Chapter 3 Beth’s Burgers


    Beth’s Burgers was already buzzing with activity by 8 a.m. The sizzling of meat on the grill blended with the chatter of customers waiting in line, their voices creating a symphony of morning chaos. I flipped a patty with a practiced ease, the spatula a natural extension of my hand.


    One perk of having superpowers was possessing top-notch bodily coordination. At least, that was my case. It was like my brain and muscles were constantly synced, no lag, no hesitation. It made flipping burgers almost… fun? Well, maybe not fun, but it was easy. In fact, most physical stuff came easier to me than it did for regular people. If there was one thing I didn’t hate about being “special,” it was this: always fit, always healthy.


    As I stacked a fresh burger onto a bun and slid it onto the counter, the next customer stepped forward. But before I could greet them, I spotted someone cutting through the line like they owned the place.


    Blond hair, smug grin, designer jacket. My stomach sank as he stopped right in front of me.


    Chadwick Hamilton.


    I froze for half a second, but forced myself to keep working. If he recognized me from last night, I was screwed.


    “So,” he started, his voice loud enough to draw attention, “you quit school to master the art of flipping burgers?”


    My jaw tightened, but I didn’t look at him. If I ignored him, maybe he’d get bored and leave. Fat chance. Chad wasn’t the type to let things go.


    I kept my voice steady. “Can I take your order?”


    He leaned over the counter, too close for comfort, his grin widening. “What’s the special today? Humble pie?”


    "Dude... we''re eighteen and technically adults... Can we quit the childish stuff?"


    A couple of customers chuckled. My grip on the spatula tightened. I wanted to snap back, but that would only make things worse.


    Chad tilted his head, mock curiosity in his eyes. “What’s it like, Nick? Going from the Academy’s biggest slacker to a burger-flipping dropout? Guess some of us were just born for mediocrity.”


    I didn’t flinch. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.


    “Order something, or get out of the way,” I said, keeping my tone even.


    His grin faltered, just a little, but he recovered quickly. “Relax, Caldwell. Just here to check in on an old classmate. Glad to see you’ve found your true calling.”


    He turned and walked away, leaving a trail of snickers in his wake. I kept my eyes on the grill, flipping patties like nothing had happened, but inside, I was boiling.


    Chad didn’t know how close he’d come to eating his words, literally. It took everything I had not to phase his stupid smug face through the floor.


    The manager didn’t even look me in the eye when he called me over. “Nick, take the trash out.”


    I raised an eyebrow. “That’s usually an afternoon thing.”


    He shrugged, already walking away. “Just do it.”


    Something about the way he avoided looking at me made my gut twist, but I grabbed the bags and headed for the back door.


    The alley was quiet, except for the sound of the scattering rats by the nearby dumpster. I’d barely stepped outside before I saw them. Chad, leaning casually against the wall with that damn smug grin, and two of his goons—muscle-bound idiots I vaguely remembered from the football team.


    My grip on the trash bags tightened.


    “Nick,” Chad said, his voice dripping with fake charm. “So glad you could join us.”


    Before I could respond, the two brutes grabbed me, each one locking an arm. The trash bags fell to the ground as they dragged me deeper into the alley.


    “Really, Chad?” I muttered, but my heart was pounding.


    He stepped forward, cracking his knuckles like some cartoon villain. “You shouldn’t have looked at my girl that way.”


    “What girl?” I asked, genuinely confused.


    His fist slammed into my kidney, and pain shot up my side. “Don’t play dumb!”


    Another punch, this time to my gut, doubling me over. “I’m glad you dropped out, Caldwell,” he sneered. “Saves me the trouble of humiliating you every day at school.”


    The punches kept coming, and I gritted my teeth, swallowing down the urge to lash out.


    I could phase through them. I could drop all three of them into the ground and leave them stuck up to their necks. I could…


    But I didn’t.


    Using my powers in public was a risk I couldn’t afford. If someone saw—or worse, if Chad figured it out—it wouldn’t just be a beating anymore. It’d be a witch hunt. Chad’s dad was a powerful man, with political ambitions that stretched beyond Markend. If I made this personal, it wouldn’t end here.


    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    Instead, I bided my time, letting the hits land and pretending I was just another scrawny dropout.


    But that didn’t mean I couldn’t fight back another way.


    I let out a pained chuckle, wincing as I straightened up. “I wonder if dear old Dad knows his golden boy is out here slumming it in alleys. Isn’t he running for mayor next year?” I paused, tilting my head mockingly. “Then again… maybe you aren’t his son after all?”


    Chad’s face twisted, the smug grin vanishing in an instant. “What did you just say?”


    Bingo.


    “Come on, Chad,” I said, forcing a smirk despite the throbbing in my ribs. “You really think he’d risk his precious reputation for you? I mean, look at yourself.”


    His fist came flying at my face, but this time, I braced myself, turning my head just enough to minimize the impact. Blood trickled from my lip, but I knew I had him.


    “You son of a—” he started, but one of his lackeys interrupted.


    “Chad, man, we should go. If someone sees us…”


    I could see the gears turning in Chad’s head. He wanted to keep going, but he also knew his friend was right. With a final glare, he stepped back, spitting on the ground near my feet.


    “This isn’t over, Caldwell.”


    The goons let go of my arms, and the three of them walked away, leaving me slumped against the alley wall.


    I wiped the blood from my lip and laughed quietly to myself. “Yeah, Chad. It’s never over with you, is it?”


    Once I was sure they were gone, I stood up, brushed myself off, and went back inside.


    Time to finish my shift.


    The manager marched up to me, his face already twisted with that familiar mix of disdain and fake professionalism. I knew what was coming before he even opened his mouth.


    “Nick—”


    “I quit,” I interrupted, pulling off my apron and flinging it straight at his smug face.


    The fabric smacked him square on the nose, but before he could say anything else, I threw a punch.


    My fist connected with his jaw, and he crumpled like a sack of overcooked fries. The sound of his body hitting the floor was oddly satisfying.


    I didn’t waste time. Grabbing him by the collar, I dragged his unconscious form to the back door and dumped him right where Chad and his goons had left me. It felt poetic, in a way.


    Turning back inside, I glanced at the counter. No one else was around. Chad’s little scene had cleared the place out. Perfect. I walked over to the register, opened it up, and grabbed all the cash inside. The bills and coins felt weighty in my pocket, a tangible reminder of how much this place owed me.


    Next stop: the kitchen.


    I grabbed some plastic bags and started filling them with burgers, buns, condiments—anything that wasn’t bolted down. If I were leaving, I wasn’t leaving empty-handed. The fridge at home was going to be full for weeks.


    Vindictive? Yeah, maybe. But screw it. I was underage, overworked, and underpaid, and they’d treated me like garbage the entire time I’d been here. If anyone deserved to get ripped off, it was them.


    With the bags in hand, I walked to the front door. I flipped the sign from “Open” to “Closed” and locked the door behind me.


    “Beth’s Burgers is out of service,” I muttered to myself, stepping out onto the street.


    I didn’t look back.


    I stormed down the street, the plastic bags in my hands swinging like pendulums. My heart was pounding, not from exertion, but from the seething anger bubbling inside me.


    Five years. I’d been clean for five years since my powers woke up inside me. No flashy displays, no reckless heroics, nothing to draw attention. Just training. Quiet, careful training for the day I’d finally need these abilities for real.


    Turns out, that day had come.


    The Hamiltons. My first heist proved something important: I could do this. I’d kept my head down and stuck to rules I thought mattered, but screw the rules. Chad made this personal, and I couldn’t let it slide.


    Chad had been a great motivator.


    I was going back.


    Not because I needed the money—well, okay, partly because I needed the money—but because this time, it was personal. I’d barely scratched the surface the first time I visited. This time, I wasn’t going to hold back.


    Their bedroom. That’s where I’d start this time. If there was anything truly valuable, it would be there. Jewelry, safes, maybe even blackmail material if I got lucky.


    I wasn’t stupid. Well, it was arguable. I knew this was reckless, maybe even suicidal. The Hamiltons weren’t just rich—they were connected. If I got caught, it wouldn’t end with me sitting in a jail cell.


    But the anger didn’t care about consequences.


    By the time I got back home, my head was clear enough to focus on practical things, like shoving stolen burgers into the freezer. The satisfying thunk of the freezer door shutting was like sealing away a bit of my frustration.


    Next, I grabbed my duffel bag and started packing. The familiar bonnet mask went in first, followed by a hoodie, jeans, a plain shirt, and my latest addition: a small retractable shovel I swiped from the neighbor’s garden. No plan was perfect, and digging through some dirt might come in handy if things went sideways. For example, burying evidence.


    I’d taken the bus to Hamiltons’ estate, using the time to rehearse the plan in my head. I didn’t have any grand strategies, just a straightforward approach: get in, grab something valuable, and get out before anyone realized I was there.


    The forest surrounding their property felt oddly familiar, almost comforting. I’d spent countless nights training in places just like this. Learning to phase through trees without snagging my clothes. Dropping into the ground and holding myself there to avoid detection. Climbing walls and using my powers to cheat gravity. It was a brutal process back then, full of accidents and mishaps, but now? Now it was second nature.


    I found a secluded spot near a large tree and stashed my duffel bag in the tree hollow. With my retractable shovel, I dug a hole for my “old criminal uniform” from the hoodie, jeans, a basic T-shirt, and the same old bonnet mask. As for my current clothes, I''m wearing a new set of ''work clothes'' and even padded my shoes to create the illusion that I was a different person. I gave myself a quick once-over, making sure I was ready.


    Back when my powers first manifested, I was a walking accident. I’d phase through my clothes without meaning to and end up stuck, half-naked, in the weirdest places. I couldn’t control how long I’d stay intangible, either. More than once, I’d phase into the ground and panic, thinking I’d fall straight through to the Earth’s core.


    Mom’s face flashed in my mind. Her face red with frustration, tears streaming as she drowned herself in alcohol. She called it my “affliction,” like I’d caught some kind of disease instead of gaining the one thing that made me unique.


    Shaking off the memory, I focused on the present. A quick stretch loosened my muscles, and I took a moment to steady my breathing. My powers didn’t have any flashy visual tells, which made them perfect for a job like this.


    I approached the estate’s wall, keeping low. The polished stone was cold and imposing, but it didn’t matter. I let my power hum through me, and the world shifted as I phased through the wall like a ghost.


    On the other side, I immediately scanned my surroundings. The manicured garden was empty, just as I’d hoped. Moving quickly, I ran toward the side of the house and launched myself up the wall. The second-floor balcony wasn’t far, and parkour was second nature to me after all the years I’d spent training. My hands found their grip easily, and I hauled myself over the railing.


    The bedroom was ahead. The Hamiltons’ sanctum. I crept toward it, moving silently as I phased through the glass door.


    Inside, I paused, my senses on high alert. The room was lavish, with rich carpets, an ornate bed, and furniture that screamed we have too much money. It was everything I’d expected and more.


    Now came the hard part: finding the safe or any important bits like money or jewelry.