[FINAL BUILD LOCKED]
- Insertion: Drop-In (+2)
- Power: Power Thief (-10)
- Perks: Comic Nerd (-5), Mind Shield (-2), Power Protection (-2), DNA Lock (-2), Adaptive Power (-5), Heightened Potential (-2)
- Drawbacks: Heavy Eater (+3), Unmasked (+4), Challengers (+4), Hunted (+4), Rivalry (+6), Arcane (+5)
- Balance: 0 Points
Jay stared at the summary, a mix of anticipation and nervous energy coursing through him. No going back now.
"Satisfied with your choices?" XYZ asked, though his tone suggested he already knew the answer.
"More than satisfied," Jay replied. "This is the first time in my life I've built something completely for myself."
XYZ gives Jay a moment after locking in his choices. The interface dims as XYZ clears his throat.
"One more thing—you won't need to worry about the TVA."
Jay raises an eyebrow. "Time Variance Authority? I figured this much interference would get their attention."
XYZ smirks. "Their tools only work within official storylines. You're being dropped outside that framework—like a gap in their system. They can't prune what they can't see."
"So I'm invisible to them?"
XYZ stood up, the pristine white room beginning to shimmer around the edges. "Yes, you are. Well then, it's time to begin your new life. You're going in completely clean—no documentation, no identity, no safety net. Just you and your choices."
The cosmic middle manager's form was already becoming translucent. "Your insertion point has been randomized within acceptable parameters. You'll arrive shortly after a pivotal moment—when everything changed publicly."
"No papers? No starting cash?" Jay asked, feeling a flutter of uncertainty.
"You chose Drop-In for a reason," XYZ's voice was fading. "True freedom means starting with nothing but what you can build yourself. Your perks will integrate over the next few hours. The Comic Nerd knowledge will hit first—brace yourself."
The room dissolved completely, reality folding like origami, and Jay fell—
Jay crashed into consciousness on cold asphalt, his head splitting like someone had taken a sledgehammer to his skull. The Comic Nerd perk activated like a mental supernova. Names, faces, alternate timelines, story arcs—decades of continuity slammed into his brain like shrapnel made of trivia.
He forced his eyes open and immediately wished he hadn't. The late afternoon sun felt like needles, but through the pain, he could see where he was. Tree-lined suburban streets stretched in both directions, expensive houses set back from perfectly manicured sidewalks behind wrought-iron gates. And in the distance, barely visible through the treeline, was the outline of a very familiar mansion.
Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters.
Jay pushed himself up from the sidewalk, his new body feeling both alien and familiar. He was definitely taller than before, lean but with wiry strength. His reflection in a nearby BMW's window showed the changes—sharp features, messy dark hair with an almost ethereal quality, and brown skin that seemed to catch the light strangely.
The knowledge dump continued its assault. He knew exactly where he was, dropped practically on the X-Men's doorstep with nothing but the clothes on his back.
His stomach chose that moment to remind him about the Heavy Eater drawback, growling so loudly that a passing jogger gave him a concerned look.
'Let's see. Supernatural appetite, no money, no ID, and I'm probably on a dozen security cameras already.'
Jay started walking, putting distance between himself and the mansion. The sidewalks here were pristine, lined with trees older than most countries. Every house whispered of old money—the kind of neighborhood where senators had weekend homes. He needed to think, to plan, but the headache was making it difficult to focus. Every step triggered new flashes of knowledge—Wolverine's healing factor, Storm's weather control, Jean Grey's telekinesis, and her darker potential.
'So much power, all within a few miles of where I'm standing.'
But he couldn't just walk up and knock on the door. The X-Men were heroes, but they were also paranoid about threats to mutantkind. He didn't need a telepath to tell him how they'd react to someone whose literal power was theft.
The suburban perfection gradually gave way to something more recognizably middle-class. Jay found himself in Bayville's small downtown area after thirty minutes of walking—a main street that looked frozen in amber since 1985. Murphy's Hardware with its "Serving Bayville Since 1953" sign. A used bookstore called "Chapter & Verse." A bank branch so small it probably knew every customer by name.
The smell from Sal's Diner hit him like a physical force. Bacon, eggs, coffee, fresh bread. His enhanced appetite made his knees nearly buckle. If this was him now, just after arrival, what would the hunger feel like tomorrow?
'I need money. I need food. I need a plan.'
Jay studied the diner through the window. Late afternoon, not too busy. A few customers scattered around red vinyl booths, a waitress who'd probably been working there since the place opened, a cook visible through the service window with the unconscious precision of decades of practice.
A darker thought whispered: 'I could just take what I need.'
Jay shook his head, pushing the thought away. His condition was not an excuse to prey on innocent people.
'Start small. Start smart. The X-Men aren't going anywhere.'
A newspaper stand caught his eye. The headlines screamed about the impossible: "IRON MAN REVEALS IDENTITY," "TONY STARK: 'I AM IRON MAN,'" "WALL STREET IN CHAOS."
May 3rd, 2010. Stock markets in chaos. Government officials calling for registration of enhanced individuals.
Jay snorted. They had no idea what was coming. The Hulk was already out there, hiding in exile. Thor would arrive in a few years. The Tesseract was sitting in a SHIELD vault, waiting to call down an alien invasion.
A local news crew was setting up outside the bank, probably getting man-on-the-street reactions. The reporter, fresh out of journalism school, checked her makeup while curious locals gathered—retirees, teenagers cutting class, business owners on smoke breaks.
"—can't believe it's real," an elderly man was saying. "First, them Fantastic lot, now Iron Man, flying around like something out of a comic book. What's next, men shooting laser beams out of their eyes?"
'If only he knew,' Jay thought. Xavier's school was less than five miles away.
As the crowd dispersed after the broadcast, Jay noticed a wallet on the ground where an elderly woman had been standing. He picked it up, checking inside. Emma Rodriguez, eighty-three, with photos of grandchildren and forty-seven dollars in cash.
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For a moment, Jay was tempted. But the photos of smiling children stared up at him, and he knew he couldn't do it.
Instead, he walked to the address on the license. Emma Rodriguez lived in a small Cape Cod with a garden that spoke of decades of care. When she answered the door, her face lit up with relief.
"Oh, bless you!" she exclaimed. "I was just realizing I'd lost it."
"Near the news crew," Jay said. "Must have fallen during the excitement."
Emma looked at him more carefully—the unkept clothes and hair, the slight tremor from hunger. "You look like you could use a meal, dear. Have you eaten today?"
"I... no, actually."
"Well, that won't do at all." She stepped aside. "I was just making lunch anyway."
The simple meal—grilled cheese and tomato soup—tasted better than anything Jay could remember. His enhanced appetite made him finish three sandwiches before he realized he was being rude, but Emma just smiled and made two more.
"So, what brings you to Bayville?" she asked.
"I'm... between situations. Looking for a fresh start."
"Running from something or toward something?"
"Both, I think."
Emma nodded as if that made perfect sense. "That's usually how it works."
On the television, news anchors continued their breathless Iron Man coverage.
"Different world now," Emma said. "Change comes in waves—sometimes gentle, sometimes like tsunamis. This feels like a big wave coming."
She was right. The world had always been stranger than people wanted to admit. The only difference now was the public's awareness.
When he finally left, it was with a full stomach and something he hadn't felt in years—hope.
Jay walked through the quieter residential streets of Bayville, his mind still buzzing from the Comic knowledge download and Emma's kindness.
That's when he heard the voices.
"—can't keep pretending this isn't happening, Margaret." The man's voice was tight with frustration, carrying across a well-maintained yard. "Xavier can't even fix the mutation. All he offers is 'acceptance' and 'training.' That's not what we need."
Jay slowed his pace, instincts prickling. Through a gap in the hedge, he could see a couple standing by their garden—him in an expensive business suit despite the weekend, her in the kind of dress that said 'country club lunch.' Both looked like they hadn't slept properly in weeks.
"Keep your voice down," the woman—Margaret—whispered sharply. "Mrs. Henderson already looks at us like we're running a circus."
"If the board finds out about Tommy, our whole company is at risk," the man continued, running a hand through his greying hair. "Government contracts don't go to families with... complications. And with this Iron Man business, everyone's going to be looking closer at enhanced individuals."
"He's a child, not a liability," Margaret snapped, but there was fear underneath the anger. "He's our son."
"He's both," the man said heavily. "And we need solutions, not sentiment."
Jay felt something cold settle in his stomach. He knew exactly what kind of "complications" they were talking about. The Comic Nerd knowledge provided the context—mutant children from normal families, manifestations that couldn't be hidden or explained away, parents caught between love and terror.
He had an idea, and his stomach was already demanding more food. Besides, these people had a problem he could solve.
It was just business.
Jay stepped around the hedge, deliberately making noise with his footsteps. The couple spun toward him, the man's hand instinctively moving toward what was probably a concealed carry.
"Sorry," Jay said, raising his hands peacefully. "I couldn't help overhearing. You mentioned complications with your son?"
"Who the hell are you?" the man demanded. "If you're some kind of reporter—"
"I'm not a reporter," Jay said calmly. "And I'm not with Xavier either, before you ask. I'm someone who might be able to help with your specific problem."
Margaret stepped closer to her husband. "What do you mean, help?"
Jay took a careful breath. This was it—the moment he either committed to this path or walked away and stayed hungry. "I can permanently remove your son's mutation. He'd be completely normal."
The silence stretched between them like a taut wire. The man's eyes narrowed with suspicion while Margaret's widened with something that might have been hope.
"That's impossible," the man said finally. "Xavier told us the X-gene can't be removed."
"Xavier's wrong," Jay replied. "It can be...removed. Permanently."
'Better not show all my cards just yet,' Jay thought.
"You're talking about removing a part of our son," Margaret said, and there was something fragile in her voice.
"I'm talking about giving him a normal life," Jay corrected. "No more fear of what he might do or what others might do to him. Just a regular kid with regular problems."
The couple exchanged a look loaded with months of sleepless nights and whispered conversations.
"What would you want in return?" the man asked.
"Fifty thousand dollars. Cash."
"That's—"
"That's less than you'd spend to hide his mutation," Jay interrupted. "And this is permanent. One transaction, problem solved forever."
Another loaded silence. Jay could see them weighing options, calculating risks and benefits like the business people they clearly were.
"We'd need to see him first," the man said finally. "Make sure you're not some kind of con artist."
"Of course."
They led him through their house—tasteful furniture, family photos with a conspicuous gap in recent years, the smell of expensive coffee. The backyard was a suburban paradise: manicured lawn, flower beds, a wooden swing set that looked barely used.
The boy was there, maybe seven years old, listlessly pushing himself on one of the swings. He looked tired in a way no child should—the bone-deep exhaustion that came from a body constantly fighting itself.
"Tommy," Margaret called softly. "Come meet someone."
The boy slid off the swing and walked over with the careful, measured steps of someone much older. When he looked up at Jay, there were dark circles under his eyes that should have been bright with mischief.
"Hi," Tommy said quietly.
Jay knelt to bring himself to the boy's eye level. "Hey there. Your parents tell me you've been feeling pretty tired lately."
Tommy nodded. "The doctor says my body works too hard. Makes me sleepy all the time."
"I might be able to help with that," Jay said gently. "Would you like to not be tired anymore?"
"Yes, please."
The simple honesty in those two words hit Jay harder than he expected. This wasn't some abstract transaction anymore—this was a tired little boy who just wanted to feel normal.
"Okay," Jay said. "I need you to sit down and give me your hand. It might feel a little strange, but it won't hurt. I promise."
Tommy sat cross-legged on the grass and extended his small hand with complete trust. Jay took it carefully, noting how warm it was—too warm, like the child was running a constant fever.
Then Jay activated his power.
The sensation was unlike anything he'd experienced. It started as a gentle tugging, like a magnetic pull between their skin. Then it intensified, becoming a flowing current that seemed to move in both directions. Jay could feel the boy's mutation—a chaotic, uncontrolled healing power that was burning through Tommy's body like an engine without a throttle.
The power was beautiful and terrible. The kid was healing Jay without any intention.
A touch that mended and healed others, but drained him every time.
And now it was his.
"Easy," Jay whispered, as much to himself as to Tommy. "Just let it flow."
The transfer felt like drinking lightning. Raw energy poured into Jay, wild and untamed. His own body began to adapt and absorb it, his power thief ability working to integrate the new ability safely. But the process was draining for both of them.
Sweat beaded on Jay's forehead as he carefully drew the mutation out of Tommy's system. The boy's eyes grew heavy; Jay could feel the exact moment when the last traces of the X-gene separated from Tommy's DNA—a sensation like a door closing gently but permanently.
Tommy's hand cooled to normal temperature. His breathing deepened and became more regular. For the first time since Jay had seen him, the boy looked genuinely peaceful.
"There we go," Jay said softly, releasing Tommy's hand. "How do you feel?"
Tommy blinked slowly, then sat up straighter. "Not tired," he said with wonder. "I do feel sleepy."
Within moments, the boy was asleep on the grass from the simple, healthy tiredness of a normal child who'd had a long day.
Jay stood carefully, his own body thrumming with new power. He could feel the healing aura settling into him, already beginning to work.
"Is it done?" Margaret asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"It's done," Jay confirmed. "His mutation is completely gone. He'll sleep for a few hours, but when he wakes up, he'll just be a normal, healthy kid."
The man was staring at his son with something that looked like relief mixed with guilt. "And is this permanent?"
"It is." Jay flexed his fingers, feeling the new ability humming under his skin. "It's not suppression or temporary. He'll never manifest again."
Margaret knelt beside her sleeping son, tears running down her cheeks. "He looks so peaceful."
"He is peaceful," Jay said. "For the first time in a long time, his body isn't fighting itself."
The man pulled out his wallet, then stopped. "We'll need to go to the bank. Fifty thousand in cash will take some arranging."
"Tomorrow's fine," Jay said. "I'm not going anywhere, for now, just a couple hundred will do."
As Jay walked away from the house, he felt the healing power settling into his system like a missing puzzle piece. Tommy would grow up normal, healthy, free from the exhausting burden of an uncontrolled mutation. Xavier would have surrounded the boy with other mutants, preaching acceptance while Tommy suffered.
The government would have catalogued him as a threat, even experimented on him. Jay had given him actual freedom.
Yes, he'd charged for it. But he wasn't running a charity, and everyone got exactly what they wanted. The parents had their normal son, Tommy had his health, and Jay had both a new power and the means to survive another day.
As he walked through the darkening streets of Bayville, Jay felt a quiet satisfaction. This was what real freedom looked like—making choices based on results, not expectations. No heroes' code, no villains' dramatics. Just practical solutions that actually worked.
He could live with bring that kind of person.