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(Eric P.O.V)
The thing about having Magneto's memories is that they come with a very specific philosophy: power respects power, and everything else is just noise.
The thing about being a fourteen-year-old orphan in Central City is that you have exactly zero power in any conventional sense.
So naturally, I was going to change that.
It had been three days since I'd woken up with superpowers and meta-knowledge, and I'd spent every spare moment either practicing or planning. The dump had become my regular morning haunt—I'd worked out a system where I'd arrive at 6 AM before the day shift guard showed up, practice for two hours, then catch the bus back before Sister Alice started asking questions.
Currently, I was sitting in the orphanage basement with a notebook, three library books on electromagnetism, and a growing sense that I was approaching this all wrong.
"The problem," I muttered, sketching out a diagram, "is that I'm thinking too small."
Magneto hadn't become the Master of Magnetism by just lifting coins and stripping rust. He'd studied, experimented, pushed his limits until he could manipulate the Earth's magnetic field. He'd treated his power like a science, not a party trick.
And I had his entire knowledge base sitting in my head, just waiting to be used.
I looked at my current training regimen written in the notebook:
Day 1-3 Progress:
Range: 50-75 feet (improving)
Weight limit: ~500 lbs (untested beyond this)
Fine control: Can manipulate individual coins
Sensing: Can detect metal composition and location
Duration: 3-4 minutes before headache
Problems:
No understanding of actual electromagnetic theory
Just copying Magneto's muscle memory, not understanding WHY it works
Haven't tested limits seriously (scared of breaking something/someone)
I tapped my pen against the notebook. The meta-knowledge from my previous life was useful for knowing what would happen in the world, but it didn't actually teach me physics. And Magneto's memories were experiential—I knew HOW to do things, but the underlying science was fuzzy.
That needed to change.
I flipped open the first library book: Introduction to Electromagnetism. The author's photo showed a stern-looking academic who probably didn't expect his textbook to be studied by a teenager with actual magnetic superpowers.
"Let's see," I murmured, scanning the introduction. "Electromagnetic force... one of the four fundamental forces... mediated by photons... okay, I know some of this from high school physics, but—"
The basement door creaked open.
I slammed the book shut and shoved my notebook under a cushion. Damien descended the stairs, laptop under one arm, looking around the dusty basement like he'd just discovered a secret level.
"So this is where you disappear to," he said. "I've been watching. Every afternoon, you vanish for two hours. Thought you might be dealing drugs or something."
"Do I look like I'm dealing drugs?"
"No, you look like you're dealing with something weirder." He sat down on an old couch across from me, opened his laptop. "Also, that phone you gave me? I traced the purchase. You bought it at a pawn shop on Ferris Street with cash. Same shop where you've been selling copper wiring."
I raised an eyebrow. "You investigated me?"
"You gave me a phone out of nowhere and said you'd have 'jobs' for me. Yeah, I investigated." He adjusted his glasses. "So. Want to tell me what you're actually doing, or should I keep guessing?"
I studied him for a long moment. Damien was smart, that was clear. He'd tracked my movements, connected dots, and instead of running to Sister Alice, he'd come directly to me. That showed either curiosity or opportunism.
Both were useful.
"If I tell you," I said slowly, "you can't tell anyone. And I mean anyone. Not Sister Alice, not the other kids, not the cops. This stays between us."
"Is it illegal?"
"The selling copper part? Technically yes, since I'm taking it from the dump without permission. The rest..." I shrugged. "Depends on your definition."
Damien's eyes lit up. "I'm in."
"You don't even know what it is yet."
"Don't care. This place is boring, Sister Alice is nice but clueless, and I've been looking for something interesting since I got here." He leaned forward. "So what are we doing? Stealing? Hacking? Both?"
I made a decision. I needed someone with technical skills, and Damien had already proven he could keep secrets and think strategically. Plus, in canon, having a guy in the chair was basically essential for any superhero operation.
Not that I was going to be a superhero. But the principle stood.
"We're building an operation," I said. "Intelligence gathering, resource acquisition, and eventually, positioning ourselves to take advantage of opportunities in this city."
"That's very vague."
"I'm being cautious. But here's the concrete part: I can get us money. Real money, not just copper-selling money. But I need someone who can handle the digital side—hacking, information gathering, covering our tracks."
Damien's fingers were already flying across his keyboard. "What kind of money are we talking?"
"Within the next month? Probably fifty thousand."
He stopped typing. "Fifty thousand dollars."
"Yes."
"And you can just... get that?"
"Yes."
"How?"
I pulled out my notebook and flipped to a page I'd been working on. It showed a crude map of Central City with several locations marked in red.
"There are three major criminal organizations operating in Central City right now," I said, falling into lecture mode. Magneto's memories made this easy—he'd spent decades analyzing power structures. "The Royal Flush Gang handles high-end theft. Intergang deals in alien weapons and tech. And then there's the standard street-level operations—drugs, protection rackets, the usual."
"Okay...?"
"All of them keep cash reserves. The Royal Flush Gang especially—they can't exactly deposit stolen jewelry money in a bank." I pointed to a spot on the map. "They have a safehouse here, in the warehouse district. Minimal security because they rely on reputation and fear."
Damien stared at me. "You want to rob criminals."
"I want to redistribute resources from people who stole them in the first place." I smiled. "There's a difference."
"That's the same thing with extra words."
"Sure, but it sounds better, doesn't it?"
He laughed, slightly disbelieving. "You're serious. You're actually planning to rob the Royal Flush Gang."
"Not rob. Strategically acquire resources from." I pulled out another page showing security details I'd memorized from my meta-knowledge. "Look, I know where they keep their cash. I know their patterns. And I have... methods... for getting in and out without being caught."
"What methods?"
This was the moment. I could keep the secret, or I could show him. Trust had to start somewhere, and if I wanted Damien as a genuine asset, he needed to know what he was working with.
I reached out to the metal support beam behind him and pulled.
The beam groaned, flexing inward by three inches before I released it.
Damien's laptop slid off his lap. "What the fuck."
"I have powers," I said simply. "Magnetic manipulation. I can sense and control metal. That's how I get the copper—I just pull it out of old appliances. And that's how we're going to get into the Royal Flush safehouse."
He picked up his laptop with shaking hands. "Powers. You have actual superpowers."
"Yes."
"Since when?"
"Three days ago."
"And you're just—you're just telling me this?"
"You asked." I leaned back. "Look, I need a partner. Someone who can handle the things I can't. You're smart, you've got skills, and you clearly don't have a problem with bending rules. So I'm offering: work with me, and we split everything fifty-fifty. Money, resources, whatever we acquire."
Damien was quiet for a long moment, processing. I could practically see his brain working through the implications.
"Show me again," he said finally.
I held out my hand. Every metal object in the basement—nails in the walls, pipes overhead, the frame of his laptop—hummed with response. I didn't move them, just let him feel the vibration.
"Holy shit," he whispered. "You're like Magneto."
I blinked. "You know who Magneto is?"
"Uh, yeah? X-Men comics? Master of Magnetism? Giant helmet?" He stared at me. "Please tell me you have a giant helmet."
"Not yet," I admitted. "But it's on the list."
And just like that, the tension broke. Damien started laughing, slightly hysterical. "This is insane. This is actually insane. We're going to rob criminals using superpowers."
"Technically I'm going to rob criminals using superpowers. You're going to provide technical support and make sure we don't get caught."
"Right. Right. That's so much better." He pulled himself together, opened his laptop again. "Okay. Okay. If we're doing this—and apparently we're doing this—I need details. Everything you know about the safehouse."
I grinned. This was why I'd chosen Damien. No moral handwringing, no 'should we really do this?' Just immediate tactical thinking.
"The safehouse is on 17th and Industrial," I said, pulling out my notes. "Two-story warehouse. The Gang uses the ground floor for storage, keeps the cash in a vault on the second floor. Guard rotation changes at midnight and six AM."
"Security systems?"
"Basic stuff. Cameras, motion sensors, magnetic locks on the vault."
Damien smirked. "Magnetic locks. How convenient for you."
"I know, right? It's like they're asking to be robbed by someone with my exact power set."
For the next hour, we planned. Damien pulled up building schematics from the city database (apparently he'd already hacked into it out of boredom), and I explained what my powers could and couldn't do. We worked out an approach, escape routes, contingencies.
It felt good. For the first time since waking up in this world, I wasn't just reacting or preparing in isolation. I was actually doing something.
"So when do we hit it?" Damien asked, making notes.
"Not yet. I need more practice first—I can't afford to screw this up because I got cocky." I checked my own notes. "Two weeks. That gives me time to improve my range and control, and you time to get us more detailed intelligence on their patterns."
"Two weeks," Damien agreed. "Man, this is so much better than just sitting around here."
I understood the feeling. The orphanage was fine, safe even, but it was stagnant. This? This was progress.
"One rule," I said seriously. "We don't hurt anyone who doesn't deserve it. The Royal Flush Gang are criminals, but I'm not interested in becoming a killer. We get in, we take the money, we get out. Clean and simple."
"Clean and simple," Damien echoed. "Using magnetic superpowers to rob a criminal gang. Sure. Totally simple."
I laughed. "Okay, when you say it like that it sounds complicated."
"It is complicated!"
"Which is what makes it fun."
That night, I couldn't sleep.
My brain was buzzing with plans, possibilities, and the slowly creeping realization of what I was actually about to do. Rob criminals. Using superpowers. At age fourteen.
Magneto's memories whispered that this was nothing compared to what he'd done. Breaking into military bases, stealing nuclear materials, literally holding the world hostage. Compared to that, robbing a gang's safehouse was child's play.
But I wasn't Magneto. Not yet, anyway. I was Eric Lensherr, teenager with powers and delusions of grandeur.
I sat up in bed and held out my hand. In the darkness, I could sense every piece of metal in the building. The structural supports. The plumbing. Mr. Hendricks' car in the parking lot. It was all there, a three-dimensional map in my mind.
I focused on my desk drawer and pulled gently. It slid open silently. The coins inside lifted out, floating toward me in the dark. I set them orbiting around my hand—quarters, dimes, nickels, pennies, all moving in perfect synchronization.
The control was getting better. Smoother. More intuitive. Magneto's muscle memory was integrating with my own, until I couldn't tell where his experience ended and my learning began.
I thought about the library books downstairs. Understanding the theory would help, but there was only so much you could learn from textbooks. At some point, I needed to just do things. Push limits. Take risks.
The heist would be good for that. Real-world application under pressure. If I could pull it off, it would prove I was ready for bigger moves.
And if I couldn't... well, I'd deal with that if it happened.
I let the coins settle back into my palm, then returned them to the drawer. Tomorrow I'd go back to the dump for more practice. I needed to increase my range, test my weight limits, see if I could do the thing Magneto did where he sensed metal through walls.
But tonight, I let myself imagine what came after. The heist would give us money. Money meant resources. Resources meant I could build better equipment, create a proper base of operations, start gathering intelligence on the bigger players.
In six months, Young Justice would form. Robin, Aqualad, and Kid Flash would break into Cadmus and discover Superboy. The Team would be created, and the Light's plans would start unfolding.
I wanted to be in position before that happened. Strong enough to be noticed. Useful enough to be recruited, or at least approached. And independent enough that I couldn't be controlled.
The wild card. The piece that didn't fit on either board.
I smiled in the darkness.
"Two weeks," I whispered. "Two weeks until the first real move."
The next morning, I was back at the dump by 6 AM.
This time, I came with a plan. I'd been practicing fine control and weight limits, but I hadn't really tested my range. According to Magneto's memories, at his peak he could sense and manipulate metal from hundreds of feet away. Some versions could affect entire cities.
I was nowhere near that. But I needed to know my current limits.
I stood in the center of the dump and closed my eyes, reaching out with my magnetic sense. Fifty feet was easy—I could feel every scrap of metal in that radius with crystal clarity. Seventy-five feet was manageable but required concentration.
I pushed further.
At a hundred feet, the sensations became fuzzy. I could detect that metal was there, but the details were vague. Composition was a guess. Precise manipulation would be difficult.
At a hundred and fifty feet, it was like trying to see through fog. I knew there was a car chassis in that direction, but actually moving it would require serious effort.
At two hundred feet, I lost the connection entirely.
"Okay," I said, opening my eyes. "So current maximum range is about a hundred and fifty feet for detection, maybe a hundred for actual control."
That was... not great. Magneto could pull satellites from orbit. I could barely sense metal across a football field.
But I'd only had these powers for three days. Magneto had decades of experience and training. I needed to be patient, systematic.
I pulled out my notebook and made notes:
Power Assessment - Day 4:
RANGE:
Fine control: 50 feet
Moderate control: 75 feet
Detection only: 150 feet
Maximum theoretical: 200 feet (untested)
WEIGHT LIMITS:
Comfortable: 500 lbs
Difficult: 1000 lbs (estimated)
Maximum: Unknown (scared to test)
PRECISION:
Can manipulate individual coins
Can strip rust from metal
Can sense metal composition
Can reshape metal with concentrated effort
WEAKNESSES:
Range is pathetic compared to Magneto
Extended use causes headaches
Fine control drops off past 50 feet
Never tested against actual resistance
NEXT STEPS:
Daily range expansion exercises
Weight limit testing (find something heavy)
Practice splitting attention (multiple objects)
Study electromagnetic theory (understand the WHY)
I looked at the list and felt Magneto's memories stir with approval. Analysis. System. Understanding your limitations so you could overcome them. That was how you became powerful.
I spent the next hour doing exercises. Lifting progressively heavier objects. Trying to manipulate metal at maximum range. Attempting to control multiple items simultaneously.
By the time I finished, my head was pounding and I was exhausted. But I'd improved. Not dramatically—maybe I'd added five feet to my range and a hundred pounds to my weight limit. But it was progress.
I sat on a pile of tires, breathing hard, and thought about the future.
In two weeks, I'd rob the Royal Flush Gang. That would give me money.
In six months, Young Justice would form. That would give me opportunities.
In the meantime, I needed to get stronger. Fast.
"No pressure," I muttered. "Just need to go from 'can lift a washing machine' to 'can fight alongside superheroes' in half a year."
The metal around me hummed, responding to my mood.
I stood up, brushed off my jeans, and checked the time. 8:15 AM. The bus would arrive in twenty minutes. I needed to get back before Sister Alice started asking questions.
But before I left, I tried one more thing.
There was an old car hood about a hundred feet away. At the edge of my comfortable range. I focused on it, really pushed, and tried to lift it.
The hood trembled. Scraped an inch across the ground. Then settled back down.
Not successful. But closer than yesterday.
"Progress," I said to the empty dump. "It's all about progress."
The thing about Central City that my meta-knowledge had conveniently forgotten to mention: it was loud.
Not physically loud—though the traffic and construction certainly contributed. But loud in the electromagnetic sense. Every building had wiring. Every car had metal components. Every person walking by had keys, phones, belt buckles.
It was like living in a world where everyone was constantly screaming their atomic composition at you.
I was learning to filter it out, to focus on what mattered and ignore the background noise. But it took concentration, and sometimes I'd slip and get overwhelmed by the sheer amount of metal surrounding me.
Like right now.
I was sitting in a coffee shop on 5th Street (free WiFi, cheap refills, no one cared if you stayed for hours), supposedly doing homework but actually researching my upcoming heist. Damien was across from me, laptop open, pretending to do the same thing.
"Okay," he said quietly, "I've been monitoring their patterns for three days. The guard change is consistent—midnight and six AM, just like you said. Two guards during the day, one at night."
"Cameras?"
"Standard security setup. Four external, six internal. They feed to a local server, which means I can probably loop the footage if I can get physical access to the system."
"Which you can't, because you're staying outside during the heist."
Damien looked up. "What? Come on, I want to see the cool superhero stuff."
"First, not a superhero. Second, absolutely not. You're fourteen, I'm not bringing you into a building full of criminals." I sipped my coffee. "You run support from outside. If something goes wrong, you call the cops and ghost. That's the deal."
He grumbled but didn't argue. Smart kid. Knew when he'd lost an argument.
"Fine. But I'm testing the comms setup." He pulled out two cheap walkie-talkies he'd bought at a surplus store. "Range is about a mile. Should be enough."
I took one, tested the button. "These look like toys."
"Because they are toys. But they work, and they're not connected to any network, which means they're secure." He grinned. "Burner phones would be more reliable, but these were cheaper."
"Good thinking." I pocketed the walkie-talkie. "What about the vault?"
"Magnetic lock, like you said. But there's also a keypad backup." He showed me his screen. "I found the model number—it's a Kensington 4000 series. Four-digit code."
"Can you crack it?"
"If I had physical access and about twenty minutes, sure. But you've got magnetic powers, so..." He shrugged. "Just rip the lock off?"
I considered that. "No, too obvious. If we want this to look like an inside job or a professional hit, we need to be subtle. I'll manipulate the magnetic lock to open, you'll watch for guards, and we'll be in and out in under ten minutes."
"Under ten minutes," Damien repeated. "To rob a criminal gang. Totally reasonable timeline."
"It's doable. Magneto once broke into the Pentagon in under five."
"You're not Magneto."
"Not yet," I agreed. "But I'm working on it."
We spent another hour going over the plan. Approach from the east, where the cameras had a blind spot. I'd magnetically unlock the door, we'd move to the second floor, I'd crack the vault, we'd take the money and leave. Simple.
Simple, if nothing went wrong.
And something always went wrong.
"Contingency plans," I said, pulling out my notebook. "What if there are more guards than expected?"
"You knock them out with... I don't know, magnetic stuff?"
"What if someone's in the vault room?"
"We abort and try another night."
"What if the cops show up?"
"We run like hell."
I nodded. "Okay. We need a better plan for that last one. If we're running, we need a vehicle or at least a solid escape route. The warehouse district has a lot of alleys, but they're all monitored."
"So we don't go through the alleys. We go up." Damien pointed to the building schematics. "Rooftops. You can use your powers to climb, right?"
"In theory, yeah. I can pull myself up using metal structures." I frowned. "I haven't practiced that much, though."
"So practice."
He had a point.
That night, after the orphanage was asleep, I snuck out my window onto the fire escape. It was only three stories up, but it felt higher in the dark.
I focused on the metal railing and pulled. My body lifted off the ground, feet dangling. I pulled harder, drawing myself up to the next level of the fire escape.
Then I made the mistake of looking down and immediately lost concentration.
I dropped six feet and caught myself on the railing, heart pounding.
"Okay," I gasped. "Note to self: practice the whole 'magnetic flight' thing more before relying on it during a heist."
But I could do it. That was the important part. I could use metal structures to move vertically, to get to places normal people couldn't reach. That was an advantage.
I practiced for another hour—pulling myself up the fire escape, jumping between platforms, testing how much weight I could support. By the end, I was exhausted but confident.
This could work.
This would work.
I climbed back into my room and collapsed onto my bed, muscles aching. But I was smiling.
In eleven days, I was going to rob the Royal Flush Gang.
And after that?
After that, Eric Lensherr was going to make sure everyone in this city knew his name.