Midas Gold

Everything is going perfectly, more perfectly than I could have hoped for. With my cane perched on my shoulder, I walk into the warehouse where I've been staying the past couple of months, and flip on one of the many bright lights. The place isn't big, nor is it warm, and it didn't really have much inside it either, but it provided me what I needed so it worked.

I wiggle my fingers in their tight gloves, scanning the warehouse around me. The other thing about the place is that about sixty percent of it is gold. Not because it was built that way, but because I made it that way. At a young age, I was gifted with the ability to turn anything I touched with my hands to gold. It had been the miracle I was waiting for, and after discovering my newfound power, I didn't hesitate to get rid of anyone I didn't care for. Changing my name to Midas Gold, I left my home town to search for something that I could have a little bit of fun with.

While on the run, I discovered even more about my new ability. I had the power to turn anything I touched with my hands to gold, that I knew, but I found out that while touching something, my gold can also spread―like ice―over multiple things, until I remove my hand from the point of impact. I can make the gold spread as far as I wish. Doing this is, however, really exhausting for me, especially the farther the gold spreads. I also quickly discovered that I can manipulate anything that is already gold, or anything that I turn to gold. It's a great power, and I'm actually rather proud of it.

I swing around, turning my attention from the wall, and a voice suddenly calls out from the darkness, "Midas." I stop, and a hint of a smile appears on my lips. Right on time.

I turn around slowly to see a young male, about my age, emerge from the shadows of the warehouse. He is holding a gun at shoulder height, and is so tense that I could probably just shove him over if I could get close enough.

I drop my cane from my shoulder and place it in front of me, neatly folding both hands over the top, golden end. "What do you want?" I ask, my deep, gravelly voice booming throughout the place. I already know what this kid wants, but that isn't going to stop me from playing with him for a little bit. I probably hate him the most out of everyone trying to stop me, and I want to make this last as long as I can.

"You've killed dozens of people," he says shortly, "I want you dead."

Shifting my weight heavily to my left side, I set my cane on the ground next to me and slowly shake my head, clicking my tongue against the roof of my mouth. "Oh, no no no. That just simply won't do, Mikey." I say. "You see, I still have a lot I need to accomplish here before I go." Looking down at my hands, I carefully begin tugging at the glove on my right hand to loosen it. I invented the gloves myself a couple years ago, so I could not turn things to gold when wearing them. It had gotten annoying trying to use objects when I always made them golden.

"Yeah, well try telling that to the countless number of people you killed before their time was up," the boy, Mikey, says. I glance up at him through the corner of my eyes and my curtain of blonde hair as I slowly remove the glove from my hand. He's shaking by now, and even though he tries to cover it up, his rattling gun gives him away.

"I would love to, but you're going to be with them sooner than I am, so how about you just deliver the message for me." Confusion spreads across Mikey's face, but he has no time to question me before I reach out for him.

With the glove now off my right hand, I grab the barrel of his gun, and the thing turns to pure gold in a matter of seconds. He fires, but I easily bend the now-golden-barrel of the gun upwards—just by thinking about it—to stop the bullet, then rip the entire thing out of his hand. Now disarmed, I see the true fear flash through Mikey's eyes, and I can't help but give him a large, wolf-like grin. "Not so brave now, are we?" I ask.