The TV played silently up in the corner. Day in and day out I was transfixed by the same cycle of heroics. Bad guy, good guy, big fight. It used to be politicians and pundits pushing ideological narratives, and that was bad enough. You wouldn't think the spectacle could get more boldly farcical than that, but you'd be wrong.

The assholes playing saints for their own namesakes now played as gods and that was just our luck.

While I leaned forward on the counter thinking, there came a ding from above the glass doors. Some urban youth in a hoodie came through to browse the candy and soda. My podcast played in my ear as he finally made up his mind and brought his selection up to the counter. I rang him up and that was that.

I was the graveyard shift at the quickie mart these days. Nothing much to complain about besides the occasional stick-up. The policy was to empty the register and in the end, nobody really cared. Nobody got hurt.

My shift would be ending soon and I could head back to my car. Yes, car. Not apartment. At least the money I made went farther this way. That was the idea, anyhow. But for lack of a kitchen, fast food tended to siphon my margins. Still, I was determined to bring in excess cash.

The podcast I was listening to was a financial podcast. I was going to go into real estate. That was the dream, I only needed the startup money. Capitalism was going nowhere fast, so might as well get on top, right? I'd tried monatizing my art, but everybody knew that was a crapshoot. Even succeeding in that realm garnered little better money than my current work. You got to do what you loved, sure, but I could do that freely when I was independent. Passive income was the key. That's what they all say.

Still, it killed me to see my sketch and notebooks sitting idle beneath the counter. Deep into my very bones, I felt a kind of staleness. I was in mediocre shape, pale, and largely watching my life fly by. Yet, I went against the grain. I counted myself lucky that I was in the majority of Powerless. To hell with heroics. I was glad that I had never been able to entertain those delusions.

The next guy to come in was wearing a big red hat emblazoned with the incumbent candidate's slogan. Order and Justice, it said. I could barely hold back my disdain as I got him his scratchers and beer. Watching him leave, I thought of how long I had tried to avoid paying attention to the news. I never had succeeded in cutting myself out of the loop, ultimately. I just couldn't help having my own useless opinions on which candidate was better or worse. Mostly, the unique ways in which they all represented the same problem. A failed democracy.

Through the barred glass around the station, I could see the pumps and the parking lot outside. People would often pull through, get their gas, and leave. Nobody had been in for a good ten minutes, however, and I was counting the last stretch of my time on duty. My replacement should have been pulling in at any moment.

Somewhere in the distance, a sonic boom cracked. The tv screen flickered for an instant and I paused my podcast. Everything had gone eerily quiet, only the buzz of the airconditioner remaining.

Damn supermen.

A car pulled in to the station and a man got out to hook himself up. As he did, his eyes scanned the fluorescently lit gas station, looking beyond and down the city streets. You could barely see the bay from where we were, out over the bluff and under the open sky. 

I looked down to scroll through my missed messages and wind up my earbuds. I was tired, hungry, and altogether sick of this place. I would grab a burrito, catch a few hours of sleep, and then it would be a shower at the gym. That would all make for a good start to the weekend, I decided.

When I looked up, I startled to see the man from the pump standing at the counter. He was looking down at me. "Howdy," he laughed. "Didn't mean to spook ya."

"No, no. Uh," I blanked. "How can I help you?"

His attention seemed to drift from me to the television. On it, a man in blue spandex was fighting three other people at once. His opponents were decidedly less flashy. In fact, they looked more like angry goths than supervillains. There was fire and motion happening at an incredible speed. The camera struggled to keep up. It was clear from even a moment's glance, however, what the outcome would be here. The Hero was pristine, unwinded, without a scratch. By contrast, the others were rapidly worn and bloodied.

I tried to ask him again, capturing his attention. "Can I help you, man?"

"Yessir," he chuckled. "Y'all mind grabbing me a ticket? The twenty-dollar one. And a pack of Lucky Strikes." He clicked his tongue. "I was simply caught by the news there. Those big cities are like no-go zones now, I reckon. It really is a war of each against all."

I obliged with the scratcher and cigarettes. "I suppose you're right."

"Music," he said, nodding sagely. "Metaphysically speaking, I mean."

"Sure." I had to fight not to make it sound like a question.

Both of us took a look at what was on the counter before returning to eye contact. It was then that he fished into his pocket, without breaking his gaze, and slapped his payment down beside the register. I didn't say anything at first. I almost didn't recognize it.

There it was, laid out on the counter. A small black pistol. 

He simply left it there for me to stare at. After a good three or four seconds, I hesitantly began to reach for the weapon, confused as to what I should be doing. In the instant my arm began to lift, though, he had already taken back the gun and leveled it at my head.

"You... You want the register?" I asked, staying calm.

Suddenly, he turned the gun around in his grip. "Yes, I do." Then, he extended it for me to take.

With the weapon now in my own grip and my head swimming with confusion, I could only think to say what I thought I was supposed to. "I guess I'm saying no? Is that what you want?" My head was pounding with a spike in blood pressure. I was sure he could see the sweat on my brow.

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

This wasn't like a regular stickup. Something was very, very wrong here.

"You see, I'm a teacher tonight. And I'm gonna teach you about your place in this world. You gotta be willing to defend yourself."

He was still holding the gun by its barrel, even after I had put my finger on the trigger. Suddenly, he jerked my entire body forward, almost forcing me to accidentally fire. My heart leaped. His grip was tight as his other hand overwrapped mine on the handle, crushing my fingers between flesh and steel. Slowly, my pain rose from a whinge to a scream as his thumb found its way into the trigger guard and forced me to squeeze.

Thunder and bones cracked.

Over and over he fired until the gun ran empty. Each bullet merely ricocheted off his face without a blink. When he released his hold, both the gun and I went crashing to the floor. I could hear his laughter as he vaulted the countertop to perch over me and begin emptying the register. He didn't need me to open it. He could simply rend the metal apart.

There were broken bones in my hand and I clutched it in agony. I was in the fetal position on the floor, ears ringing from the gunfire. All I could think to do was crawl now, making my way beneath the counter and out into the isles of the gas station.

My entire body felt strange as if I was melting into the floor. I wasn't sure if I was fainting or what it was, but it was like I could see myself from the outside.

Meanwhile, my southern friend had come out with wads of cash in his pockets, lighting a smoke. "Do you get the lesson here? I mean, I'm thinkin' it's damn obvious."

I groaned, rolling over to look up at him. "Life isn't fair," I acknowledged, squeezing my ruined hand. "Your wisdom is staggering, asshole!" With my eyes growing full of stars, I couldn't see the expression he made, but I could hear and feel an impact outside. Something had just fallen from the sky.

When my mind connected to what it was, the last reservoir of my terror spilled loose, greater than anything before. Everyone knew the horror stories. It wasn't like in the comics. No one was saved during these fights.

"Hey... Hey!" I said, rolling over to face the gas station door. Through my blurred eyes, I could see his white mask. "Please! Just take it outside!" The ding sounded as he entered.

The hero was silent where he stood. He was utterly still, taking in the scene.

The villain squatted down beside me. "This is the real lesson," he told me, speaking almost a gentle whisper. "God made man in his own spirit, boy. To know what that spirit is you only gotta ask a Theologian why he made us in the first place." He stretched up, spreading his arms. With pleasure, he answered his own question. "For glory."

The flash of the white knight bolting forward and the spray of glass that followed sent me finally into darkness. I can't remember much. But I remember crawling for my life. The world was reeling.

In the midst of my darkness, I saw things.

I saw an infinite series of bifurcations. Trees snaked out of the earth to split and wind towards the sky like strikes of brilliant lightning. Blood vessels and neurons diverged to form thought and life. I could see the rivers spring up from the earth to wind and twist out to the sea. The empty steppe howled at the mountain's roots and the titanic snap of an iceberg sounded over a blue desert.

Then, the earth was left behind. Stars flowed in billion-year dances. Black holes decayed in spans of time that I lacked a word for. The surface of each planet, whether gaseous, liquid, or solid, churned like the oceans. They were a shifting topographical map of eons. All of it happened forever, never-ending, and never beginning at the same time.

Not understanding why I was seeing this, I could only continue to crawl blindly. I had to stay grounded in the real world. So, I was ecstatic to find that I had made my way outside when cold water pierced my clothing. I was regaining my sight through the visions, slowly. Yet, everything looked horribly wrong. It was all blood red and pulsating. The entire world seemed like it was tinged with... gore.

Nonetheless, I summoned the courage to stand. I only had to run, get far enough away, and I would be safe.

"Where ya going, boy!" The villain walked through the bars and shattered windows like they had been a paper wall. "Y'all never saw a one on one bruiser fight in the flesh I bet! This kinda thing only happens once in a lifetime."

The hero was staggering to his feet behind him, mask missing, face looking trashed. Both of them were in rough shape. The inside of the gas station had been absolutely destroyed, just by the shockwaves of their grappling alone. It was a miracle that I was alive.

Moving in a singular twenty-foot lurch, the villain was on me. His fingers wrapped around my throat where I stood, and he cast his gaze over his shoulder to the injured hero. "Protocol is to neutralize me above all else, huh? What does one life mean when you're stopping someone who could easily take a thousand more? Nothing."

His grip began to crush my windpipe. Fingernails dug into my skin, sending blood gushing down his arms. I was like jelly to him.

In my dying madness, I thought I saw the blood on his arms bubble and boil. I thought I saw it crawling towards his shocked face. Then, I saw nothing.

The hero made his move when the villain was distracted by killing me. He tackled both of us straight into the gas pumps, bringing my consciousness to final darkness as everything was engulfed in flames. 

He was just following protocol.

Hearing the distant screams of both their agony, I thought I would drift away. I thought that was what death was supposed to be like. But instead, I began to hear my own screams. Louder and louder.

I realized in horror that I was still alive and burning.

My knees crashed down on the asphalt just beyond the fires and for the first time in my new life, I opened my eyes. Seeing my skin sloughing off and reforming at once, I knew what this was. I didn't want it to be true. My entire body was screaming with agony, only the disassociation of shock saving me, but I knew it would wear off soon.

The streets were utterly empty. There were no fire trucks coming. No policemen or EMT. The fight had lasted a few minutes at most. I doubted anyone had even called yet.

Crackle and pop. Smoking flesh. The pain was growing unbearable.

Behind me, I heard footsteps. When I turned to look, the Hero was there, standing over me. His skin was bright red, but I figured it was no worse than a first-degree burn for him. The other man had not been so robust. There were many bruisers, but each was different, and with different tolerances. Apparently fire had been enough to take down the villain.

"I know what I saw," the hero said. "They say... that Powers reflect who you are. That... there's never been a Hero with the Powers of a monster."

The pain was beginning to subside. The last of the gasoline had burned off my skin, allowing it to finally finish healing. I was hurting and naked. "It's just personal healing. It's not that uncommon. I must have had it all along, I just... never realized it. I'm glad to be alive, right? But I didn't want this. I don't want to be drafted, man! Do you know what they do with people like me? Healing is bad enough but self-healing? Oh my God." I couldn't begin to say it.

At first, he was silent. After considering it, though, he simply said, "I will be keeping an eye on you."

I extended my hand to shake. "Yeah, of course you will. My name's Walter, I guess. Thanks for stopping him and all that. It's your job, but... I mean, you know what I'm talking about. What I mean to say is thanks anyway. Who knows what he would have done to me if he realized I had Powers." I hadn't even known it.

How had I not known?

The hero stepped back. "I'm Maximal. The police are on their way, Walter, so stay put. That's an order." 

The fire rippled with the rush of his takeoff. Sitting where I was, heat to my back, I was almost tempted to wait. To have some authority figure show up and baby me. Call me brave and strong and welcome me to the ranks of Heroes. It was a cold and hostile world out there; now, more than ever. If I made the decision I was considering, I would have to be sure of it.

In the end, I just wanted to be left alone. I knew this in my heart because it had always been my dream. Other kids dreamed of being Heroes. I dreamed of being left the hell alone. Whatever it took.

When I was sure that he was gone, I stood and dusted myself off. With my car engulfed by the flames, a miserable choice was made. I would have to walk.

But I couldn't stay here one second longer.