“What do you mean!” the Store owner yelled, staring at his employees with a mix of bewilderment and rage.  he wasnt some mom and pop store owner either, he ran a well known chain store.  “well sir, we.. we dont know.. the cameras, they..” the night manager was clearly at a loss for words, as was everyone else, they’d all seen the security video.  “the entire sweets isle was stolen, just stolen right out from under your noses, and you saw nothing!!” he was livid, that was impossible. “what about the cameras?” he demanded, and the night manager went on, explaining that the video showed the stuff there one second, gone the next..  and when the owner went to check himself, he couldnt believe it, half an isle of Merchandise had just vanished.  the real kick in the balls would probably be the note, a single piece of paper, left in the middle of the empty shelves that read   “sup! so clearly this would be were i'd explain i'd pay you back for all i'd taken, but the simple fact is i dont plan to pay you back. i mean, why in the world would i do that right, think about it from my view, would you? anyway, how about we just call this a thank you note.. as in “thanks for the snacks” and we go about our seperate lives.. cool?"  that was when the Call to the police was placed, though really who was going to take a theft of snack cakes, ho hos, ding-dongs, and nutty bars as a true threat.  


  lounging in his room, Nathan was munching, listening to his twentith “new” ipod, the others before having been unable to stand up to the stress, they just dont manufacture those things for the on the go Mutant, and none were more on the go as him.  living in a two room, run down single wide trailer, Nathan Grace grew up living the hard life.. father a local drunk, who’s paycheck went to the local bar to pay for the “tab” he’d accumulate during the week, and a mother that walked out on them both, he pretty much knew if he was going to do anything, even live it was going to be on his own, by his own luck.  all through high school, his file would read “troublemaker, troubled individual, doesnt think things through” he fought a lot, got in with the wrong crowds, did some time in Juvie.. and then his X-gene kicked on, and his life was constantly moving.  
	
	wearing a worn out hoodie and jeans, both having more holes in them then a block of swiss cheese, he laid on his bed, a littering of junk food boxes laid around the bed.  his closet, small as it was, was filled with the goods.. stacks of the stolen goods filled it full that the door couldnt even close to hide the evidence, not that he really care about hiding it.  licking the chocolate from his fingers, he tossed the eighth empty box of Nutty Bars over his shoulder, and let out a massive belch. “ahh” he said, and in a blink of a eye he was gone and back, the door swinging open still, but he stood in the middle of the room guzzling a two liter of coke like it was water.  “mm, that hit the spot” dropping the empty bottle. “and now im bored” there had to be something to do.  the only thing that wasnt poorish looking in the room was the sick ass computer he had stuffed in the corner, he’d liberated that from a best buy in Washington, right off the floor, during a rush period.  sitting in the chair at the desk his fingers blurs as they moved over the keys, windows opening and closing so fast there was no way for anyone to see what he was browsing, but he could see it all clearly, in fact it was going a little to slow for him, the computer was fast, but not as fast as him, so he was having to dumb it down.. that was til he stopped and leaned back, having been cruising the black sites, he saw there was going to be a rave happening, and that made him grin. “hello ladies” smirking at the thought of hooking up, and making a little extra cash from idiots that wanted to play drinking games with someone that couldnt get drunk.. he was in like flint as he was out of the room, seeming to have vanished, only to appear a second later, naked rummaging through is clothes that were scattered on the floor. “damn, everything has holes”  holes in his shirts, holes in his pants, hole on the crotch. he held those ruined pants up. “how the hell did that happen?” before tossing them behind him.  when he came across a less holy pair, he pulled them on, grabbing a fresh pair of sneakers to put on, he finished dressing.. wearing a hooded jacket, with a white t-shirt on underneath and a pair of dark blue jeans.  checking himself in the mirror, he grabbed a pair of sunglasses, and his ipod and was off, his door slamming shut and locking,  he was out of the trailer and an invisible blur heading out of town in a matter of seconds.