10 Years Later
Creeeeeak!!
The barred gates slid open, followed by an announcement.
"Inmate 504, report to processing."
Loud and clear, the intercom sounded.
Cheers erupted as they all understood what that meant—someone was getting out, and none other than their favorite inmate: 504, Richard Auric, the man supposedly responsible for stealing from the World Bank.
A legend among thieves.
Richard walked out of his cell, two guards waiting to escort him to processing.
He had undergone a metamorphosis.
Prison life had seemingly done more good than harm, for despite being over fifty, his under-eye bags were barely noticeable.
His hair and beard, slightly grayed, gave him a sage-like air.
His eyes were sharper than ever, his muscles lightly toned.
"Patrick, I'm taking my money when you get out of here!"
"Hey, Buggy, try not to lose more weight!"
"Red Eye, I hope I don't see you out there."
"Hey, Frank, don't forget what I taught you—life's a bitch, so make it your bitch."
"..."
"..."
"..."
As he crossed the hallway out of the cellblock, cheers and praises echoed behind him.
He had made a name for himself—his supposed crime granting him status before he even stepped inside.
Never once allowing anyone to look down on him, his strong leadership skills and prophetic advice quickly earned him protection.
Using his wits, he kept himself safe in prison, promising wealth and rewards (which he didn't actually have) to lure more allies.
His ten-year stay had been smooth sailing—so smooth, he almost didn't want to leave.
He stopped at the gate to the cellblock, turning back to his fellow inmates, a look of reminiscence and longing in his eyes.
He didn't want to go. Here, he was a king. But out there? Nothing. No home, no family, no job prospects—his life a complete train wreck.
" Sigh!!..."
He shifted his gaze and stepped out.
Processing went smoothly.
"Inmate 504, Richard Auric."
With a loud thud, his release forms were stamped.
"You are free to go."
He only nodded and then was escorted to the gates.
As expected, no one waited for him. The people who'd put him here had long forgotten him, and he had no one.
Such was the life of a bachelor.
"So... where to now? I don't even have a penny for a cab."
His gaze locked on the horizon.
He walked down the road, sighing heavily as he thought about what to do.
Thoughts of revenge never crossed his mind.
Like a gazelle wounded by a lion, thoughts of revenge were suicidal.
_____
Beep!! Beep!! Beep!!
A dump truck slowly emptied its contents.
Ear-piercing metallic sounds reverberated across the field as the junk spilled out.
"Hey, new batch!" the driver called out, peeking his head out at the many poorly dressed, dirty, and unkempt people behind the truck.
"Hurry and sort them out," he added, driving away and leaving the rest to them.
"Richie, there seems to be some good stuff here," a woman adorned in what most would call rags called out to Richard, who was a few meters away, sorting through the junk.
It had been three months since he was released from prison. By a stroke of luck or sheer tenacity, he had ended up as a hobo in a junkyard.
Life was hard, but at least he had a roof over his head—even if it was a makeshift tent—and food to eat from doing minimal labor.
"Yeah, this could be from the estate on the beachside," he replied cheerfully, a bright smile on his tired face.
"Ye... Ah!" The woman blushed, awkwardly turning back to her duties.
Her cheeks flushed beet red as she remembered what had transpired the night before between her and Richard—the smooth talker still living the bachelor life, even as a hobo.
"Sigh, another day of sorting through the trash of the rich." His expression returned to one of exhaustion as he continued sorting through the piles.
Clink!!
"Clink?! ..."
A crisp sound echoed in his ear as some of the piles shifted.
He turned toward it. The sound was distinct—one he could never mistake: the sound of pure gold.
His eyes brightened as he quickly moved to the source of the noise.
A dull-looking Middle Eastern oil lamp.
"It looks like a genie lamp," he chuckled, picking it up.
It was dull, but unmistakably gold. "Seems I still have some good karma left," he smiled, chuckling to himself.
Hope had almost faded—he figured it would take ten more years before he could rejoin society.
But now, the same life that had screwed him over had handed him an opportunity.
Though still bitter about what had happened, he was grateful.
Before anyone could question him about it, he quietly slipped away into the privacy of his makeshift tent.
"It's too dull," he muttered, bringing it closer to his face. Unlike gold, it didn't reflect clearly.
He spat on it and used his dirty cloth to wipe it, trying to bring back its shine.
The lamp, seemingly reacting to his persistent rubbing, began vibrating violently and slipped from his hands, falling to the ground before he could stop it.
His heart sank, an unknown fear gripping him.
"What's going on?!" His breathing became haggard, his clothes soaked in cold sweat.
The lamp's vibration stopped abruptly. The fear he felt subsided, the unknown pressure vanished.
He remained vigilant, his pupils still dilated as he stared at the lamp.
"A demon "... he thought.
Despite not being a superstitious person, the current situation demanded a change in perspective.
Slowly and carefully, he tried to crawl around the lamp and escape.
He moved, now just a few inches from the tent's opening—but that was when the lamp glowed.
Reddish-purple fumes began rising from the nozzle. The sudden fumes made him freeze as a thought emerged—one that felt almost childish.
If he thought it could be a demon, why couldn't it be something else?
" A genie?!... " he mused.
The idea of meeting a genie was far more enticing than the prospect of a demon—or simply lethal fumes.
The fumes rose, filling the tent, then slowly began to morph into a humanoid figure.
Its lower half was translucent and ghostly, still linked to the lamp's nozzle, while its upper body took the form of a giant.
Long purple hair cascaded down his broad shoulders, and piercing red eyes stared directly at Richard.
It looked fierce and majestic, oozing with cosmic authority.
"I am the Jinn of Greed.
I hold the power of the cosmos in my hand.
As my master, you may dip your hands in the treasury of the cosmos.
You have three wishes.
Ask, and it shall be given.
Anything you desire, you shall receive."
Ethereal and commanding, the Jinn's voice resonated in both Richard's ears and his mind.
He stood there, mouth slightly open, eyes wide in shock— he was elated and slightly frightened.
His joy overshadowing any form of absurdity the situation called for.
"I struck gold."