06/2020
I wasn’t always like this—grumpy-looking and villainous.
But I like it. This side of me gets to use every ounce of brainpower doing what I do best.
Okay, that line reeks of pride, but you’ve got to understand… It’s not easy being me.
I’ve always been brilliant. Too brilliant for my own good, some would say.
My genius was discovered at six when my grandfather caught me tinkering with tools in the shed.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Playing,” I replied, my chubby cheeks puffed in concentration.
Grandpa glanced at my ‘toys’ and my chubby fingers, then shook his head and walked away.
His eyes were red. They were always red. Even at that age, I knew what it meant.
He was a bloody drunk.
Not that I blame him. It came with the emotional territory—
Widower? ✔
Shitty pay as a repairman? ✔
No social life? ✔
Bottles of cheap booze lining our rusted fridge? ✔
Shitty pay as a repairman? ✔
No social life? ✔
Bottles of cheap booze lining our rusted fridge? ✔
No girlfriend? Well, scratch that. The number of female ‘friends’ walking in and out of our home could rival a women’s center.
But this isn’t about him. I’m talking about my brilliance.
It took me 48 hours to build a tiny car I could push around. I tried showing it to Grandpa, but he was asleep. When he finally woke up, it was to flashing blue lights and a neighbor’s panicked voice. He left in an ambulance that night. The next time I saw him, he was in a box.
Sleeping, again.
I was spending the holidays at his place when it happened; his abrupt exit cut my visit short. Back to my parents I went.
They were good people—calm, sweet, and generous with their money.
I loved them to bits.
They didn’t raise me into the ‘crazy’ man you’re reading about—not directly. But through endless pocket money and my own ingenuity, I was able to fund my teenage experiments.
I had issues adapting to school, being surrounded by dimwits. I was better at everything, best at anything. My teachers couldn't handle my greatness. My father? He handled it just fine. I remember those letters from my school, always summoning him to the proprietor’s office.
I was never allowed in on their discussions, but my father always walked out smiling. One day, he sat me down and said:
“Your teachers think you make other children feel abnormal, because they aren’t smart. So, I’m transferring you to a new school tomorrow where your intelligence can be appreciated.”
Sweet guy, huh?
The new school was different—a building filled with some of the most intelligent minds known to man. We were young, and the labs were our playground.
But as I matured, I was bitten by a bug. Not a real bug, of course. Just the prank bug.
While experimenting with technology, I created a hologram. Now, I know what you’re thinking—big deal, holograms exist already.
But here’s where ingenuity comes into play. True brilliance isn’t just about creating something new, after all—it’s about taking what exists and making it better.
So, I made a hologram that could reflect lifelike human images. Believable human images.
The first test subject? Me.
I set up my reflection in the varsity lab and jetted off to Hawaii for some beach time. For two days, my hologram did exactly what I programmed it to do—mutter to itself and pace around the room.
Of course, I locked the lab door so no one could come in.
Less than 29 hours into my trip, my acquaintances were calling, asking why I hadn’t left the lab in days.
Yes, I had cameras installed too. I watched the whole thing unfold while rubbing a thick layer of sunscreen onto my skin.
That last bit is for the people who say I need to get out more.
After its first successful operation, I knew I had to take things up a notch.
I just had to find the perfect set-up.
One rainy evening, I was jogging back to my apartment when a police patrol car zoomed past, splashing a disgusting mix of puddle water onto me.
Now, imagine all the people who had stepped in that puddle, spat into it. It probably had pigeon poop in it. Disgusting.
The cops had it coming.
That night, in my basement, I tested my hologram with multiple items and in a moment of pure ingenuity, I found a way to copy moving images into the machine. Watching the results put a smile on my face that even the memory of my discarded gym clothes couldn’t ruin.
Two days later, I put my creation to work at a jewelry store uptown. My holograms did exactly what they were programmed to do—point guns at patrons, shout ‘freeze!’, pretend to pick up merchandise, and drive away in a vehicle that vanished into a pile of fading pixels within seconds.
The police arrived at the scene, guns drawn, and handcuffs ready—only to find nothing.
Giddy with the results, I did it again. And again.
But it was getting old.
I was wasting my brainpower on schemes that brought no financial benefit. When I realized this, I got hit by something I'd best describe as my 'Eureka moment'.
What if I staged an actual robbery using the same technique? What if—?
A grin spread across my lips.
I picked up my phone and dialed a close friend. The dial tone rang through my speakers as I waited, already picturing what was to come.
Wealth.
Fame…
Power.