The next morning, Richard awoke in the master bedroom of the vacant house. Though not yet eight o'clock, he knew it was time to leave—the real estate agent would soon arrive with potential buyers.
After retrieving toiletries from his system space—towels, toothbrush, toothpaste, shampoo, and shower gel—he headed directly to the bathroom to freshen up.
Half an hour later, washed and dressed in clean clothes, he used Blinkstep to depart. Rather than immediately leaving Los Angeles, he teleported to a nearby neighborhood and located a decent chain restaurant.
With a baseball cap and sunglasses providing minimal disguise, he entered calmly and ordered a standard American breakfast from the server: coffee, fried eggs, bacon, sausages, and bread.
As he enjoyed his meal, Richard watched the morning news playing on the restaurant's television. Unsurprisingly, his rampage at the Los Angeles branch dominated headlines across all major news channels and newspapers.
"Experts" invited by various stations analyzed his actions with practiced eloquence. Official spokespersons from the Department of Mutant Affairs and other agencies vowed to bring him to justice at the earliest possible moment.
While watching, Richard retrieved a disposable phone from his system space and searched his name online. As anticipated, reports about him saturated the internet:
"65 Dead! Illegal Mutant Attacks Los Angeles Branch of Department of Mutant Affairs!"
"Horrific Live Broadcast! Los Angeles Branch Becomes Living Hell!"
"Revenge or Provocation? Illegal Mutant's Killing Spree!"
"From Wealthy Heir to Mass Murderer: Who is Richard Wesley?"
"The 'Natural Enemy of Mutants' Falls! Safety Promised by Department of Mutant Affairs Proves Hollow!"
"Bloody Slaughter by Illegal Mutant! Birth of the Silver-Haired Devil!"
After skimming these reports, Richard logged into a Los Angeles community forum. Immediately, he encountered countless posts related to him. Browsing through several pages, he discovered something unexpected—his massacre at the Los Angeles branch had earned him a cult following overnight.
These zealous fans not only flooded comment sections across various platforms but had already established dedicated websites and forums. They'd bestowed multiple nicknames upon him: Silver-Haired Grim Reaper, Sword Daddy, Silver Samurai, Angel of Death, The Silver Seraph, The Conductor of Death...
Richard shook his head helplessly at these monikers and the fan-designed images and logos featuring his likeness. Though uncertain of these followers' identities, their willingness to post without fear of repercussion suggested they were normies rather than mutants.
The Mutant Restriction Act forced both registered and unregistered mutants to maintain low profiles. Exceptions existed, of course—like the Brotherhood of Mutants and other radical elements who actively sought chaos.
After browsing these fan sites for several minutes, Richard returned the disposable phone to his system space. If he were a celebrity or influencer, he might have appreciated this sudden fanbase. But he was neither.
Today, he ranked as an S-class fugitive of the Department of Mutant Affairs. While reviewing the news, he'd discovered the Department headquarters had elevated his status from Class A to Class S—their highest threat designation.
The Department of Mutant Affairs had also placed a staggering bounty on his head: $100 million for his capture, dead or alive. Even those providing reliable information stood to gain between $5,000 and $3 million, depending on the intelligence's value.
*{Can only be redeem if the caller called to the dedicated tip line}
Furthermore, either to provoke him or to entrap him, the Department of Mutant Affairs had publicly announced that the Wesley family's "illegally acquired assets" would be auctioned in three days. These included the family's ancestral home, art collections, land holdings, and more.
Had he been the original Richard Wesley, such news would have infuriated him. But this Richard felt nothing. Less than an hour after crossing into this world, he had disbanded "Crimson Manor" established by his predecessor's father and personally burned its main building.
If the Department hoped to draw him out with such obvious trap, they'd severely miscalculated. Beyond his lack of attachment to the Wesley legacy, Richard remained unconcerned for another reason: whatever the Department confiscated and auctioned, he intended to make them—and the U.S. government—repay with interest later.
As he finished breakfast and prepared to leave, four strangers—one woman and three men—approached his table.
"May I join you?" asked the blonde, curvaceous woman who appeared to be in her early twenties.
"Whatever. I was about to pay and leave anyway," Richard replied, placing several bills on the table.
"Don't I look like your type?" she asked, her voice low enough that only he could hear. "Richard Wesley."
Upon hearing his name, Richard's instinct was to summon the Masamune and eliminate the threat. However, seeing the woman's pupils shift instantaneously from green to blue, he reconsidered.
He recognized her identity immediately. "Mystique."
With the blonde's identity confirmed, the three men accompanying her required little deduction.
"Did Magneto send you?" Richard asked.
"Can't I simply want to meet you?" Mystique countered.
"If you're going to waste my time with this nonsense, we have nothing further to discuss."
Though Mystique currently presented as undeniably attractive, Richard felt no interest when considering her natural appearance and actual age. From a purely power-based perspective, Mystique represented the ultimate "transformer"—possessing her meant access to countless forms.
But knowing she matched Professor Xavier in age, with blue-scaled skin resembling reptilian textures, extinguished any desire he might have felt.
He wasn't so shallow as to be swayed by mere appearances!
Beyond physical beauty, he valued a woman's "inner qualities" as well!