Jay walked through the quieter residential streets of Bayville, his mind still buzzing from the Comic knowledge download and Emma's kindness. The ten dollars in his pocket felt heavier than it should—both a lifeline and a reminder of how far he had to go. His enhanced appetite was already stirring again, reminding him that his new body had needs his old wallet couldn't meet.
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 the ten dollars in his pocket wouldn't last the day, 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 not wrong," Jay replied. "It can't be removed. But it can be...removed. Taken away and given to someone else who's willing to carry that burden."
'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 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 him without even trying.
It wasn't flashy, just quiet strength. 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 X-gene 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. It's permanent removal. 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 his life, 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 that kind of person.