Some time ago -

  Adam took a deep breath before stepping out of the spare room. The morning light was brighter now, and he could hear the sounds of Eric’s family moving around the house. His plan for the day was risky, but the thought of the power humming just beneath his notice—that little blue dot waiting in his vision—gave him a surge of confidence he hadn't felt before.

  He needed money to operate, to survive without relying on Eric’s kindness for too long, and maybe, just maybe, to start laying the groundwork for his revenge.

  He found Eric in the kitchen, leaning against the counter and sipping from a mug of what smelled like warm tea. Eric looked relaxed, scrolling through something on his phone. Adam hesitated for only a second. Asking for money always felt awkward, especially after everything his family had lost, but this was different. This was an investment.

  "Hey, Eric," Adam said, trying to sound casual.

  Eric looked up, offering a friendly smile. "Hey, man. Ready to head out?"

  "Yeah, just about," Adam replied, shuffling his feet slightly. "Listen, uh… this is kind of weird to ask, but could I maybe borrow some money? Like, maybe $100?" He braced himself for questions, for hesitation.

  Eric raised an eyebrow, looking mildly surprised, but thankfully, not suspicious. Maybe he figured Adam just needed cash for travel or essentials after being kicked out or missing his train. He reached for his wallet without much fuss.

  "Sure, man," Eric said, pulling out a crisp $100 bill. He handed it over, adding with a light chuckle, "Here you go. Just… try not to get into any trouble, okay? Things sound kind of messy with that John guy."

  Relief washed over Adam. "Thanks, Eric. Really. I owe you one," he said, taking the bill. The paper felt real, solid in his hand. "And don't worry, I'll be careful."

  He quickly tucked the bill into his pocket, said his final goodbyes, and stepped out the front door into the bright morning sunshine. The door clicked shut behind him, sealing him off from the temporary warmth and safety of his friend’s home. He was on his own again, but this time felt different. He wasn't just a victim drifting through a confusing past; he had a tool, a secret weapon.

  As soon as he was a few steps down the sidewalk, making sure no one was watching from the windows, he focused his mind. He pictured the $100 bill Eric had just given him, felt its texture mentally, and whispered the command under his breath, so low that even someone walking nearby wouldn't hear: "Copy."

  Instantly, he felt that familiar subtle confirmation. The tiny blue dot in the corner of his vision pulsed gently. He didn't need a window notification for this simple act anymore; the pulse was enough. He knew it had worked. He focused again, thinking the command: Inventory.

  The familiar blue grid popped into his vision, visible only to him. There, in the second slot next to the water bottle icon from last night, was a perfect little picture of a $100 bill, with the number "1" floating above it. He had successfully copied the money.

  A sly smirk touched Adam’s lips. It felt good, this small act of creation, this secret advantage. He could already see how useful this would be. Need bus fare? Paste. Need a meal? Paste. It wouldn’t make him rich overnight, not with just one copied bill, but it was a start.

  It was independence. It was a tiny bit of power wrested back from a world that had taken everything. He mentally dismissed the inventory screen, the blue grid vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. The copied $100 bill was now safely stored away, ready when he needed it.

  With that first small task done, Adam looked around, taking in the waking city. Cars drove past, people headed to work, the sounds of everyday life filled the air. His next objective was clear in his mind: find a gold shop. Not just any gold shop, but the right kind. This part of his plan was much bigger than copying a single bill.

  He started walking, leaving the quiet residential street behind and heading towards the busier commercial areas. The city bustled around him. Street vendors were setting up their stalls, calling out greetings and prices. The smell of coffee and exhaust fumes mingled in the air.

  People hurried past, lost in their own thoughts, their own routines. Adam kept his eyes peeled, scanning the storefronts. He passed clothing stores, small cafes, electronics shops, but none of them were what he was looking for.

  He needed a place that dealt in serious value, a place that would have what he needed for the next step. After walking for maybe fifteen minutes, turning down a slightly fancier street lined with taller buildings and more expensive-looking shops, he saw it.

  It was a high-end gold shop, set back slightly from the sidewalk. Its name was written in elegant gold letters above the entrance: "Prestige Metals." The front window was large, made of thick, polished glass, sparkling clean.

  Inside, displayed on dark velvet stands, were intricate gold necklaces, heavy bracelets, and shining rings, each piece looking incredibly expensive and catching the sunlight in dazzling flashes.

  The whole display looked neat, organized, and very appealing. It screamed wealth and security. Adam felt a flicker of nervousness, but also certainty. This was the kind of place that would definitely have a gold bar. This was where he needed to start.

  Taking a steadying breath, he smoothed down his simple shirt, trying to look less like someone who had woken up on a park bench the day before. He pushed open the heavy glass door, a soft chime announcing his arrival, and stepped inside.

  The difference from the outside street was immediate. The air inside was cool and still, carrying a faint, clean scent that was hard to place – maybe metal polish and expensive air freshener. Soft, recessed lighting shone down from the ceiling, making the gold and jewels displayed in brightly lit glass counters glitter even more intensely.

  The floor was polished marble, reflecting the lights like a bright mirror. It was quiet inside, the only sound the low hum of the air conditioning and the soft ticking of an ornate clock on the wall. It felt like a vault, a place designed to make customers feel secure about their expensive purchases.

  Almost as soon as the door closed behind him, a man approached from behind one of the counters. He was older, perhaps in his late fifties, with neatly combed gray hair, sharp eyes behind rimless glasses, and wearing a well-tailored suit. He looked professional, observant, and maybe a little bit judgmental.

  "Good morning. How may I help you, sir?" the shopkeeper asked. His voice was smooth and formal, polite on the surface, but Adam detected a slight edge, a hint of suspicion in the way the man’s sharp eyes quickly scanned Adam’s simple clothes and worn bags. He clearly didn't look like their usual wealthy clientele.

  Adam didn't answer right away. He needed to play this carefully. He couldn't just ask to see their most valuable item; that would raise too many red flags. He needed a believable reason.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  He accessed his inventory mentally, focusing first on the original $100 bill Eric had given him, then on the copied one. He willed them into his hand. The familiar tingling sensation happened twice, quickly, and suddenly he was holding two crisp $100 bills. He placed them deliberately on the smooth, cool surface of the glass counter between him and the shopkeeper.

  "Actually," Adam began, putting on his most innocent, slightly awestruck expression. "I'm not really here to buy anything today. It’s just… I’ve always been fascinated by gold. And I’ve heard stories, but I’ve never actually seen a real gold bar in person. A big one. I know it sounds silly, but would it be possible… just to see one? Just for a moment?" He gestured towards the $200 on the counter. "I know your time is valuable."

  The shopkeeper’s eyes narrowed instantly, shifting from Adam’s face down to the two identical bills lying on the counter. He picked them up slowly, his experienced fingers testing the texture of the paper, holding them up briefly towards the light. Adam held his breath. Were copied bills somehow detectable? He hadn't even considered that.

  The shopkeeper didn’t say anything for a tense moment. Adam could almost feel the man’s suspicion radiating across the counter. Was this kid trying to pass counterfeit money? Was he casing the joint? What kind of weirdo pays just to look at a gold bar?

  Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the shopkeeper let out a small sigh, seeming to decide the bills were real, even if the request was bizarre. He tucked the money away somewhere beneath the counter. "You have an odd hobby, kid," he muttered under his breath, his voice dry and still laced with distrust. He gave Adam another long, searching look, then turned abruptly. "Wait here."

  Adam stood perfectly still, forcing himself to look calm and curious, even though his heart was starting to beat a little faster. He watched the shopkeeper walk towards the back of the spacious shop.

  The man stopped at a heavy-looking, reinforced door tucked away behind the main counter area. He produced a key, unlocked several locks with precise clicks, and disappeared inside for a moment. Adam strained his ears, hearing faint sounds of something heavy being moved.

  A minute later, the shopkeeper reappeared, carrying something large and bulky, carefully wrapped in thick, soft, dark blue cloth. He walked back, not to the main counter where Adam stood, but to a separate, smaller display table nearby, positioned slightly further away. He placed the heavy object down carefully.

  With slow, deliberate movements, he unfolded the cloth. Adam’s eyes widened. Nestled in the fabric was a solid bar of pure gold. It was huge, much bigger than he had imagined, a thick, heavy brick of dull, gleaming metal. It wasn't shiny like the jewelry; it had a deep, rich, heavy glow all its own. It looked incredibly dense, incredibly valuable.

  The shopkeeper adjusted it slightly on the table, the light catching its smooth surface. Adam could practically feel the weight of it just by looking.

  "There," the shopkeeper said, his voice still carrying that skeptical, warning tone. He stayed positioned between Adam and the table holding the gold bar. "A standard 400-ounce bar. Approximately 12.6 kilograms. You can look at it from here. Do not touch."

  Adam stared, genuinely impressed by the sheer size and presence of the gold bar. It represented so much wealth, so much power. Enough to change a life completely. Enough to fund a serious revenge plot. His heart gave a hard thump against his ribs. This was it. The real test.

  He kept his gaze fixed on the shimmering gold, making sure the shopkeeper saw him looking intently. But deep inside, his mind was racing. Will the skill work from this distance? It worked on the water bottle up close, and the money I was holding. But this is several feet away. And it's huge. Can it copy something this massive? This valuable? There was only one way to find out.

  He took a slow, quiet breath, focusing all his mental energy, blocking out the suspicious shopkeeper, the quiet shop, everything except the heavy gold bar gleaming under the lights. He formed the command in his mind, sharp and clear, and then whispered it, barely moving his lips: "Copy."

  The response was immediate. The familiar, faint blue dot pulsed in the corner of his vision. He kept his focus locked on it, waiting, hoping. And then, a small blue window popped up right in front of him, just like before, displaying its simple, powerful message:

  [Congratulations, Host has successfully copied a 12.6 kg gold bar.]

  A wave of triumph surged through Adam, so strong he almost gasped. It worked! Distance didn't matter! Size didn't matter! He now had a perfect copy of a massive, incredibly valuable gold bar stored safely in his invisible inventory.

  A slow, irrepressible smile started to spread across his face before he quickly caught himself, schooling his features back into polite curiosity. He mentally dismissed the notification window. The gold bar was his, hidden where no one could ever find it or take it away.

  He let out a small sigh, as if satisfied. "Wow," he said, making his voice sound suitably impressed. "Thank you. It’s… heavier looking than I imagined."

  The shopkeeper, however, clearly hadn't missed the fleeting smile or the intense look in Adam's eyes. The older man’s suspicion hadn’t lessened; if anything, it seemed to have increased. He clearly didn't trust Adam one bit.

  "Yes, well, you've seen it," the shopkeeper said curtly, already reaching out to carefully lift the heavy gold bar. He grunted slightly with the effort. "I'll be putting this back in the vault now." As he turned away to re-wrap the bar, he added, his voice low and dripping with condescension, "Not that you could afford even a tiny piece of it anyway, kid."

  Adam had to suppress a chuckle. If only this guy knew. The shopkeeper’s assumption was almost funny, given the identical gold bar now sitting silently in Adam’s virtual pocket. But he kept his amusement hidden. Antagonizing the man served no purpose.

  "Thank you again, sir, for letting me see something so valuable," Adam said politely, his voice calm and respectful. He met the shopkeeper’s dismissive glance with a steady look. Inside, his mind was already buzzing, planning his next steps, figuring out how to turn this copied gold into usable cash.

  Without waiting for another reply, Adam turned smoothly and walked towards the heavy glass door. He pushed it open, the soft chime sounding again, and stepped back out onto the busy, sunlit street.

  Once outside, he paused for a moment on the sidewalk, taking a deep breath of the normal city air. His heart was pounding in his chest, not with fear this time, but with a deep, exhilarating excitement. He glanced back at the elegant storefront of "Prestige Metals."

  That shop, he thought, was impressive. Secure, professional, cautious. It was the kind of place where wealthy people conducted serious business, where every transaction was likely recorded, every customer vetted. Excellent for buying gold if you were legitimate and rich.

  But its very nature – the caution, the scrutiny, the suspicion he’d already encountered – made it exactly the wrong place for what he needed to do next. He couldn’t risk selling a copied gold bar there. They’d ask too many questions, demand paperwork he didn't have, and probably call the police the moment they suspected something fishy.

  No, he needed the opposite. He needed a place that was less careful, less successful, maybe even a little desperate. A place where the owner might be willing to overlook some details or skip some questions if the price was right. A place where quick cash might be more important than following every rule.

  His eyes scanned the bustling street, moving past the bright, modern shops. He walked a little further, turning onto a slightly less prosperous side street. And then he saw it, sandwiched between a closed-down laundromat and a cheap takeaway restaurant.

  It was a small, rundown jewelry shop. A faded wooden sign hung crookedly above the entrance, the painted letters barely readable: "Thomas Jeweler." The shop looked old, tired, and neglected.

  The paint on the window frames was peeling, and the glass display case in the front window was dusty, holding only a few sad-looking, tarnished silver pieces and some cheap gemstone rings. It was clear this shop hadn't seen success or even much care in a long, long time. It looked like it was barely hanging on.

  For Adam, it was perfect.

  "This is the place," Adam thought, a sense of grim satisfaction settling over him. "If anyone is desperate enough to buy gold without asking too many questions, it's someone struggling like this." He felt a small pang of guilt – was he taking advantage of someone's misfortune? But he pushed it away. This was about survival, about getting the resources he needed to fight back against people who had shown him no mercy. This was a necessary step.

  With that resolved in his mind, he walked up to the dusty glass door and pushed it open. It creaked loudly on rusty hinges, announcing his entry into the dim interior.

  The change from the bright street and the pristine high-end shop was jarring. Inside Thomas Jeweler, the air felt heavy and smelled faintly of old wood, dust, and maybe a hint of cheap cleaning supplies trying to cover up years of neglect.

  The lighting was poor; only a couple of weak fluorescent bulbs flickered overhead, and what little sunlight came through the dirty front window struggled to illuminate the space. The countertops were made of worn, chipped laminate, and the glass display cases held small, scattered piles of mostly unappealing, old-fashioned jewelry.

  Dust motes danced in the weak beams of light. Everything about the place spoke of decline and lack of business.

  Sitting hunched on a stool behind the main counter was an older man. He looked even more tired than his shop. His hair was thin and gray, his face deeply lined, and his eyes held a weary, resigned look. He wore a wrinkled shirt that might have once been white. As the door creaked, he looked up, startled, then quickly stood, trying to smooth down his shirt and put on a professional, welcoming expression, though it looked strained.

  "Good afternoon, sir. Welcome to Thomas Jeweler," the man said, his voice polite but carrying an unmistakable undertone of exhaustion. "What can I help you find today? Looking for a nice gift?"

  Adam met the shopkeeper's tired gaze directly. He didn't bother browsing or pretending. He walked straight to the counter. His voice was calm, steady, and firm as he replied, cutting straight to the point.

  "I'm not here to buy," Adam stated simply. "I'm here to sell."

  The words hung in the dusty air for a moment. The shopkeeper's forced smile instantly vanished. His tired eyes narrowed, and a frown creased his already lined forehead. He seemed to deflate slightly, leaning back against the counter behind him. The brief flicker of hope for a customer died out.

  Silence filled the small, gloomy shop, broken only by the faint buzz of the overhead lights and the distant sounds of traffic outside. The old man processed Adam's words, his expression shifting from weary politeness to outright annoyance and suspicion.

  Finally, the shopkeeper's lips pressed into a thin, hard line. "I'm not interested, kid," he said, his voice suddenly sharp, losing all trace of politeness. It was dismissive, bordering on hostile. "Whatever junk you dragged in here, I don't need it. I've got enough problems. Now, go on your way. Beat it."

  His words were harsh, unwelcoming. He clearly assumed Adam was trying to pawn off some stolen trinkets or worthless scrap, and he had no time or patience for it. He waved a dismissive hand towards the door, clearly expecting Adam to leave immediately.

  But Adam didn't move. He hadn't expected a warm welcome, especially not here. The shopkeeper's reaction was predictable. But Adam wasn't going to be brushed off so easily. He had something this man would be interested in, whether he knew it yet or not. A small, confident smile played on Adam's lips, a smile that held a hint of the secret power he possessed.

  Let's see if I can change your mind, Adam thought silently, meeting the shopkeeper's annoyed glare with a calm, steady gaze. He knew he just needed the right approach.