wyatt had joined for two years.
Beside him was a woman in her mid-thirties, Carly; she had a sad expression as she sat back in a chair.
The envelope in Sean's hands once held the money for the group home's monthly allowance. The money was intended to buy the weeks needed food and much-needed clothing for several orphans in their group home.
"Wyatt… how could you. You knew we needed that money! And you just… you just took it! How could you do that?!" Sean looked at a 14-year-old Wyatt with disappointment and a touch of anger. Carly remained silent, but she kept her eyes on Wyatt. She was afraid that if she spoke, she wouldn't be able to stop the sobs trapped in her throat.
"What's the big deal? Just ask the government for more!" Wyatt said without a care, but his eyes betrayed him. The three of them stood in the home's dark kitchen. Guilt bled through him as he felt Carly's gaze on him, but he acted defiantly. "It's not my fault you don't ask for more!"
Sean was about to snap, but after taking a deep, calming breath. He looked away from Wyatt.
"Go, Wyatt. Leave. I can't do this anymore… I tried to give you the benefit of the doubt many times, but you don't seem to care." Sean said tiredly. "Get out."
Wyatt stepped back as if struck; his eyes were wide in shock. He glanced over at Carly, almost pleadingly, but she held firm. After a few seconds, his ever-present anger rose, and he gritted his teeth.
"Fine! Fuck you, and fuck this shitty house!" Wyatt yelled, uncaring that several of his fellow orphans were sleeping. His roar had quickly awakened several of them.
He spun on his heel and grabbed the black backpack on the ground. With his backpack secured, he headed to the front door and grabbed the doorknob. He stood still for a second before schooling himself.
He opened the door and left.
••o••o••o••
Slowly, Wyatt opened his eyes. Despite having slept a full eight hours, he felt tired. After sitting up, he rubbed his face to rid himself of any remaining sleep.
"What an idiot. No... I'm an idiot."
The dream he had was no dream. It was a memory—a memory of the younger Wyatt's life. No, his life.
Every night, Wyatt had been living out different memories of both his conjoined lives. Each new dream was getting harder to distinguish who it belonged to. It seemed that his brain was hard at work at merging both of his lifetimes together. Making it all one solid stream of memories.
It was getting harder to distinguish whose memories belonged to who. Wyatt was even beginning to forget what his other body once looked like. A coping mechanism from his brain, perhaps?
Last night, the memory of the reason why he had been kicked out from his group home played all throughout the night. He wasn't kicked out of the group home due to one solitary incident. No, it was due to several dozen incidents.
Each time, Sean and Carly had given him a second, third, fourth, fifth, and even twenty chances to redeem himself from his rash and irresponsible behavior. But he never did. He was too angry at the world and didn't think twice about how his actions could hurt those around him.
The last straw that broke the camel's back was when he stole the group home monthly stipend from the government. The same funds were needed to buy food and clothing for his fellow orphans.
And what did he use the money for?
He used it to pay the very same gang leader who had stabbed him to death as an enrollment fee for the gang.
"Yup. A big old idiot. That's me." Wyatt muttered and got off his bed.
After performing a series of stretches, a flash of reddish-pink energy enveloped him. Cleaning him of any grime or filth while also changing him into a pair of casual clothing. Upon entering his kitchen, his opened his fridge to see a fully stocked fridge. A sight not too common in his past group home.
Frowning, he closed the door and ignored his stomachs hungry growl.
Wyatt walked over to the elevator door and pushed the up button to the side. After a few seconds, a soft ding broke the silence and he waved his hand. The outer layer of concrete hiding the elevator entrance disappeared and he stepped out. With another wave, the concrete covered the door. As if it was never there to begin with.
Taking a few steps forward, Wyatt picked up two rocks and transformed them into a pair of sunglasses and a black baseball hat. After placing them on, he began making the journey to Hoboken.
••o••o••o••
A melodic ring echoed in Victor's old, grimy pawn shop, gaining his attention. He put down the cheap gold ring he was examining and watched as Wyatt walked over to him with his hands in his front jacket pockets. Victor kept his eyes trained on Wyatt while feeling for the hidden short barreled shotgun under his counter.
Wyatt removed his shades and hat and gave Victor an easygoing smile.
"Morning. The names, Mark. I saw the sign on your shop that says you buy gold. That true?" Wyatt said.
After a few seconds, Victor nodded and removed his hands from his weapon in favor of leaning on the counter. "Yeah. That's true."
"Great. How much can you give me for these?" Wyatt pulled out three expertly crafted gold and diamond-encrusted necklaces.
Seeing them, Victor blinked in fascination and grabbed his headband magnifiers. He inspected each of the necklaces and couldn't help but marvel at their craftsmanship and quality. He had never come upon such high-quality work in all his thirty years of work.
One of these necklaces could easily sell for thirty to fifty thousand dollars. Altogether, at least one hundred fifty thousand dollars was sitting before him!
Victor smiled shrewdly and eyed Wyatt. The boy was young and clearly had no idea what he had on him.
"Eh, I can give you five thousand for all three. Best I can offer ya'." Victor said, unimpressed.
"Oh wow!" Wyatt said with a large smile. Causing Victory to grin. "That's a terrible deal!"
Victor blinked as Wyatt quickly snatched his necklaces back. "You know, I think I saw another jewelry shop down the street. Maybe I'll go there and find someone who isn't as blind as a mole. Goodbye!"
"W-Wait!" Victor panicked and ran around his counter as Wyatt touched the front door. "Sorry, my young friend! I meant to say that I'll give you fifty thousand for your necklaces! A good deal, no?"
"Just fifty thousand? Matteo from down the street offered me seventy. You gotta do better than that if you want these fine works of art." Wyatt crossed his arms and gave Victor a disbelieving look.
"That damn, Matteo! Always stealing my business! Ninety! I can offer you ninety and no more!"
"I want one-thirty."
"Geh! One-thirty?! H-how about one-twenty?"
"One-twenty? You're disrespecting me, Victor. I went through a lot of… trouble acquiring these fine necklaces." Wyatt sighed and opened the door. Victor moved as fast as he could and grabbed Wyatt's wrist.
"Fine! Okay! One-thirty! I'll give you one-thirty for all three!" Victor said with wide eyes. He hoped Wyatt wouldn't ask for more.
Wyatt made a show of thinking it over before smiling. "You got yourself a deal, Victor." He said and held out a hand.
Victor released a sigh of relief and shook Wyatt's hand.
After retrieving the funds from his secured safe and placing them in a secured briefcase, Victor returned to the counter and received the necklaces from Wyatt.
"If you ever… come across any more works of this quality, be sure to come to me, not Matteo. I'll be sure to give you a good deal." Victor said with a slimy smile after giving Wyatt the briefcase.
Wyatt hummed and nodded at the man's offer. "Sure. As long as you don't try to shortchange me, I'll come to you and not Matteo."
"Don't worry, my young friend. You won't find any better offers in Hoboken than my store. I guarantee it."
Wyatt nodded and left Victor's pawn shop. As he turned the corner, he put on his shades and hat and transformed the briefcase into a black Kevlar backpack with the money left untouched. Opening it, he looked down at the several stacks of bills and used his power to ensure that Victor didn't shortchange him. The money was all there.
Wyatt could have easily created an infinite amount of dollar bills. Circumventing the need to create gold to sell. While he could create endless money, it would all be counterfeit and quickly proved worthless.
In the United States, money is specially designed to prevent the creation of counterfeit copies. Each bill features various security measures, such as watermarks, security threads, color-shifting ink, raised printing, UV-reactive elements, and a serial number. These markings help distinguish authentic bills from counterfeit ones.
So if Wyatt wanted to get real money, he would have to sell other materials or goods such as precious ores like gold or diamonds. Something he could do with ease.
"It may not change what I did. But at least it should help."
Zipping the bag up, Wyatt slid the backpack on and was about to leave when, all of a sudden, three figures walked up behind him. Seeing the three thugs, Wyatt groaned and turned to them with annoyance.
"Whatcha got in the bag, boy?" The first thug, a shaggy man with arms covered in tattoos, said.
"Hand it over. Now." A man with dirty blonde hair pulled out a butterfly knife and waved it around in an attempt to threaten Wyatt. The last thug, a short, balding man, simply laughed and said nothing. The wooden bat in his hand rested over his shoulder.
"Come on, guys? I was expecting this situation to come up sooner or later. But come on! You three losers are the first thugs I have to beat up?" Wyatt rubbed his neck. His words and lack of fear left the three thugs bewildered. "I got places to be. So come on. Let's do this."
"The fucks wrong with this kid?" The dirty blonde man said.
"Who cares? He called us losers! Let's fuck him up!"
With indignant roars, all three men rushed Wyatt.
Wyatt, despite having reality-warping powers, was still scared. He may have put on a brave face as he talked back to the three men, but deep inside, he was intimidated. He had never gotten into a proper fistfight before. At the sight of three grown men armed with knives and a bat, his fear only grew.
"Remember, you can do anything!" Wyatt whispered and waved his right hand to the side.
The bat within the shorter man's grasp shifted into solid steel. Due to the unexpected weight change, the man dropped his bat on his foot. Eliciting a pained scream.
The knife in the first thug's hand transformed into sand and fell through his fingers. "What the hell?!"
Stomping his foot, Wyatt extended the concrete floor to cover the legs of all three thugs. Trapping them in their spots. They tried to break free, but the strength of the concrete barely allowed them to move an inch.
"That was… easy." Wyatt said in awe and stared at himself with amazement.
"M-Mutant! This kid is a mutant!" The short man said in fear.
"Shit! Listen, man, we're sorry, alright! Don't kill us!" The tattooed man pleaded.
"What? No, I'm not gonna kill you bozos. And I'm not a mutant… I think. Listen, get a real job, and stop breaking the law. Otherwise, I'll bury you three ten feet under the city." To prove his point, Wyatt used his powers to pull the thugs slowly into the earth.
"Ahh! Okay! We will! We'll turn a new leaf! Just don't bury us alive!" The dirty blonde-haired man said with his two friends nodding in agreement.
After glaring at the three men, Wyatt waved his hand. Breaking their concrete holds. Without wasting another second, they ran out of the alley as fast as they could.
"Why were they so afraid that I could have been a mutant? Are the mutants of this universe violent? Are the X-Men not around? I have to look into that. But first, I need to set things right." Wyatt looked up to the sky and began to float up, thanks to the glowing disk under him.
••o••o••o••
In a quiet neighborhood on the south side of Harlem, Sean pushed his lawn mower as he worked diligently to cut the grass surrounding the Anderson Group Home. Once he was done, he grabbed the weed wacker from the garage and was about to trim the yard around back when he saw a familiar face.
"Wyatt," Sean uttered in surprise. Not expecting to see the boy he had kicked out of his group home. Shame swelled within him as he eyed the sixteen-year-old he had given up on a year ago.
"Hello, Sean," Wyatt said awkwardly.
The two said nothing as they continued their staring contest until Wyatt looked around.
"Where is… where is everyone?" Wyatt asked.
"Carly took everyone on a field trip to the Smithsonian. Jacob was excited to see the Captain America exhibit," Sean answered. After taking a deep breath, he motioned to the house that had once been Wyatt's home for two years. "Would you... like to come inside? Do you want something to eat? Drink?"
"No, no. I'm okay. I just came… to give you-give the group home something." Wyatt slid the backpack off and walked up to Sean.
Sean accepted the bag with a confused look, but it quickly changed to shock at the sight of all the money inside. "What- what is this? Where did you get it all?!"
"Easy. I didn't steal it or anything like that." Wyatt raised his hands and smiled at the man, but his smile faded as he recalled the night Sean had kicked him out. "Listen, Sean. I'm… sorry. I'm sorry I took the money meant for everyone. I'm sorry I was such an ungrateful jerk. I'm… trying to turn my life around, and I can't do that without making things right with you and this place."
"Wyatt… what I did wasn't right. I shouldn't have kicked you out of your home; that was wrong of me. I'm sorry as well. Still, this is a lot of money. It's too much." Sean closed the bag and took a deep breath. "Does this money have anything to do with why the police came asking about you?"
"Ah, so they did come." Wyatt sighed. "No, they're looking for me for something else. It's really just a misunderstanding. The money is legitimate. I didn't steal it, so you don't have to worry about where it came from."
Sean bit his tongue; he had been prepared to accuse Wyatt of just that. The bag in his hands felt heavier. Seeing Sean's reluctance, Wyatt gave him a pleading smile.
"Keep it. Use it to buy everyone a new wardrobe or fix up the place. Remodel the kitchen or upgrade the AC for everyone. Accept it… please," Wyatt said, his voice filled with regret.
Sean stared at the bag for several seconds before ultimately nodding. "Okay, I will... Thank you, Wyatt."
Wyatt smiled and was about to turn away when Sean stopped him.
"You can come back, Wyatt. There's a place for you here. This is still your home," Sean said.
"That's okay, Sean. Really."
"You've changed, Wyatt. I'm not sure what you've been through this past year, but you've changed." Sean's eyes examined Wyatt closely as if he were looking at a completely different person than the angry, troubled boy from last year.
Wyatt remained silent but offered Sean a small smile. He walked away from the Anderson group home and disappeared into the streets with nothing more to say.