The memories swept over him like a flood—memories of his greatest failure.

He remembered his time on Valtaria well, a planet on the outer edge of the Milky Way. The Valtarian people were a proud race that could change their appearance slightly and transform their bodies into metal. Whether the metal resembled silver, iron, gold, copper, or bronze, this power made them as durable as steel and very hard to kill.

It wasn’t enough to protect them.

Their enemy, the Zazarites, descended upon them with their superweapon. These spider-like enemies, with black chitin armor and four arms each, were too numerous, and the Valtarian army was unable to hold them back or stop the weapon’s advance. This gigantic bomb drilled to the core to break the whole planet apart, leaving nothing but raw materials for the Zazarites to plunder.

He tried to stop it. He was the superhero MagKnight, with the power to control metal with magnetic fields and shoot electricity from his hands. He wore a suit of armor like a knight of old, engraved with the emblem of a magnet and a bolt of lightning. He reinforced that armor with his magnetism, making it durable enough to withstand many physical blows from even the strongest of enemies. MagKnight’s suit and powers made him a force to be reckoned with, and on that day, he struck down many a Zazarite warrior. Blades and shields spun around him, controlling the battlefield as he unleashed bolts of lightning.

It hadn’t been enough to protect them.

For every Zazarite soldier MagKnight defeated, five seemed to take his place. Pushed to his limit by the alien energy weapons denting his armor, MagKnight became too injured to fight, and Valtarians had to carry the superhero out as they retreated. He remembered the evacuation and the scramble to reach spaceships before the bomb went off. He remembered the flight as they escaped, watching in horror as the planet exploded, breaking into a million pieces. He remembered the helplessness as the shockwave from the blast destroyed so many Valtarian ships, letting only a handful escape. He remembered holding a weeping Valtarian woman, telling her how sorry he was.

And all these memories rushed through his mind in just a few seconds, prompted by an unexpected question.

“Dad, why did you stop being a superhero?”

This question took John Gatlin completely off guard. The weary looking middle aged man was working in his office when his half Valtarian son Andy asked this question out of the blue. John’s fingers lay frozen over the keyboard as the document he’d been working on remained unfinished. Slowly, he pulled his hands away and turned to his son.

Andy Gatlin was only twelve, with white hair like his mother but the light skin and vivid blue eyes of his father. Those eyes looked up at John Gatlin with apparent innocence and confusion.

“Why do you ask?” said John.

“Some guy on the news,” said Andy. “He said that people who don’t use their powers to help other people are selfish. Is that true?”

John sighed, running a hand through his salt and pepper hair. He’d always known he’d have to explain it someday. He just wished it wasn’t now. John reached out his hand to the corner where some metal folding chairs lay and released his magnetic abilities. One of the chairs then levitated over and unfolded in the air, landing next to Andy.

“Go ahead and sit down,” said John.

Andy climbed into the seat, his feet dangling off the end of the chair.

“Andy,” said John. “Do you remember what we told you about your mother’s planet?”

Andy nodded.

“Well,” said John. “After I failed to save Valtaria, I started to doubt myself, questioning if I was making good decisions or if I was about to. I kept being a superhero for a while, as it was my life’s work to help people, but things slowly changed after that day. I’d go on missions, and anything that reminded me of what happened to Valtaria made me freeze up. I just couldn’t think of what I should do next, and I’d just stay where I was, unmoving.”

“Why?” asked Andy.

John hesitated for a moment, thinking his next words through carefully.

“Sometimes,” said John. “When something bad happens to you, it can be painful to be reminded of it. That’s why I would freeze up.”

“Oh,” said Andy uncertainly.

John remained silent for a moment, letting Andy soak that in.

“Anyway,” said John. “I froze up often enough that other superheroes were constantly bailing me out. In the end, I just had to face the facts. I wasn’t prepared to do the job anymore. It was a difficult thing for me to do, but I ultimately decided to retire as a superhero. Now I mostly do consulting work for other superheroes. It’s not the same, but it’s a way I can continue to help people in my current condition. Do you understand?”

Andy hesitated. “I think so, maybe?”

John nodded. “You’ll understand better when you’re older.”

“Why do you always say that?”

John chuckled. “Because it’s always true.”

Andy looked at his father thoughtfully.

“How hard was it?” asked Andy. “To give up being a superhero, I mean.”

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

John thought about it, lifting his hands and letting electricity dance between them for a moment as he reminisced.

“It was the hardest decision I’ve ever had to make in my life, but that’s part of having powers. It’s not just about knowing when to use them. Sometimes you have to know when you shouldn’t use them.”

“So that guy on the news was wrong?”

“It depends,” said John. “If you have the ability to help those in need, then you certainly have a responsibility to do so. The mistake some people make, like that man on the news, is that the issue isn’t always that simple. Some people have a good reason for not using their powers. People like me, for instance. Trying to force someone like me back into hero work would just end badly, believe me.

“Besides, even if someone doesn’t have a good reason, a person who wants to be a superhero will always be more effective than someone who’s forced into it. At the end of the day, Andy, how people use their power is a decision they must make for themselves.”

Andy looked down, thinking over what his father had just told him. A moment later, he raised his arms and closed his eyes. Andy’s hands transformed, becoming like polished steel as electricity danced over his fingers. Andy held the powers for a moment, gritting his teeth from the effort, and then let them go before looking up at his dad.

“Do you think I should become a superhero?” the child asked.

John closed his eyes. He’d wondered when this subject would come up.

“Well,” said John. “You’re not doing so while you’re a child. No way. Of course, you won’t be a child forever. While I do encourage you to use your power to help people, there’s more than one way to do that. All I ask is that you think this decision through as thoroughly as possible. Luckily, you still have plenty of time to do that. Okay?”

“Okay,” said Andy. “But... was being a superhero worth it?”

John smiled. “Yes, Andy. It was absolutely worth it.”

And grinned. He didn’t mention to his father that he’d already given this a fair bit of thought. He’d learned of his father’s old exploits as the superhero MagKnight, seeing footage of his father holding a building together so people could escape, fighting aliens, and even using metal sheets to hold back a flood. MagKnight saved a lot of people, and it made Andy want to do the same. If anything, his father’s story made him even more determined. There was evil in the world, and someone had to stand up against it. Andy decided he would be that person, just like his father used to be.

***

Six years later.

It happened at night, with the moon and stars shining above, reflecting off the windows of every skyscraper in the city. All was normal, and then there came an explosion of blinding white light. That light began to grow, and it kept on growing until it covered the entire city. For a moment, the strange explosion remained, burning brightly for miles around. And then, just as quickly as it appeared, the light vanished, leaving nothing behind except a gigantic crater.

The news reported on this event the next day.

“At 10:54 p.m. last night, a mysterious explosion completely vaporized Redwell City, leaving no survivors in its wake. At this time, the source of this explosion remains unknown, but authorities and superheroes have already begun their investigations.”

On that same day, the world’s first superhero was interviewed about this tragedy. That hero, Paramount, was a tall, muscular man with short, wavy black hair, a finely sculpted beard, and a chiseled face that projected strength and confidence. Despite being a superhero since the forties, he looked no older than his late twenties or early thirties, with smooth skin and an energetic bearing. Only the wise, knowing look in his piercing brown eyes hinted at his true age.

He wore a skintight blue costume with a white field starting over his shoulders and ending at a point in the middle of his torso. In the center of that white, right on his chest, was a black Dara Knot, an elaborate pattern of Celtic origin symbolizing strength, wisdom, and the eternal cycle of life. He also wore white boots that came to a point under his knees, as well as pointed white sections on his wrists. He stood at the podium of a press conference with an army of reporters before him.

“I assure you,” said Paramount. “We, the United Heroes of Earth, will get to the bottom of this.”

This prompted questions from every reporter there.

“Paramount!” cried a reporter. “Redwell City had no superheroes of its own! Do you think a superhero on the scene could have stopped this tragedy?”

“I know where you’re going with this,” said Paramount, turning to that reporter with a stern gaze. “The E.H.O.D.’s proposed power user draft. Right? Well, as I’ve said many times before, we can’t force people to risk their lives. People should have the freedom to make that decision on their own. Besides, we have no way of knowing if a superhero in that city could have stopped it. If one had been there, there’s a good chance that hero would be dead too. I guarantee you, that explosion would have killed even me.

“Please, let’s not get distracted from what’s important, and that’s mourning the tragic deaths of every person in Redwell City and discovering the origin of this explosion. As I said, the U.H.E. will get to the bottom of this, and if anyone is responsible, we will bring them to justice.”

E.H.O.D. stood for Enhanced Human Oversight Division, a government organization that had pushed a power user draft for a long time. While Paramount and most of the U.H.E. were against this, many were for it, including one news reporter, Patrick Powell. This thirty-something man with dark hair responded directly to Paramount on the Hammerhead News Network. Behind him, one could see a fantastic view of the city, but Patrick’s fierce blue eyes had a way of drawing one’s attention away from it.

“With all due respect to Paramount,” said Patrick. “Redwell City would have had a much better chance of survival with a superhero than without. The data is clear. Both regular criminals and supervillains will migrate to cities with no superhero patrolling, causing an increase in crime and death. Add in extraterrestrial attacks, mutant animals running amok, or even zombie outbreaks, and the lack of a power user’s help becomes unthinkable. Some cities must wait over an hour for a superhero to arrive at the scene, sometimes more, and local police are often ill-equipped to deal with such threats.

“While we’re grateful to bounty heroes or otherwise mobile heroes for their efforts to mitigate this, a city without its own superhero is at a severe disadvantage. Meanwhile, we have power users who use their power in an ordinary job, thereby taking jobs away from the rest of us, and power users who don’t use their abilities at all.”

Patrick looked into the camera, his eyes wide and forceful. “It used to be that we would draft ordinary men and women to fight for their country in times of need. Now, more than ever, we live in a time of great need, and those with the power to meet that need sit on their hands. If one can stop bullets, then the death of anyone killed by a bullet is on your head. Mark my words.”

Another superhero was interviewed that day as well. Morphic Man was a tall, slender, brown-haired man wearing a skintight purple costume with orange running down his sides. One could find the twinkle in his eyes charming, whether it was his blue eye or his green eye, though people were split on the smug smile he often wore.

“I mean, I respect Paramount,” said Morphic Man. “But the guy’s not exactly as young as he looks. He may not be aging on the outside, but how do we know he’s getting older in the brain?” His smirk widened as he tapped his head. “Cities have all these crime and mutant problems, and Paramount is still insisting that power users can sit around and do nothing about it. At some point, you may wanna do yourself a favor and retire. You know what I mean?”

Regardless of how people responded to the tragedy, one thing was clear. The destruction of Redwell City shook the world to its core.