Reborn with Steve Stand-Chapter 855: Robbing a Bank…!?

Even though Thompson’s ability caused a bit of a stir, fortunately there was an emergency plan in place, and the awkward situation was successfully resolved in the end.

With help from a professional medical team, Thompson only ended up rolling his eyes and convulsing on the ground for a few minutes. Once he calmed down, he quickly figured out how to toggle his new mutant power on and off.

Both the medical team’s analysis and Fang Mo’s own observations led them to the same conclusion:

This young man named Thompson…had awakened an ability that could affect part of the brain’s nerve clusters.

Basically, it released a sort of “neural electrical signal.”

Through physical contact, this bio-electric current stimulated the cerebral cortex and relevant receptors, forcing the brain to secrete a large amount of pleasurable neurotransmitters—namely dopamine—thus causing intense euphoria.

In simpler terms, Thompson’s mutant power was controlling pleasure.

When Fang Mo realized this, he immediately gave the guy a nickname—“Mr. Ecstasy.”

The more you think about it, the more delicate it seems, very prone to going wrong. Take his buddy Geese, for instance—now the way Geese looked at him was, well, let’s just say it was loaded with urges, curiosity, desire, even that gnawing sort of unsatisfied craving.

We won’t spell that out in detail—those who understand, understand.

“…”

Clearly, Thompson himself must have realized that, too.

He understood that a rather sad “thick wall” now stood between him and his old buddy.

If there was any silver lining, it’s that he could at least switch the power on and off, so not everyone who touched him would orgasmically pass out.

But all the same, his ability was full of interesting potential. Geese had already noted that “This is better than weed, man.” That means Thompson, if he casually visited an underground bar and charged people for a handshake, might earn more in one night than an average person made in months. Or if he felt like forming his own posse, in no time he could gather a large faction of typical American street punks. Their gang benefits might well be…

…a line of big, brawny guys rushing over to rub arms with their boss, rolling their eyes and convulsing in ecstasy.

Forget the local X-Men world criminals—Kingpin might even quake in fear at the sight.

But anyway, the purpose of this talk show was to promote mutants, so the U.S. high command had no intention of letting any negative news leak out. Soon the politicians on-site performed that old rhetorical art they’d mastered, weaving bizarre justifications on the spot.

They started by praising Thompson’s ability.

While the crowd was baffled, they began talking it up in vibrant detail. According to them, Thompson’s power was absolutely going to be big news. One rotund congressman proposed that it could be used to treat depression, assisting suicidal or severely afflicted patients in a supportive capacity or with psychological therapy.

Another congressman said it deserved deeper study. If they mastered its core principle, maybe they could pay Thompson a high salary in medical research. It could help tackle frigidity, PTSD, etc. And if it didn’t lead to addiction, it might replace medicinal painkillers. Overall, they praised it as something that could benefit the entire world—a “positive” mutant power.

Yes, these old fox politicians could tell such stories without blinking. Their confident tone sounded convincing enough that not only did the American crowd buy it, but even Thompson himself started thinking:

“Oh, so my ability isn’t sleazy. It’s actually a noble power that can help humanity?”

“Heh, this is killing me.”

Fang Mo, off to the side, nearly burst out laughing. “…So basically, it’s like handing out super-laced pot for Americans, right?”

“Will you quit stirring trouble?”

Erik muttered, pressing a hand to his forehead.

In the end, after that wave of spin, the comedic fiasco died down. The people in the audience actually weren’t scared off—if anything, these strange, outlandish abilities only ignited more curiosity. They were all the more eager for a shot at the same experience.

And so, with the public’s lively cheers and hopes, the talk show on mutants reached a highly successful conclusion. Afterward, the three young men who had been injected with the awakening serum were taken aside by the scientific team. Two of them— the one with boosted strength and the one who could fly—just underwent routine testing and got a few vials of blood drawn, then were allowed to leave.

As for Thompson, “Mr. Ecstasy,” though none of the congressmen said it out loud, it was obvious they were very interested in his power.

Americans have always enjoyed messing around with exotic thrills. Fang Mo didn’t stay on after that; he merely exchanged some words with the President and left. However, he did leave Erik behind, not because of Thompson, but so Erik could chat with them about the power plant details.

Raising a square-shaped portal with a wave of his hand, Fang Mo stepped through and arrived back at Xavier’s School in the blink of an eye.

Thanks to the shifting scenery, he now stood in the middle of a flowerbed, just in time to see Charles walking off with a group of reporters.

“Hm?”

Charles noticed Fang Mo’s sudden appearance. “You’re back from the show?”

“Yeah, done messing around.”

Fang Mo nodded. He seemed dissatisfied with his new vantage point—he had aimed to appear in his own room, but landed on the lawn.

“Where’s Erik?”

Charles glanced around, not seeing his friend.

“He stayed behind with the high-level politicians.”

Fang Mo spread his hands. “Since he’s about to become Deputy Secretary of Energy, he has to adapt to the ‘inside rules’ of politics: an open-air party on a private island, everyone getting naked to show sincerity, forging alliances through… y’know. Better than forging alliances on policy alone.”

“…Huh?”

Charles looked completely baffled.

“That’s the price of power.”

Fang Mo shrugged, then scanned the surroundings. “It’s pretty quiet here at the school. Where is everyone?”

“Pietro took the new students out for supplies, and Logan felt uneasy, so he went along,”

Charles explained with a sigh, “Hank had an interview about mutant heroics, needed to go to the TV station for that. Raven… well…”

Charles’ expression grew subtle. “She said she was going to ‘spread some evidence.’”

“Spread evidence?”

Fang Mo repeated in confusion. “What evidence?”

“Bolivar’s, presumably,”

Charles said wearily. “I’m not sure what she discovered, but she seems absolutely hateful toward him…”

“Oh, that guy is definitely no good.”

Fang Mo nodded. “But the overall momentum’s set. If that’s what she wants to do, let her do it.”

“But she—”

“Alright, Charles.”

Fang Mo cut him off. “I know you’re arrogant, and controlling. That’s normal for psychics. But Raven’s a grown woman. Either mind-wipe her into your personal puppet, or respect her as a person. Quit meddling.”

“…Fine.”

Charles opened his mouth, but in the end he gave a wry nod.

“I figure the future must have changed by now, so tonight I’ll return your memories,”

Fang Mo continued, “Then you’ll probably—”

Suddenly, Fang Mo’s shadow began rippling like water. A little black cat sprang from it, raising its head and meowing: “Chii! Chii-chii-chii!”

“Hmm?”

Fang Mo glanced down. “…What did you say?”

“Chii-chii! Chii-chii-chii!”

The cat mewled again.

“Mǎyù Líng and the others messed something up?”

Fang Mo finally caught the gist. His face darkened. “They blew up an armored car so money’s flying everywhere? Don’t tell me they’re actually robbing a bank!?”

“Robbing a bank?”

Charles also froze. “Your creations? I heard them say they just wanted to have some desserts—didn’t you give them any money?”

“Are they idiots?”

Fang Mo was exasperated. “I have literal piles of gold… Ugh. Fine, I’ll go see for myself.”

“Shall I help?”

Charles offered.

“Nah. If they really went out of control, the planet would already be rubble by now. They’re probably just fooling around.”

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Fang Mo shook his head. Closing his eyes, he focused on the “anchors” in his mind. Each weapon contained Ender-metal forging and a soul link, meaning Fang Mo could pinpoint them anywhere. By activating Brownian Magic through an anchor, he could teleport directly to whichever weapon he wanted—a bit like the Flying Thunder God technique.

In a split second, Fang Mo’s thought flickered, and he appeared on a strange city street.

Looking around, Fang Mo deduced it was just an ordinary street in downtown New York. The buildings along the sidewalk seemed somewhat vintage and busy; he noticed pastry shops, coffee houses—places you’d typically see women shopping. Except the entire street was dead empty of pedestrians.

Smack in the middle of the roadway was a giant smoking crater, with cracks radiating out across the asphalt. Countless cars lay overturned, and among them was an armored truck, split clean in two. The front half was tossed a couple hundred meters away, while the rear portion was jammed nose-first into the crater, bills fluttering everywhere in the gusty wind.

“…What the—?”

Fang Mo was stunned. He peered down into the crater and saw an absolute “carnival of demons.”

Down below, the little gray “watermelon-head” toddler was standing in the crater holding a severed arm. The original owner was nowhere to be found, and the arm itself was twisted like a pretzel, dripping blood. Nearby, the black-haired cat-eared girl crouched over some unrecognizable victims, prodding them in the chest. Obviously it wasn’t a playful poke—a scythe in her real form, her finger punctured flesh with each stab, eliciting shrieks of agony.

Meanwhile, the other “sword girls” were running around gathering up the scattered dollar bills in the wind.

“…?”

Sensing something, Mǎyù Líng’s ears perked up. Turning her head, she spotted Fang Mo:

“B-Boss…”

“Huh? Boss?”

Laevatein, who had been collecting a wad of bills, jolted upright, hiding them behind her back. “Why are you here?”

“The hell are you—”

Fang Mo’s head spun. After a moment’s pause, he roared: “You’re actually robbing a bank!?”

“Huh?”

All of them froze. “Robbing…what?”

Laevatein and Tethys exchanged confused glances. Shizhenxiang scratched her head. Even the “prank-scythe” looked puzzled, the Heavenfall Bow equally clueless. They seemed utterly perplexed by Fang Mo’s accusation.

“Though we’re chaotic evil in alignment, you realize how low this is—”

“Wait, Boss.”

Mǎyù Líng was quickest on the uptake, maybe from spending more time with Fang Mo. “Hear me out. We’re not robbing a bank!”

“Huh? Robbing a bank?”

Heavenfall Bow belatedly clued in, blinking innocently at the Planet-Eater Shovel next to her. “…Does the Master think we’re bank robbers?”

“Seems like it,”

the rainbow-haired girl mumbled, nodding as she chewed something.