Lurking in the nighttime shadows in the upscale neighborhood, Jake Layman tried to pick the lock as quietly as he was able. Even if the house he was targeting didn’t have the most aware of residents, the inhabitants of nearby houses were likely to be hyper-vigilant about possible crimes in the area. So Jake took his time, making careful movements with his lockpick and not rattling the knob too much. His concentration was so intense that his forehead and palms had gotten sweaty; he wiped his hands on his pants (black, just like the rest of his outfit) and continued his efforts.
Finally, he felt the lock mechanism release with a click. After a tense period of waiting to see if the owner of the house would come investigate the noise, Jake gently swung open the door and entered the residence. He already knew from his peeks into the windows that nobody was awake; not a light was on anywhere in the place. Lamenting the fact that his mission here was slightly more involved than simply stealing valuables (which would have been quite easy at that point), he used a small, weak flashlight to find the stairs and ascend to the second floor, where he was confident that his victim’s bedroom would be.
Klay was a single man, as far as Jake knew, so the soft sounds of snoring emanating from the bedroom were surely his. Still, Jake put his ear to the door to listen closer for sounds of a woman’s breathing, in case his intel had been faulty. Hearing none, he silently pushed open the door, which had been angled shut but not fully closed, and walked up to the bed.
There he was. Klay Thompson, renowned sharp-shooter and All-Star, asleep like a baby. His mouth gaped open stupidly in his slumber, a slumber deep enough that he wasn’t disturbed at all by the quiet rustling sounds of Jake removing his pants and shirt.
A hidden Bluetooth speaker was attached to the inside of Jake’s thigh, underneath his boxers. Attached to the other thigh was a simple device that would allow Jake to control the playback of several predefined sounds. Reaching in his underwear to find the right pushbutton, Jake pressed it, and an alien-sounding whirring sound started to play. When the sound started, Jake started waving his hands over Klay’s chest.
“Huh…wha…?” Klay mumbled, awakened by the noise. When, in the dimness of the bedroom, he saw the figure of a man standing over him, he jumped back a little bit. “Who are you?”
“You don’t recognize me?” Jake asked sweetly, reaching down to turn on his flashlight and provide a little more illumination to the proceedings. “I’m Jake Layman, and I’m here to steal your powers.” He continued to wave his hands over Klay in a motion that was supposed to evoke the “stealing” of “powers”.
Rather than demand the intruder leave his house, Klay displayed concern at Jake’s actions. “That’s not real. You can’t steal my powers,” he asserted, but the assertion was weakened by an unsure tone of voice. “Hey! Stop that!”
“I can feel it, Klay,” Jake said. “I feel your powers of shooting entering my body.”
“No you can’t. Stop lying.”
“Oh, I’m not lying, Klay. If I were lying, would this be happening?” As Jake said the word “this”, he covertly pressed the button of another device hidden inside his boxers. Slowly, the LED lights embedded just underneath the skin of his palms began to glow blue as they continued to be waved over Klay’s body.
“STOP IT! STOP STEALING MY POWERS!” Klay yelped, but for some reason, he didn’t try to move from his bed. “YO, QUIT THE MAGIC ACT! THAT AIN’T REAL!” His eyes, previously half-shut with drowsiness, were fully open. “I’M CALLING THE COPS!”
Jake smiled. “Cops can’t stop me. Thanks to your powers, I have become something, shall I say…more than mortal.” Another button was pressed, and now, Jake’s whole body had started to glow blue, starting from his feet to his torso to, finally, his neck and head.
“No…no…no…” Klay whimpered, grabbing the covers and pulling them over him, as if protecting his body in this way would stop the power transferal from occurring. “I’ll never play basketball again…”
Jake reached down and patted Klay on the shoulder. “Thanks for the donation, man. I really appreciate it. I gotta get going now.”
“Don’t leave…” Klay begged, reaching out a hand towards the departing home invader. “I’ll give you money, girls, weed, anything! I feel it, Jake! I feel my soul is missing!”
Jake let out a harsh laugh. “Your soul is mine now. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it.” One more mocking chuckle and he was out the door and down the stairs. As he left out the same back door that he had entered, he could hear crying, then wailing, coming from the upstairs bedroom.
It was only when Jake turned off his body-lights and got back in his car that he realized he did feel different. Stronger, more energetic, more coordinated. Had something more happened in that bedroom?