Ethan Cain had always been a resourceful guy…kid.
The problem was, being resourceful didn't exactly translate to easy solutions when you were stuck in a body far too small for the mind inside it.
He had access to incredible power—telekinesis that could do things most people wouldn't even dream of—but when it came to money…it wouldn't do much good at this level…or would it?
He'd make a killing as a circus performer, for all two days it would take for him to get kidnapped by Shield, Hydra or Dumbledore's crippled cousin.
Sitting up in bed, Ethan glanced at the clock on his nightstand. It was nearing midnight. He had to take matters into his own hands. His plan had crystallized in his mind earlier that day, and while he knew it was dangerous, he also knew it was necessary.
After dinner, Ethan had spiked his parents' drinks with a couple of harmless sleeping pills. They really should try to keep their medicines away from their young, clueless innocent child.
He hated doing it, but it was necessary.
No, that's a lie, it was pretty fun all things considered.
His heart had pounded in his chest as he watched them gradually drift off into a deep slumber. His mom's head slumped against the couch cushion, and his dad, exhausted from work, had barely managed a half-hearted "Goodnight, champ" before snoring softly.
Softly as a malfunctioning tractor.
Who needs power when you can use drugs?
Satisfied they were out for the night, Ethan took a deep breath, slipping into his hoodie and scarf. The chilly fabric felt like armor as he pulled the hood up over his head, concealing his face.
The living room was dark, save for the glow of the streetlight filtering in through the curtains. He padded silently back to his room, locked the door behind him, and climbed out the window with the precision of someone who had practiced it a hundred times in his mind.
And more than a couple times in real life, Sindy was one helluva gal but her father owned at least six rifles and there was no way he was getting out of her room the normal way.
"Showtime," he whispered to himself, using his telekinesis to gently lower himself to the ground without a sound. His small body glided through the air until his feet touched down on the grass. The night was cool, and the neighborhood was asleep, just the way he wanted it.
Now he just had to walk…walk a whole lot.
. . .
Downtown's streets felt like a different world compared to his quiet suburb. New York was a city that never sleeps, here more than ever, the lights casting eerie glows over the cracked sidewalks.
Garbage littered the alleys, and the smell of old fast food and spilled liquor clung to the air. Ethan moved quickly, well, as quickly as a pee-wee ever could, as he weaved between alleys and side streets. His heart raced, but his mind was focused.
He had a mission, he was out to be getting that bread.
It didn't take long to find what he was looking for.
A trio of men stood huddled near a dimly lit alley, laughing and smoking, their voices slurred and loud. The kind of men who took what they wanted from people too scared or weak to fight back.
Ethan's small form blended into the darkness as he crept closer, and no it's not racist, his telekinetic senses expanding like a web around him. He could feel the thugs' movements—every shift in their stance, every puff of smoke they blew into the air.
'I could probably telekinetically punch them right in the balls.' He thought for no apparent reason.
The leader of the group, a large, scruffy man with a leather jacket that had seen better days, tossed a cigarette to the ground and crushed it under his boot.
"Easy money tonight," he muttered, counting the cash in his hand. "Dumb bastard didn't know what hit him."
The others laughed, but their amusement was short-lived.
Without warning, a rusty trash can lid shot out of the darkness, smacking into the side of the largest thug's head with a hollow thunk. He staggered, cursing as he clutched his temple.
"The hell—"
Before he could finish, a thick, filthy blanket from a nearby dumpster wrapped itself around his head, tightening with telekinetic force. The thug panicked, flailing as he tried to rip it off, but it was like fighting against an invisible grip.
"What the—?"
Another thug, the one who had been laughing the loudest, suddenly found himself tripping over his own feet as a piece of debris flew up from the ground, smashing into his shins. He fell hard, crashing into the side of the alley wall with a grunt.
Ethan's heart was hammering in his chest, but he stayed calm. His mind was sharp, focused, and he let the power flow through him. The last thug, realizing something was very wrong, tried to bolt. He took two steps before a pebble flew through the air, hitting him square in the back of the skull with a sickening crack. He crumpled to the ground, unconscious before he even hit the pavement.
Ethan approached slowly, adrenaline buzzing through him like electricity. The first thug was still struggling, clawing at the blanket wrapped around his face, but his movements were sluggish now, weak from lack of oxygen. Ethan didn't need to finish him off—the man passed out with a final gurgling breath.
He crouched down next to the unconscious bodies, his small hands shaking as he rifled through their pockets. Wallets, cash, anything useful... The money wasn't much; a little over seventy dollars between them—but it was something. And it was just the beginning.
Pocketing the cash, Ethan stood up and glanced down at the men he had just taken out. It felt…oddly good. This wasn't supposed to be fun, but part of him couldn't deny the rush he'd felt—the power of it all.
For once, he wasn't just the small kid people underestimated.
For once, his powers weren't something he used only for training or to pull the odd prank on a certain glasses-wearing brown-haired kid who was slowly growing up and making himself a legitimate target for an arse-whooping.
Yes, Ethan was still mad about being almost found out, and then all the time wasted playing around while his nerves were killing him, his brain picturing Charles Xavier knocking on the door with candy in his pocket…the one with a hole in it.
Or Magneto ripping off the door, man that wouldn't be cheap to replace.
Or even that red-haired skunk showing up to recruit him so they can make a coup in south-america and prop up another dictator in the name of capitalism, freedom and democracy.
Call him a vindictive asshole, but you sure as hell never worried about getting mind-raped while playing with action figures.
. . .
The next few encounters went smoother. Ethan targeted small groups, low-level criminals who wouldn't be missed by anyone important. He stayed smart, careful to never leave a trace, always concealing his face and keeping his telekinetic abilities subtle.
By the time he made his way back home, slipping through the window and locking it behind him, he had amassed over two hundred dollars in cash.
Exhausted, he hid the loot in a small, makeshift hole he had dug in the backyard. No one would think to look there.
'Not yet, anyway.' He thought it was still a temporary measure that would soon need replacing.
As he collapsed onto his bed, the thrill of the night still buzzed in his veins, but there was something else, too. A weight on his chest that hadn't been there before. He had crossed a line, one he wasn't sure he could uncross.
And he didn't mind it one bit.
But as his eyes fluttered shut, exhaustion pulling him into sleep, he reminded himself why he was doing this, why he sacrificed the chance to start off as goody-two-shoes boy scout.
'For the money.'
. . .
The morning sunlight streamed through his bedroom window, rudely shaking Ethan from his fitful sleep. He groaned, rolling over to check the time. 6:45 a.m. School started in less than two hours. His muscles ached, and his head felt heavy, weighed down by the events of the previous night.
"Crap," he muttered, dragging himself out of bed.
His parents were already up, moving around in the kitchen, their voices muffled by the walls. For a split second, Ethan felt a surge of panic—what if they had noticed something? What if they knew what he had done?
He shook the thought away, pulling on his school clothes.
'Of course they don't know. I was careful.'
But as he walked down the stairs and into the kitchen, he could feel his heart thudding against his ribs. His mom was standing by the stove, flipping pancakes, while his dad sat at the table, sipping his coffee. They both looked... rested.
Wasn't that bad after all.
"Morning, kiddo," his dad greeted him with a big smile. "You sleep okay?"
Ethan hesitated for a fraction of a second before nodding. "Yeah, I slept like a rock."
His mom turned around, her eyes soft, "You've been working so hard lately, Ethan. We're really proud of you, you know that?"
The words hit him like a punch to the gut. He knew she meant his schoolwork, his swimming, and all the other activities they had sacrificed for him. But now, standing there in the warmth of their kitchen, with the smell of pancakes filling the air, Ethan couldn't help but feel a wave of something crash into him…the kind of pride one would get with their first paycheck.
"I... I know, Mom," he said quietly, grabbing a plate and sitting down at the table.
They made small talk through breakfast, but Ethan barely heard any of it. His mind was elsewhere, replaying the events of last night, the way he had taken down those thugs with cold precision.
It felt good, really good.
. . .
Later that day, at school, Ethan found it harder than usual to concentrate. The buzz of his classmates' chatter seemed distant, and even Peter Parker, who was usually annoyingly chipper, was quieter than usual.
A bloody miracle that one was.
Peter slid into the seat next to Ethan at lunch, looking unusually thoughtful.
"What's up with you?" Peter asked, biting into an apple. "You seem more... spaced out than usual."
Ethan glanced at him, shrugging. "Just tired. Didn't sleep much."
Peter raised an eyebrow but didn't press further. "Same here. I've been working on a science project and lost track of time."
Ethan nodded, but his mind was off wondering if he could pull another stunt that night or if it wasn't sustainable, his parents would start noticing.
'Might have to steal some sleeping pills from the pharmacy.'
Peter's voice snapped him out of his thoughts. "Hey, do you ever feel like you're... I don't know, on the edge of something big? Like life's about to change, but you're not sure how?"
Ethan blinked, caught off guard by the question. "What do you mean?"
Peter shrugged. "I don't know. Just... sometimes I feel like there's more to life than this. Like, we're meant for something bigger. You ever felt that way?"
"Yeah," he said quietly, wondering what was up with the kid, "I think I know what you mean."
Puberty was coming, and Peter would soon miss those days of innocence.
Author's Note:
If you're enjoying the story and want to read ahead or support my work, you can check out my P@treon at P@treon.com/LordCampione. But don't worry—all chapters will eventually be public. Just being here and reading means the world to me. Thank you for your time and support.