Chapter 2Started from the bottom …

Over four years ago

"Stop, thief!"

A certain black-haired young boy graciously declined the nice man's polite request and instead continued darting through the crowd of curious New Yorkers, most of whom seemed perfectly content to stand silently and watch the chase unfold rather than actually try to involve themselves. This suited the boy just fine, as his small size allowed him to zip through the immobile crowd in a way that his much larger and far crankier pursuer could not.

"Someone stop him!" the irate man bellowed, slowly shoving his way through the passively observing crowd.

Luckily, the lure of doing nothing won out, and the crowd continued to simply stand there, looking more like they were watching a slightly more immersive television show than an actual real-life crime. This allowed the small boy to quickly gain some distance from his pursuer as he darted between the gloriously lazy human statues, his small, quick hands pushing off of hips and whipping himself around coats as he easily navigated the towering human jungle with quick, practiced movements.

"Stop!" his furious victim hollered once more, practically pleading as he was left in the boy's proverbial dust, too tangled up in the dense network of pedestrian rubberneckers to keep up.

Now with several layers of their passive audience shielding him from the man's view, he decided to make good his escape. Grabbing one such onlooker's arm, the boy easily swung himself around and bolted down a side alley, his small feet pounding on the filthy pavement as he put some distance between himself and the street.

Just as he heard the faint cries of indignation from the people his pursuer was shoving aside start echoing from near the mouth of the alley, the boy leaped off of a pair of mangled wooden boxes and dove into a dumpster, swinging the lid closed as he did.

Doing his best to breathe through his mouth, the panting boy ignored the foulness of the garbage beneath him and simply lay still, waiting.

He muttered a silent curse as he heard the sound of prowling footsteps outside the bin. Whether one of the passersby turned traitor and pointed the man in the right direction or he just made a lucky guess, the man was disturbingly close to being on the mark as he moved closer.

The boy felt his heart, which was already racing from his run, start absolutely pounding in his chest as the echoing footsteps of the man came closer, all while he could do absolutely nothing but lie there and stare at the sliver of smog-tinted sunlight filtering into the bin from beneath the edge of the lid. The slow, prodding footsteps clicked on the asphalt outside as the man came even closer, and he started trying to hold his breath completely so as not to make a sound. The horrendous smell of the dumpster made this an easy task, but his previous sprint made it quite the opposite, as his oxygen-starved lungs burned and strained and demanded he take a breath.

The dumpster suddenly echoed with a drum-like thud as the man slammed his fist on the lid, so close that the boy could actually hear the man's heaving breaths as his form blocked the meager sunlight trickling in while he stared up and down the alley, trying to figure out where he could be.

Unfortunately, as the petrified boy's stress-levels skyrocketed, other issues also began to make themselves known. You know, just to add some zest to the situation.

Nonononono, he silently begged as he felt his skin itch and crawl, the beginnings of the transformation starting to take hold. Panicking, he tried to force his mind anywhere other than where he was, desperate to calm himself. Closing his eyes, he tried thinking of that bakery on 43rd Street that sometimes tossed its day-old pastries in their own bag in the dumpster out back, which was practically a feast for someone like him, and one that wasn't even spoiled by other garbage. He thought about that one bodega on 21st that sometimes placed small packages of toiletries and other such things next to their own bins, knowing that the city's resident homeless would regularly swing by for their discarded and expired, but still perfectly good, food, and how some kind soul working there wanted to make sure they got some of the other living essentials, too.

He almost jumped out of his skin as the man outside slammed his fist on the lid of the bin once more, the sound of the man's furious cursing barely even reaching him over the sound of the blood pounding in his ears as he desperately tried to curb the rising swell of burning power flooding his veins and transforming his body. His left hand was already completely gone, just a twitching and writhing mass of ink-like dust where it used to be.

Please go, he desperately pleaded, staring at the man's shadow from beneath the edge of the lid. Please.

He could feel his instincts start to shift, felt rage begin to cloud his mind as the change came closer, not needing to look at his body to know that his outline was blurry and indistinct as he came within mere hairsbreadths of losing control entirely. Every ounce of his focus was on suppressing the form's telekinetic power, knowing that if even a single bit of garbage was lifted or moved, the man would hear him, just as he knew that if the man opened that lid, it would be all over. The change would take over completely, and the man would be ripped apart.

Just as a start.

Each moment stretched into a thousand as the creature inside him thrashed and tore and begged to be released, every inch of his skin burning with the power trapped beneath it, his head pounding from the strain of suppressing the creature's abilities as he lay there silently, waiting.

"Damn pickpockets," the man outside growled before pounding on the dumpster lid one last time and turning away.

The boy still didn't dare to breathe as he listed to the faint click of the man's footsteps as he stalked away, terrified of alerting the man to his presence at the last moment. Finally, though, the man's footsteps were swallowed up by the sounds of the street, leaving the boy alone in the dark, nothing to listen to but the rage-filled cries of the creature inside as he finally started taking in deep, gasping breaths. Ever so slowly, though, his heart-rate slowed, and he was able to painstakingly regain control of his body, wrestling his altered form deep into the darkest recesses of his being as he forced his calming body to re-materialize completely.

Raising his left hand, he smiled at seeing pale, filthy skin rather than swirling dust. Shakily, he sat up in the disgusting refuse and cautiously lifted the lid of the dumpster half an inch, squinting through the crack to make sure the man was truly gone.

He was.

With a relieved sigh, he lifted the lid completely and stood up in the dumpster, finally able to breathe fresh(-ish) air once more.

"Yeah, that's right, you better run," he called out weakly towards the mouth of the alley before falling back on the refuse beneath him, too tired and relieved to stand.

"I really need to stop doing those Hail Mary runs," he told himself for about the dozenth time, his arm draped across his perspiring forehead. Looking down, he reached into one of the pockets of his ragged, over-sized coat to see if this latest little jaunt was actually worth it.

"… Twelve bucks? Seriously?" He groaned as he flipped through the plain black leather wallet, hoping to find a hidden pocket or something. "Why would you even bother chasing someone for twelve measly dollars?" Scoffing in disgust, he tossed the man's wallet over his shoulder, safely securing the pathetic wad of bills that had been inside it.

Sighing, he reached into another pocket, pulling out a slightly more ornate brown leather wallet lifted from a member of the crowd he had darted through.

"Let's see if you have something better," he muttered with a grin.

Thirteen wallets later, he was richer by 616 dollars, three coffee shop punch cards, and a Yogurtland rewards card. The credit and debit cards he left alone, not really feeling the need to completely screw over those people's lives. On top of the cash, though, he also picked up two bracelets and three fairly nice-looking watches, including one really fancy watch from the last guy he swiped before turning down the alley. All in all, not a bad take for just one pass.

"Maybe I should do another run over on 13th," he wondered, before his still-wobbly legs put the kibosh on that particular idea. "Maybe tomorrow, then," he decided instead, climbing to his feet and leaving a small pile of leather wallets in the dumpster behind him, not considering it all that smart to carry that much evidence on his person just for the chance to make a few more bucks fencing a couple of wallets. After all, if the cops stopped you, it was kind of hard to come up with a reasonable explanation for having 14 wallets in your bag.

However, as he started to climb out of the dumpster, he felt something hard and smooth shift under his ragged trainers. Looking down, he saw the battered corner of something silver poking its way through a pile of garbage that did not bear describing. Crouching down, he carefully extracted whatever it was from the surrounding refuse, revealing an old laptop that had clearly seen better days. However, it wasn't completely mangled or busted, so he shrugged and slipped it into his decidedly more battered backpack before hopping out of the dumpster.

Stepping over to the side, he carefully rearranged the wooden boxes he had used to make it into the dumpster in the first place, making sure they were in position if he ended up needing to repeat his little maneuver. This was actually a very likely possibility, given how many times he had used this particular alley for just this purpose. It was practically a gold mine of cover, with numerous doors, boxes, and other dumpsters lining the alley all the way through from one end to the other, which was exactly why the man hadn't even known where to start looking for him, and why he preferred doing those Hail Mary runs on the streets leading to it.

After all, if you were pulling a move as risky as deliberately getting caught picking someone's pocket so you could make multiple lifts in the distraction they caused, you'd better have an escape option ready. Otherwise, you were just being suicidal.

As he headed for the opposite end of the alley, his stomach started growling loudly at him.

"Hey, I'm working on it, mate. Cut me a little slack," he responded indignantly, joining the mass of pedestrians walking along the street outside.

Hearing a faint crackle of thunder, he looked up at the sky, noting its solid gray and ominously dark shade.

"Perfect," he muttered to himself, grimacing at what seemed to be a cold, wet night in the making.


A few hours later, the clouds decided to make good on their threat of rain, sending a torrential downpour all over the city, and one distinctly cold and miserable boy in particular.

Said boy staggered down the dark, water-logged streets with his hands tucked deeply into his armpits in a desperate attempt to preserve warmth as his icy wet clothes clung to his skin like plastic wrap.

Brushing his soaking wet hair out of his eyes, he blinked as he looked up at a likely spot where he could find some shelter.

A library.

A few less than legal acts later, and he was scrubbing his hand through his dripping mop of hair as he walked down the dark, but decidedly warm, labyrinths of bookshelves. Before long, he was setting his dripping backpack on a wooden table set up in an out-of-the-way corner of the library, ostensibly so one could read or study in relative quiet and seclusion, but which suited him even better as a place to kip for the night.

It certainly wouldn't be the first time he'd made use of a library for such. Assuming you came after the janitors, libraries tended to remain empty until morning, and you even had books to entertain yourself with if you didn't feel like immediately knocking out.

Of course, he had a certain something else besides reading on his mind at the moment, and so, without further ado, he yanked a more than slightly damp plastic-wrapped parcel out of his soggy bag, unwrapping it to reveal a thankfully still dry Sub Haven sandwich purchased with his ill-gotten gains from earlier.

For the next several minutes, all that could be heard was the crunch of lettuce and grateful moans as he tore into his sandwich.

Hmm. A bit too much bread, he mused once he reached the second half of the sandwich and had finally curbed his hunger enough to think. I guess Delmar's really are better.

Shrugging, he happily continued eating his still very filling sandwich, only this time while emptying the other contents of his bag on the table in front of him.

Peeling aside more soggy plastic, he slid the battered laptop onto the table. Flipping it open, he tried pressing the power button.

No response, unsurprisingly.

Stuffing his mouth with the remnants of his sandwich, he flipped the computer over, curious about whether he could remove the back to get at the components inside to figure out what was busted. Unfortunately, this apparently required tools, which he didn't have.

His cheeks puffed out from his sandwich, he leaned back in his chair and studied the bookshelves next to him. Sure enough, he could see tiny screwed-in brackets holding parts of the shelves together.

Nodding, he got up from his seat and started hunting.


Several minutes later, he had draped his soggy coat over the back of a chair and was elbow deep in the guts of the laptop, a small toolbox he had known they would have somewhere open on the table beside him. After all, the people who ran the library needed some way of repairing things like wobbly shelves or squeaky chairs.

As he worked on the battered laptop, he found himself amazed by just how … intuitive it was. It just made sense to him. All it took was a little patience and an observant, inquisitive nature, and the different bits and pieces started whispering their secrets to him, teaching him even as he took them apart and repaired them.

Soon, he found himself doing more than just repairing the laptop. Hours felt like seconds as he immersed himself in the moment, completely in the zone as he began outright modifying the laptop, reinforcing certain parts while bypassing others, not even questioning his instincts as he lost track of the physical sensations of his body, of the still damp shirt clinging to his back, or the crick in his neck from being hunched over, so caught up in his tinkering.

He didn't even notice when certain parts began moving without him even touching them, the power of the uncontrollable creature inside for once moving in perfect harmony with him as he modified the computer with both hands and mind.

Unfortunately, modifying the existing components of the laptop could only go so far.

He needed more.

Not even questioning his actions, he set the laptop down and left, returning minutes later with an older desktop computer reclaimed from another part of the library. From there, he immediately began breaking down the larger computer, scavenging the components he needed to continue his work.

Pieces that should have been too large or improperly shaped were molded like taffy in his hands as more and more of his power came to the fore, answering the call he unknowingly sent out while in the throes of obsessive tinkering, his unique state of mind at the moment allowing him a level of instinctive level of control he had never before known.

And so he worked. Pieces were welded with sparks appearing out of thin air, unquestioned. Other pieces were screwed into place by hand while still others simply found themselves fixed into their envisioned spot as if they'd never been anywhere else. He barely registered this.

Hours later, he finally straightened from his task, his body making itself known once again with a series of agonized groans and crackling pops as his muscles and joints protested their prolonged contortion over the computer. He blinked his burning eyes and rubbed his temples, his journey back to reality from that obsessively focused mindspace more than a little disorienting.

As for the laptop itself, at a glance, it appeared relatively unchanged. It still bore the scuffed, scratched silver finish. Its interior workings, however, were now completely unrecognizable.

What he had found to be a clunky, inefficient design had been streamlined, customized to the point that the various pieces shared virtually nothing in common with their larger, original components. More components and processes had even been made to fit inside the laptop's inner workings due to the overhaul, as he found ways to rework the various elements to accomplish their intended purpose while only taking up a fraction of the space. The desktop computer at his side resembled nothing more than an empty shell surrounded by a slew of parts due to how thoroughly it had been scavenged for components for his new creation.

As for the newly re-minted laptop, well, it was time for testing. And so, without further ado, he gently flipped it over, opened the lid, and pressed the power button.

… nothing.

Frowning, he flipped the computer back over, checking to see if he had made a mistake somewhere, or if a component was loose. However, as he began checking various connections, his eyes fell on one component in particular.

Groaning, he face-palmed.

The battery. Duh.

He had fished the laptop out of a dumpster, after all. Of course it needed charging before it could be used.

Unfortunately, as he snapped the laptop battery out of its socket, he realized that this would be a bit of an issue. After all, he didn't have a charging cord, meaning the only way this thing would be getting any juice was if he jury-rigged some kind of charging system.

Unfortunately, just as he started contemplating how he might build something like that, the creature inside decided to throw its own two cents into the mix.

Gasping, he fell off the table and collapsed onto the cold wooden floor as his body seized. The creature inside thrashed and snarled, apparently insulted by their previous unheard-of synergy, and now determined to retaliate by bursting free even without an emotional trigger.

"You know, you really suck," he hissed through painfully clenched teeth, every muscle in his body spasming as he fought the creature for control. His veins burned with the creature's sheer power as he fought tooth and nail to keep it locked away. After all, he knew just what would happen if it got free. Death, destruction, screams of terror, and re-broken laptops galore. Kind of annoying.

And so he fought. It felt like wrestling a creature larger and fiercer and stronger than him in every way possible, but he refused to give up. He couldn't afford to. He absolutely refused to wake up to another wasteland of ruin and devastation.

He wasn't sure when the bookshelves around him started getting tossed around by the creature's power. He barely even saw the heavy volumes whipping around his head like a tempest. He did know one thing, though, and as he strained and groaned and fought, he dedicated himself to that one fact above all others:

That goddamn laptop on the table in front of him wasn't going anywhere.

It was such a petty thing to focus on. In fact, it was downright stupid in the face of everything else. The creature inside promised violence and destruction, possibly for the entire city, and yet he found himself focusing on one stupid laptop fished out of the garbage and pieced back together with scraps torn from a practically prehistoric library computer, which was now circling him in pieces as the creature's power raged on. And yet his eyes remained glued to the laptop on the table. It shook and vibrated as the creature's power tried to fling it into the air like everything else, but he denied it. His face broke out into a sweat and his jaw ached from how tightly it was clenched, and yet he refused to give the creature the satisfaction of destroying something he had worked so hard on. It was petty, and it was stupid, but he would not let the creature destroy that grungy old laptop. For him, that laptop became everything he tried to protect from the creature. The city, the people … himself. In that moment, all of them were wrapped up in that battered gray heap of plastic, and he was going to defend it. Garbage smell and all, he was going to defend it.

Line in the sand drawn, he fought on. The creature tore and pushed, but empowered as he was by his one uncompromising point, he didn't budge. His form wavered and shifted, the change into the creature's amorphous body imminent. And yet he planted his feet on that razor's edge between himself and the creature, and he did not move. His blurry, shifting form remained caught on that threshold, the body neither fully his own nor fully the creature's, and dear god did that ever piss the creature off.

Its screeches of rage became physically audible as it tried to claw its way closer into being, but he refused, his eyes locked onto the laptop as they struggled over it like dogs with a chew-toy. The creature dragged more and more of its power to the surface, attempting to simply overpower him with brute strength as it lashed out against his defiance like a building-sized toddler throwing a temper tantrum.

As his eyes flickered between glowing green and solid white within his ceaselessly shifting body, and as the very wall behind him and floor beneath him started cracking under the creature's power, he felt himself feeling more than just desperation, or even relentless determination.

He felt anger.

Something inside him snapped, and he no longer focused on forcing the creature back. He focused on making it suffer.

Without warning, he stopped pushing against the creature's power, leaving the creature reeling with surprise. However, just as it started gloating in victory, assuming he was giving up, he made his move. Screaming with effort, he pulled the creature's power into himself, for the first time in his life accepting the creature's power instead of trying to suppress it. The creature was too off balance from this unheard-of move to defend against it, and so, for a brief moment, he had all the power the creature had dragged to the surface at his fingertips, and he was going to use it.

Just … not in the way the creature had intended.

The creature's growls of fury turned to howls of pain as he took all that power, all that energy, and directed it inwards. His body burned and glowed with emerald light as the creature's own power flooded every inch of his form, wracking his body with pain as every particle was scorched. However, just as that power burned him, it also burned the creature.

An agonized laugh bubbled up in his throat as he finally struck back at the creature that had tormented him for so long. He didn't even care about the fact that they shared the body that was being scorched, or about the agony he was feeling himself as arcs of green lightning raced up and down his body. All that mattered was that he was taking the creature down with him.

And it worked.

Screeching and yowling in pain, the creature slowly but surely retreated, withdrawing into its home in the darkest recesses of his being not only to avoid the pain he was inflicting upon it, but out of fatigue from him draining its energy for the attack, leaving it without the strength it needed to fight back. His body flickered with the emerald glow of the creature's now depleting stolen power, and the bolts of green lightning were reduced to mere sparks as they raced down his arms and danced across his skin, but he kept up the attack, not letting up until the creature was both thoroughly wounded and completely drained. As he did, he kept his eyes on his outline, and how it was solidifying with the creature's retreat.

However, even as the glow died and the creature fully withdrew, along with what remained of its power, he knew that this was only a temporary victory. He had caught the creature by surprise with his maneuver, and that was the only reason it had worked as well as it did. The creature would be on guard against that tactic in the future, and it wouldn't let him simply seize control of all its power like that again.

Of course, a temporary victory was still a victory, and it was one he accepted gladly as a dry, cracking laugh made its way from between his lips, his cheek pressed against the crumbling floor as he struggled to regain control of his tortured limbs.

As he flopped one arm in front of his face to help leverage himself up, he noticed that his skin was smoking from the massive surge of energy. As he forced himself up to his knees, he saw that this even extended to the floor he had been lying on, which now had a person-shaped scorch mark on it. Thankfully—albeit strangely—his clothes were not simply ashes like he expected, though they were steaming much like his skin was.

Before he could question that bizarre fact, however, a spasm in his hand drew his attention elsewhere. Namely, to the laptop battery still clutched in his hand.

Wincing, he slowly pried open his cramped fingers and peeled the battery pack off his skin, finding it had left a crisp outline of itself on his reddened palm.

Of course, he was currently more interested in how the battery pack was quietly humming. In fact, as he took it in his right hand and carefully checked it over, he even found that the entire thing was vibrating faintly, and his fingertips tingled as he handled it.

You mean that stupid creature was actually useful for once? he asked himself in astonishment as he stared at the apparently supercharged battery. I guess miracles do happen.

Wincing, he climbed painfully to his feet, staggering over the piles of broken shelves and discarded books as he made his way to the table and laptop, which were about the only things still intact within 30 feet of him.

Pausing, he stared at the humming battery pack in his hands, and then down at the laptop, which might explode or something if he plugged this thing into it, for all he knew.

The smart thing to do would probably be to test the battery first, maybe hook it up to something small and make sure that whatever weird energy he'd accidentally forced into the battery from his other form wasn't nuclear or something.

Screw it, he decided instead, clicking the battery into place. No guts, no glory.

And so, without further ado, he pressed the power button.

The laptop hummed as it turned on, its screen flickering through a riotous cascade of colors before lighting up with its welcome logo.

He cautiously peeked around the edge of the broken shelf he was holding up as a shield as the computer loaded insanely quickly and arrived at its desktop page.

After watching for a minute and determining that it might not be about to explode after all, he slowly lowered the board and closed the 10-foot gap he had hastily placed between himself and the computer.

Cautiously, he sat down on the table in front of the computer and began running through its processes.

After a good deal of clicking and typing, he concluded that the computer apparently worked perfectly. In fact, it worked better than perfectly, with everything loading almost instantly.

He grinned at the sight, pleased beyond words that his first foray into what he could already see becoming his favorite hobby was working out so well.

Meaning it was of course inevitable that the computer would spark and die mere seconds later.

He slumped down with an explosive sigh of disappointment at the sight.

I guess it couldn't handle the energy source after all, he thought as he sadly pulled the still quietly humming battery pack out of the laptop, waving away faint hints of smoke coming from underneath the laptop's casing as he did so.

Wincing in expectation, he slowly unscrewed the casing and reopened the bottom of the laptop, only to immediately close it up once more as it absolutely belted out a cloud of acrid smoke.

Great, he groused to himself as he collapsed backwards on the table, staring at the ceiling in disappointment. After all that, half of the freaking thing is fried. Just perfect.

Sighing, he turned his gaze to the battery pack in his hand.

Maybe I need to design a new type of battery, he considered. Maybe one that's actually meant to handle whatever kind of energy I generate, and can distribute it safely without frying the entire system after just two seconds.

Unfortunately, designing an entirely new power storage system for an energy source he didn't even understand was a whole different animal than figuring out how to make a few modifications to a laptop. Sure, he could think of some very bare-bones ideas, but he didn't have nearly the knowledge he needed to figure out how to manage that.

Blinking, he sat up and stared at the pile of books strewn across the ground.

I guess I need to study, he thought with a determined grin.


And so the rest of his night was spent pouring over volumes, cramming his head full of whatever technical or scientific books he could find, often leaving his ever-growing stack to hunt down more.

When morning came, the library was unlocked to the sight of complete devastation in the nook he had claimed as his own, both as the result of the destruction caused by his altered form and because of a less than tidy and more than slightly obsessive boy leaving even more volumes strewn about.

As for him, though, he was long gone. As the first slivers of pink-hued sunlight started to filter their way through the windows, he gathered his things and skedaddled, though this time while burdened with more than a few books he wasn't quite finished reading yet, as well as one small toolbox to continue work on his laptop.

Over the next week, he continued his studying, though not anywhere near the original library, which was swarming with police and surrounded by whispers of "bomb" and "break-in," neither of which he wanted associated with himself on any level. Instead, he spent his days in other public libraries throughout the city, his small form practically hidden behind growing stacks of books as he read up on engineering and computers, and even on subjects like physics and chemistry, because hey, why not, right?

As he feasted on the treasure troves of knowledge he found at his fingertips, he found himself satisfying a hunger he hadn't even known he had. He was absolutely enthralled by these books that strove to make sense of the world around him, which he found even more compelling due to his constant experience with the creature inside him. Honestly, it wasn't just the fact of its existence that terrified him about the creature, nor was it what it could do. Instead, it was how he was so completely unable to understand it, or its power, that scared him so deeply. He had no idea where it came from, or how it could do what it did, and that made it far more terrifying to him than any irate business man chasing him because he nicked his wallet.

These books, though … even if they still left him at a loss to explain what that damn creature inside him was, or its power, he found their efforts to make sense of everything else deeply, deeply appealing.

And so he read. When his stomach screamed at him for nourishment, he left for just long enough to cram down enough to keep him going, and then he returned to his studies. When the library closed, he left for a few hours, and when everyone was gone, he broke back in and kept right on studying.

And that was why, several days later, he found himself wandering the streets as he waited for his latest chosen library to empty itself of people so he could break back in and continue his reading. However, as he wandered, his hand drifted to one of his interior coat pockets, and the plain notebook he kept there.

A few days ago, he had picked up the notebook when on one of his food runs, and he had since filled several pages with designs for the power-cell he thought might be able to house the energy he generated. Unfortunately, no matter how he tried to rework it, the fact remained that his designs all relied on materials he didn't have access to, not to mention tools he didn't have, as well as a space to use them in, which he also lacked.

Basically, it all came down to one thing:

Money.

Depressed and dispirited, he wandered the streets, aimlessly turning down alleys and moving down sidewalks as he tried to think his way around the problem in front of him, but couldn't. He casually side-stepped the larger and perpetually rushing adults streaming around him on the sidewalk as he continued meandering, this time while pulling the original laptop battery out of his pack to stare at it, hoping for inspiration.

The battery still hummed faintly with energy from its original charge, apparently having lost little or none of the power he had accidentally funneled into it.

He sighed, continuing his mindless wander as he brooded on his situation.

The creature inside him had been uncharacteristically quiet for the past several days, not once trying to rear its head or fight him for release. This blessed silence made it feel like a fog had been lifted from over his mind, allowing him to think clearly and actually feel free for the first time in a long time, but he knew this wouldn't last. The creature would get its strength back, and it would bust out. This was inevitable.

He started flipping the battery pack in his hands as he walked, subconsciously avoiding the crowds and meandering down emptier and emptier streets.

When this whole thing started, he thought he was on the track to finally gaining some measure of control over the creature. Not only was he actually able to harness the creature's power when he was so caught up in tinkering with the laptop, but draining the creature of energy like he did had been enough to keep it quiet for days afterwards. If he could find a way to repeat that, maybe force the creature's energy into a battery of some kind, or maybe into some other kind of tech and not just into an indiscriminate attack against his own body, then he might theoretically be able to keep it weak enough to stay locked away for good, and if that wasn't enough, then maybe if he found something to tinker with, he could return to that bizarre state of mind that had so successfully leashed the creature before, and who knows, he might be able to keep it from busting out even if it did have the strength to make the attempt.

These ideas were the closest thing he had felt to hope for a long time, but they both still came down to the exact same goddamn problem:

Mother-freaking money.

He needed money for parts. He needed money for materials. He needed money for tools. He needed money for a space to use these tools. Moneymoneymoneymoneymoney.

Sure, he had a few hundred bucks to his name, and he could pick a few pockets here and there to make a few bucks more, but that wasn't enough. Not for anything long term. Not for something as important as this.

Finally, he stopped his wandering, standing alone in a dingy, empty street lit by flickering streetlights as he hefted the battery pack that had originally given him hope, tantalizing him with promises and possibilities, only to keep those hopes just out of reach.

His face twisted with despair as he cocked back his arm, and with a cry of hopeless fury, he tossed the battery at a wall as hard as he could.

The battery getting smashed to pieces? That, he expected. The surge of humming emerald light exploding outwards? Not so much.

With a startled cry, he fell back on the ground and covered his face as the wave of light rushed towards him, followed by the sound of a cacophony of electrical sparks and crackling, and some weird chorus of clicking noises, like a bunch of fans that suddenly started clipping against something before finally stopping. However, as everything fell silent, he opened his clenched eyes and stared down at his body, apparently completely unharmed. Sitting up, he nervously patted himself down just to be sure, but nope, no injuries of any kind. However, as he started looking around, he started to understand why.

The mangled remnants of the laptop battery lay scattered on the pavement beneath a black scorch mark on the concrete wall of the building, but that was pretty much the only physical damage. Instead, he found himself staring at an unbelievably dark street, every light in the vicinity shut off. It looked like the city during a black out, but only reaching as far as a few buildings in every direction.

As he stared around at the unnervingly silent street around him, he started wondering what had happened.

An electromagnetic pulse, maybe? he theorized as he walked over and nudged what little remained of the battery that had been charged with his weird power. However, his attention was quickly drawn away from his revelation that the energy his other form produced could shut down electronics by a hundred-dollar bill floating past his face.

His eyes bulged as he stared at the free-floating Franklin before hastily diving after it and snatching it out of the air.

What the hell

He turned and looked at where it had come from, and his jaw almost hit the floor.

He hadn't noticed, but attached to the building he'd chucked the battery at were three ATMs, which were now completely dark and absolutely surrounded by piles and piles of cash.

I guess that explains the clicking noise, he numbly observed, realizing he had been hearing the mechanisms that spit out money going into overdrive before shutting down.

Staggering over, he reflexively started shoveling armloads of cash into his bag, barely even thinking straight as he stared at the machines, which had apparently overloaded and simply ejected everything inside when struck by the wave of energy from the ruptured battery. However, as he continued sweeping up handfuls of sweet, glorious green bits of paper, he became filled with panic and started furtively glancing around as he remembered a little detail called "cameras." However, as he stared up at the black glass bubble over the ATMs that housed just such a camera, he realized that it would have been shut down by the pseudo-EMP too.

A nervous, nearly hysterical giggle started to spill free as he swept up the last remnants of loose cash, checking around to make sure he hadn't missed any.

He wouldn't want to be accused of littering, after all.

His part to protect the environment completed, he booked it. He didn't even look in his bag to see how much he'd made. He just ran, knowing the street wouldn't be empty forever and absolutely not wanting to be anywhere near it when the authorities figured out what happened.

Well, as much as they could understand it, anyway.

Several blocks away, he ducked into an abandoned dark alley, glancing side to side before kneeling and pulling his bag free.

Swallowing, he slowly unzipped the bag, his eyes growing wider and wider with every inch as he revealed a bag stuffed to the absolute brim with cash. His hand wavered with nervous shock as he gently pawed through the dense pile of bills, his mind almost unable to process how much money he had in front of him. He shifted through stacks of twenties, piles of fifties, even mounds of hundred-dollar bills.

His bag was practically bursting at the seams.

As he continued to shuffle through the beautiful pile of sweet, sweet moolah, his hand brushed against the chipped, slightly sticky plastic of the battery-less laptop.

Suddenly, he froze, his eyes darting from side to side as he thought furiously. Looking back down, he stared at the laptop he was in such dire need of materials for, then at the empty slot where the battery he had supercharged with his weird power had come from, and then at the insane fortune that battery had just netted him.

A wicked grin slowly spread across his face.


Present day

That same boy was jostled from his story-telling by the sound of loud, obnoxious snores coming from his one-man audience.

He ceased his soldering of one of his mangled devices to look over at the proclaimed genius sitting upright with his head lolled over onto his shoulder, letting loose another feigned, dramatic snore.

"Really?" he demanded, torn between amusement and indignation.

With a clearly fake snort, Tony "jerked awake."

"Hmm? Oh, did I fall asleep?" he asked facetiously, fooling no-one. "I'm sorry, it's just that I'm so incredibly bored by this story."

This time, there was no question as to whether he was more amused or indignant.

"Dude!"

"Oh, come on! Get to the good stuff already!" Tony cajoled, bouncing on the desk like a small child demanding the movie skip ahead to his favorite part. "Yeah, I get it: 'Constantly at war with the beast inside,' 'good with tech,' 'steals stuff out of desperation or some vaguely noble or non-selfish reason and things,' blah blah blah. Skip ahead to the fun parts!" Tony helped himself to another handful of blueberries while staring at him expectantly.

"Wow. You are a terrible person," he remarked in astonishment. "You know, this could all be really emotionally traumatic for me. I mean, finally opening myself up and telling someone my story, only to get shut down like that …"

"Hey, there's no need to be a pussy about it," Tony blithely responded in a remarkable show of compassion.

He let out a snort of amused disbelief at the man's callous remark before his eyes narrowed slightly. "Alright, you want me to skip to the fun parts? Well, there was this one time where I totally saved this one goateed idiot's ass. That was pretty fun."

"Nah, that sounds really boring," Tony cut in quickly. "But come on! You're a master criminal, apparently! Skip to the part where you actually break into a place and steal some shit."

"You are a child," the young boy observed.

"That doesn't sound like a story about you breaking into a place and stealing some shit," Tony pointed out.

He sighed. "Okay, fine. There was this one time …"