Part 1: The Guinea Pig
The twins arrived home just as the sun dipped below the horizon, bleeding crimson light across the neighborhood. Inside, the familiar, sharp scent of Mandy's spicy cooking filled the air, but the atmosphere was already thick with the daily friction of their domestic life.
As usual, Dexter's plate had just been set when Wess stomped into the kitchen, smelling of the gym and entitlement. His eyes immediately locked onto the hotdog Dexter was about to lift. Wess reached out, glancing at Damien with a challenge in his eyes, practically begging for the boy to start another high-velocity skirmish over the food.
But a voice—flat and uncharacteristically helpful—cut through the tension.
"Hey, Wess."
Wess froze. The typical bite of irritation was missing from Wayne's voice. Wayne was actually holding out the sleek, expensive-looking lunchbox from the Cecilia mansion with a small, pleasant smile.
"You look exhausted. Training must have been brutal," Wayne said smoothly. "Here. Take this. I brought it back for you."
The room went into a dead stall. Mandy stopped stirring her pot; Dexter adjusted his glasses, his jaw dropping slightly. Wayne offering Wess anything—let alone a luxury meal—was a sign of the literal apocalypse.
Wess grabbed the box, his eyes narrowing in deep suspicion. "This isn't poisoned, is it? You put laxatives in here, you little brat?"
"Oh, Wess," Wayne chuckled, his eyes glinting with a cold, predatory interest. "If I wanted you dead, you'd be dead. Just eat it."
Wayne stood back, arms crossed. He remembered the butler's frantic, whispered warning at the gates: "Don't eat too much at once, okay?"
Wayne looked at Wess—at the man who spent his life shouting over Dexter and taking up all the air in the room. He leaned in, his smile widening just a fraction. "Actually, finish the whole thing," Wayne encouraged. "Don't leave a single crumb. You need the fuel."
Wayne watched with a chilling fascination as Wess, driven by hunger and pride, downed the entire medicated meal in a few massive, uncritical gulps.
Five minutes later, the transformation was complete.
The fire in Wess's eyes—the booming, aggressive energy that dominated the house—simply evaporated. His pupils became fixed and hollow, staring into the middle distance. The man sat at the table in an eerie, absolute silence. He wasn't just calm; he was a statue. A hollowed-out shell of a man.
While Damien quickly pulled Mandy and Dexter aside to explain the horrors of the mansion, Wayne pulled out a permanent marker. With methodical precision, he began drawing elaborate whiskers and the word "LUSER" across his stepfather's forehead.
"We should definitely do this more often," Wayne whispered, taking rapid-fire photos of the human mannequin.
"You've done enough, dear," Mandy said, though she looked at the "statue" of Wess with genuine concern. "Any more and even I won't be able to stop him from wringing your neck when he wakes up."
Dexter sighed, his expression turning grave. "It's clear something is very wrong at that mansion. This isn't just a sedative; it's a soul-suppressant. Damien, you and your mother stay here. See if you can flush those toxins out. Wayne... it's time for that homework."
Part 2: The Unknown Quantity
Upstairs in the boys' room, the TV was on low. On the news, a "live" interview was starting. Bruce and Florence were glowing under the studio lights, talking about their "charitable commitment to mental health," while a perfectly still, perfectly silent Cecilia sat between them. She looked exactly like Wess did downstairs: a doll in a black dress, her soul locked behind a chemical veil.
Dexter sat at the desk, ignoring the TV. "Okay, let's start by deleting those pictures of Wess from your phone. Our lesson today will be pointless if your stepfather kills you tomorrow morning."
"C'mon, Dad," Wayne huffed, though he swiped through his gallery and hit Delete All. "Let's just get to business before you lose my interest."
"Fair enough," Dexter said, clicking his pen. "Release your energy. Show me your base state."
A grey, smoke-like aura began to drift off Wayne's shoulders—Negative Energy in its rawest, most disorganized form.
"Multiply by two," Dexter commanded.
The smoke doubled in volume, turning a darker shade of charcoal (2X).
"Multiply by four."
The aura quadrupled. A light rumble rippled through the floorboards—not the blinding light of Damien's power, but a heavy, oppressive weight that made the air feel like lead (4X).
"Now..." Dexter's voice turned sharp. "Multiply by zero."
Instantly, the aura vanished. The weight in the room evaporated. Wayne returned to his ordinary, "spindly" state.
This was Wayne's true, terrifying talent: he was the only person in the world who could make himself completely imperceptible by mathematically erasing his own presence. No energy sensor or supernatural radar could pick him up. He was a hole in reality (0X = 0).
"Good," Dexter said. "Now, let's talk about Algebra. Up until now, I've taught you to imagine your power as the number 1. A single unit. Simple. But the truth is, Wayne, we don't know the exact quantity of your power. It changes based on your mood, your health, and your environment. It's an unknown."
Wayne stared at the page. "An unknown..."
"In math, when a value varies, we call it a Variable. We represent it with a letter. Like X." Dexter pointed to the center of the equation. "Stop thinking of your power as a '1'. Start thinking of it as X. You don't know what X is, but you know that 2X is twice as strong, and 0X is always absolute silence."
Wayne stared at the 'X' on the page. For the first time, the abstract letter didn't look like a boring school assignment. It looked like a container for the chaos inside him.
"X huh, ok that's not too boring."
"Exactly," Dexter smiled, a glint of pride behind his glasses. "Now, let's complete these equations. If you want to crack that reinforced door at Cecilia's house without making a sound, you're going to need more than just multiplication. You're going to need to learn how to balance the equation."