Fracture || Xmen

1

I mold into the crowds like a shadow, careful not to touch anyone or move suspiciously. My eyes are locked on the target as I move in closer to him. His wallet is just poking out of the back of his coat pocket. I walk at a normal pace, trying my best to fit in with the crowd.

I slowly pull my hand out, acting as if I was going to scratch my right arm, then in a Swift motion, I smoothly pull out his wallet. I shove it in my pocket and walk past him, bumping him in the process.

"Hey!" He shouts in his pretentious accent, "Watch where you're going!"

I smirk to myself and push past more people.

Time to find my next victim.

My eyes scan the place until they land on a woman sitting alone on a black bench, waiting for the bus. I pull my hood up, just in case, and walk to the bench.

I sit a few inches away from her purse and put one leg over the other in a casual gesture. I play with the black strays of string on my black jacket string, attempting to act casual.

I casually look at her purse, silently studying it. It's a popular designer brand, one that I've encountered enough times to know her wallet must be in the front zipper. She's too close for me to quickly snag it.

I quietly get up and leave, dismissing it as a hopeless endeavor. Drifting through the pulsating heart of Aberdeen, I'm on the prowl, eyes searching the crowd for someone easy and unsuspecting. My gaze settles on cluster of teenagers, their laughter spilling into the night. They emerge from a restaurant, a beacon of camaraderie in the bustling city. To avoid drawing attention, I shadow them at a distance, blending into the throng of people as to not draw suspicion. As I follow them, their voices drift back to me, forcing me to listen to snippets of their conversation.

"Did you guys hear about the mutant attack down at Times Square earlier in New York?" The discussion kicks off with the chestnut-haired boy, his words sparking interest among his friends.

"Freaky stuff, honestly," chimes in another, his hair gleaming like golden wheat under the sunlight.

"Seriously, what else can you expect from them? They're all freaks. It's exactly why we need Sentinel Services on top of them. Imagine the chaos if they were left to roam free, like wild animals or something," retorts the redhead with a tone of disdain. His comment draws nods of agreement from the group, sealing their shared viewpoint.

They sound a lot like Michael. It's the same rhetoric I hear him spouting at the phone sometimes, his disdain for mutants lacing every word. According to him, they're the root of all that's wrong in this world, an aberration that needs to be contained, if not eradicated.

But here's the thing — I couldn't care less about mutants, or any group for that matter. To me, it's all just noise. Humans, mutants... they're all the same when you strip away the labels and powers. Each capable of the same pettiness, the same cruelty. Michael, with his vehement hatred, is proof enough that you don't need superpowers to be a monster.

So as I listen to these boys echo the sentiments I've heard ad nauseam, I can't help but roll my eyes internally. Mutants, humans — in the end, they're all part of the same disappointing circus. And me? I'm just here to watch the world burn, one wallet at a time, my disdain a constant companion in the ever-spinning chaos of life.

I realize as we head further into the streets that wherever they're going, people are beginning to show up less and less. I have to make my move now or it'll be too late. I inch closer behind the blonde boy until I'm close enough to grab his wallet and still have room to turn around and run far away enough if I have to. in a swift motion, it's in between my thumb and forefinger.