Chapter 2: Luck

The Deadly Paradox: When a 'Useless' Power Turns Lethal

By Damien Atwood

In the aftermath of a harrowing classroom incident, we find ourselves confronting the paradox of a so-called 'useless' superpower turned deadly. The ability to amplify emotions, always dismissed as inconsequential, became a weapon of unintended destruction when a tormented child, pushed beyond his limits, unleashed a wave of amplified negative emotions on his tormentors.

What's striking is not just the tragic misuse of this power, but the societal dynamics it lays bare. Our media is awash with stories mourning the future lost to the fallen bullies, all possessing their own ‘extraordinary’ abilities.

“Bobby could already tilt a car above his head, he would certainly have become the new ‘Titanium Titan’.”

“Sally, our invisible wonder child, now for the world to see.”

But what about Harry, who was an art genius dreaming of becoming the next Van Gogh, or Annabell, the math prodigy aspiring to reach the moon? What of the child who caused it, and countless others who either lack powers or have less glamorous ones? Their stories are often mere footnotes, overshadowed by the sensational.

This bias is emblematic of a larger issue. While the number of individuals with special abilities is the same as those without, there exists a significant societal divide. Those with powers, especially impressive ones, are propelled to a pedestal, while others are left grappling in the shadows of indifference.

Such indifference has its consequences. In the pursuit of celebrating the extraordinary, we've neglected the silent struggles of the ordinary. This tragedy is a stark reminder of that neglect – a child with a 'useless' ability, driven to a breaking point, becomes the agent of a catastrophe that could have been averted.

In conclusion, as we mourn the lost and reckon with the fallout, it's time we reassess our values. A society that glorifies power at the expense of empathy is one teetering on the edge of its own undoing.

I set down the newspaper, my eyes lingering on the final words of my article. The stark realities I had penned felt heavy, even in the quiet of my morning routine. 'Exposing truths, yet what does it change?'.

My gaze shifted to the steaming cup of coffee in front of me.

"Coffee, the elixir of the modern age," I thought, a half-smile playing on my lips. It was a simple beverage, yet somehow, it had become a cornerstone of daily life.

We all claim to seek out the finest blends, boast about our preferred brewing methods, but beneath it all, isn't it just a sophisticated veneer for a primal need? A need for alertness, for a momentary respite from the weariness that our oh-so-busy lives heap upon us.

We've romanticized it, built entire cultures around it, and yet, at its core, it's nothing more than a habitual dependence, a socially sanctioned addiction.

Despite these ruminations, I found myself drawn to it, day after day. Was it the taste, the ritual, or simply the need to conform to a norm that everyone else seemed to embrace so readily? Coffee, in its simplicity, managed to capture the essence of our societal paradoxes.

And as I sat there, lost in thought, I realized that perhaps, in the grand scheme of things, it was just a cup of coffee.

I let out a chuckle while I took another sip, the familiar bittersweet flavor spreading warmth throughout my mouth.

My eyes went back to the paper, to the article that pushed mine in the utmost corner, overshadowing it completely. The headline screaming for attention.

Love in the Time of Heroes: The Heartbeats Behind the Capes

By Kitty Skeeler

In a world where battles are fought in the skies and feats of bravery are daily occurrences, it's the personal lives of our beloved heroes that truly captivate us. These are not just tales of saving the world; they are stories of heart, passion, and sometimes, heartbreak. Let's dive into the love lives of some of the most famous heroes of our time.

Thunderbolt and Starshine: A Cosmic Romance

Their love story is nothing short of a celestial epic. Thunderbolt, known for his electrifying powers, and Starshine, the mistress of light, have a romance that could light up the galaxy. Sources close to them reveal that their battles against evil are only matched by their passionate love affair. "When they're together, it's like watching stars collide," a close friend shares.

Magnetic Man and Gravity Girl: Attraction Beyond Measure

In a twist of fate, Magnetic Man, with his power of magnetism, and Gravity Girl, controller of gravitational forces, have found an irresistible attraction. Their union, a perfect example of opposites attracting, has become the envy of many. "Their connection is so strong, it defies the laws of physics," a fellow hero joked.

The Falconer and Lady Mirage: Love on a Razor's Edge

The tale of The Falconer and Lady Mirage is one of intense love shadowed by tragedy. He, a master of the skies, and she, a mistress of illusions, find their duties often pull them apart. Their on-again, off-again relationship has been the subject of much speculation. "It's a love that's both beautiful and painful," an insider…

I stopped skimming the article and tossed the newspaper aside, the ludicrous headlines about superhero romances still dancing before my eyes.

'Love in the Time of Heroes,' indeed.

It's these kinds of stories that get the spotlight, while the real issues are relegated to the back pages, if they're lucky to make it to print at all.

I've often wondered why I still bother, why I continue to write and fight for a space in these papers.

Maybe it's the hope, however faint, that amongst the sea of sensationalism, there are still those who seek the truth, who crave more than just the superficial glitter of hero gossip.

Luckily this time there is a difference, this time there is a centerpiece in the paper that is the start of something that will change everything. I glanced again at the tossed aside paper, which had fallen in such a way that the front page was prominently visible.

The Enigmatic Broadcast that Gripped the City

By The Daily Chronicle Staff

Yesterday, the city awoke to an unprecedented event – a mysterious broadcast that has captivated and bewildered citizens and authorities alike. The figure, donning a mask and an eccentric conductor's costume, hijacked the airwaves to deliver a message that was part theatrical performance, part cryptic challenge.

The broadcast began with static noise, quickly clearing to reveal the masked figure. He spun a tale of "Norman," a regular citizen in a city transformed by the emergence of superpowers. The story took a dark turn with the apparent loss of Norman’s daughter, a gifted healer, in the chaos of a world populated by heroes and villains.

But the broadcast was more than just a narrative. The figure, now known as 'The Maestro', issued a city-wide challenge centered around the deadly sin of pride, promising a mysterious reward for those who excel. Discover the full intricacies of this intriguing broadcast and the exact nature of the challenge on page 2.

The enigmatic figure has been aptly named ‘The Maestro’ due to his conductor's attire and the orchestral backdrop of his tale. Yet, his identity and true intentions remain a true enigma. Take a look at the different speculations and theories about the identity of this 'Maestro of Mischief' on page 3.

The broadcast has ignited a wildfire of theories and discussions among the public, all brimming with anticipation for The Maestro's next move. What hidden truth is he hinting at? Why weave a story about Norman? What could he mean by ‘your foe’s vanity might be their end’? And what kind of prize might he be hinting at? Join various experts as they unravel these mysteries on page 4.

As the city buzzes with speculation, one thing is clear: the tale of Norman and the challenge issued has struck a chord. Who is this masked figure, and what is the true purpose behind his broadcast? The city waits with bated breath for the next chapter in this unfolding drama.

‘The Maestro’, huh? Well, it could have been worse, much worse.

I spent quite some time pondering over giving myself a new name for the broadcast.

In the end, I decided against it, believing it’s better left to the people to decide. Most of the time, it makes the hero or villain seem more relatable, almost as if they are a part of their own creation.

Furthermore, there are several instances where heroes and villains tried to name themselves, but the public, for their amusement, ended up giving them entirely different monikers.

Take, for instance, the hero who tried to call himself 'Quantum Knight', hoping to sound sophisticated and mysterious.

However, due to his knack for appearing at the most inopportune moments, the public soon started calling him 'The Quantum Party Crasher'.

Or the villain who self-proclaimed the name 'Dread Overlord'. Yet, due to his rather unfortunate habit of overexplaining his plans in a dramatic fashion, the public started referring to him as ‘The Overlord of being too Chatty’.

I smirked, how would the masses have butchered my name if I decided to dub myself for example “The Conductor”.

“The conductor of impromptu broadcasts” or “The confrontational duck named Tor”? Ha, those names would be funny, but alas those don’t bring the same gravitas and what I’m trying to do is too important.

No, letting the people decide on the name was a good idea, ‘Maestro’ rolls of the tongue.

As I looked up from my paper, I took in the mix of individuals in one of my favorite coffee places.

I tuned into the surrounding chatter, focusing first on a nearby table where a group of young students were animatedly discussing the broadcast.

"... and did you see how The Maestro acted? Completely off his rocker!" one exclaimed.

Another quickly countered, "Not at all, 'Norman's tale'? It seemed so real, like it actually happened, you know?"

A third student interrupted them, "There you go again with this Maestro hype. They'll just arrest him like they do with all of them. But have you heard the latest on Arrowman? Now, that's something..."

Their speculations faded into the background as I shifted my attention to two elderly men by the window, their tones hushed.

"Do you think The Maestro was referring to the healers?" one of them whispered, only to be shushed by his companion, "Shhhh, don't talk about that in public. You never know who's listening."

A smirk formed on my lips. Good, people got the hidden message and while these gentlemen were too afraid, I knew someone would be compelled to speak up, drawn by the intrigue of the secret prize, a sense of duty, or the sheer thrill of the challenge.

And if not, I had my own evidence ready to contribute. After all, we couldn't have a silence fall over The Maestro's first act, now could we?

Happy with the attention my broadcast created, I couldn’t help but think back to yesterday and what happened just after watching the broadcast.

With the screen coloring our eyes black, I turned to the agents, taking a last drag of my cigarette, before stomping it out on my floor. “Well, stating the obvious here, but that was no emergency broadcast” I said, while inwardly I was laughing my head off. ‘Let the games begin!’

The agents not responding to my comment, still processing the event, were suddenly jolted by a silent communication. Their sudden stiffening and distant gazes were telltale signs of telepathic reception.

Argh, here we go again, there's something inherently rude about telepathic communication, a silent exchange that offers no crumbs for the curious bystander. With phones, at least, you could savor half the conversation. But this? This was just impolite exclusion.

And government people in particular like to partake in this type of communication a lot.

I hate to admit, I also took part in this when I was still in the service. But we grow older and we learn. Putting yourself in the shoes of the other person is difficult until you are the other person…

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

Ah, looks like they are done talking, their eyes are focussing again on me.

"Do you have somewhere else to stay for a few days?" agent Clarkson asked, his tone not able to hide his urgency. "We need to secure this place for investigation and we just got a message that we have to return to headquarters at our earliest convenience."

Hmph, so not even an apology for the exclusion in their impromptu conversation, what did I expect…

But alright, the broadcast got the expected response from the higher ups. Immediate high alert and bringing everyone back.

Norman’s tale hitting a little bit too close to the truth, huh?

Good, you untouchable basterds better be scared, because your high throne is going to fall down like a house of cards…

On the other hand, this request poses an unexpected snag in my plans. There are certain items in my apartment, hidden and needed for the next act, items I can’t risk exposing.

Yet, they wouldn't be needed immediately, not until the next broadcast. Here is to hoping the agents' investigation would wrap up swiftly, or I will have to break in, in my own home...

"Sure," I responded with feigned nonchalance. "I can make arrangements. Just make sure, outside of cleaning this… unfortunate accident, you leave everything as you find it."

Afterwards, I swiftly packed my luggage under the watchful eyes of the agents. Once outside my apartment, we parted ways and I headed to a well-regarded hotel on the second level of the city.

Yes, the second level, this city is sliced into five distinct levels - there isn’t a more blatant representation of the societal hierarchy.

These levels, stacked like layers of a cake, reserve the highest tier, the first level, for the super powerful and disgustingly wealthy. As you descend, the gloss fades, and the harsh reality of life sets in, culminating in the bottom level – a stark contrast of poverty and struggle.

It is like the designers of this place made the city with the thought of wanting to create a divide.

Now that I think about it, how did this city end up this way? Well, it doesn't matter.

My apartment is on the third level. It was a conscious choice, an attempt from me to stay grounded.

So why did I book a hotel on the second level? Well, I had something to celebrate and though I had agreed to make my own living arrangements, I had every intention of forwarding the bill to DOSA.

I would have loved to make that bill even more expensive but the only way to officially go to the first level is if you have a special ability or have a permit given to you in power. Another way that shows the divide clearly…

Also, now that I am thinking about having to stay somewhere else, my schedule for the next few weeks is already going to be busy enough without having to potentially plan a heist of my own home.

I checked my watch, ten o’clock, one hour to my next appointment. I better leave now, I hate to be late.

Time, in my book, is the currency of life.

It's why I find it maddening when people are too late. It's not just the annoyance of waiting; it's the message it sends.

When someone arrives late, they're essentially saying their time is more valuable than yours. It shows a lack of respect for other people's schedules.

Which on the other side can also be a strategy. It can be a power play, a way to assert dominance, to silently communicate that you are the priority. It can be a deliberate move to establish a hierarchy. But for me it’s a double edge sword, in my experience it just pisses people off and makes everything that follows more strained.

I paid my bill with a good tip and left the establishment.

‘People often undervalue the service industry, especially waiters. These are individuals who work tirelessly, often for minimal appreciation. That's why you should make it a point to tip generously, especially to those who others might not look twice at.’ is one way to look at why I tip.

But, I like to see it more as a transaction.

An unspoken one between me and the waiters, I tip well and you don’t spit in my food.

Seems fair to me and while I can’t be sure that they keep their end of the bargain, I would like to think there is some kind of honor system in the food service industry. Something like, ‘We only spit in the food of assholes and serve the others with a smile!’.

The alternative would be that we are all eating spit filled food and what kind of world would we be living in then…

Outside, I was greeted by the blue sky and the sun shining down on me, one of the perks of living on the upper levels.

My eyes then caught sight of people floating in bubbles, gliding through the air.

These Gravity Bubbles, a brainchild of one of the city's super geniuses, made for a curious sight. You get a bubble blower, input your destination, and with a press of a button, a bubble forms, ready to whisk you away. The journey ends as simply as it begins: pop the bubble upon arrival, and you're there.

Naturally I also see the occasional flying supers and super speedsters zipping past, or people popping up from nowhere. There are also the Time-folding scooters…

But I digress, I , myself, prefer walking.

Walking, in this era of high-speed travel, may seem almost archaic, but I find it an underrated art. There's a certain charm in strolling through the city, feet pounding the ground, heart syncing with the city's rhythm.

Sure, you could teleport or fly, but where's the fun in that? Walking gives you time to think, to observe, to be part of the world, not just a spectator.

Plus, it's a subtle middle finger to all those high-tech geniuses. "Look at me, using my legs like a caveman."

My appointment is on the fourth level so I need to go to the elevators.

Teleporting to the lower levels, while possible, is very expensive and the people on the lowest levels will judge you if not immediately try to rob you of your shown teleporting money.

When I was halfway to the elevators, I suddenly bumped into a woman and I immediately wished I had decided not to walk and to take one of those bubbles.

But knowing her, she would in that scenario have probably also bumped into me, or at least our bubbles would have.

“Well well well, if it isn’t Damien. Not the person I expected to be led to today, I have to say. But I am certainly not disappointed.” She said, looking me up and down with a predatory grin, twirling her umbrella above her.

She hasn't changed one bit since the last time I saw her. Still the picture of effortless graze, looking not a day over thirty, while I knew she must be approaching fifty by now.

“Ava Bennett…” I said, while moving around her “I have no time for your shenanigans today. Go follow somebody else, I have nothing exciting planned today…”.

“Oh, but Damien, we both know that this is not how it works.” she said, following me, walking two steps behind me.

And she is right, Ava here has a special ability. But not just any special ability, nooo, she has the ultimate game-changer, the ability that trumps every other ability, namely luck.

Imagine it: the sheer ability to wish for something, and then, as if the universe conspires in your favor, luck just delivers it to you on a silver platter. It's ludicrous!

Take, for instance, facing off against the most formidable villain you can imagine. There they are, charging at you, and just when it seems like the end is nigh, they comically slip on a banana peel.

And it's not just about dodging life-threatening bullets. It's the small things, too.

Like craving a coffee, reaching into your pocket, and finding you've forgotten your wallet. But then, as if by magic, you find the exact change lying on the ground, just waiting for you.

She can also wish for something and her power will lead her to it.

For example, if she wishes for love, she can start to randomly walk and her power will lead her to, you guessed it, the love of her life. It’s like that compass from that certain pirate that points to what his heart desires. But unlike him, Ava herself is the compass,

Luckily there are limitations to her power that I noticed, it is always centered around her. She needs to be close by for it to kick in. She can’t wish for something on the other side of the city.

For example, if she wants her best friend to be safe and she is not nearby, lady luck will not go out of her way to keep her friend from harm.

Also the world should be happy that Ava is the one that has such a power or at least I am, because you see, she doesn’t particularly want money, power or lovers. Oh she will still wish for those, who wouldn’t, but it isn’t what she really wants.

What she really wants is excitement.

Yeah surprise surprise, the woman who can get anything she wants by just walking around, gets bored quickly.

So, what does she do, she goes outside and wishes for something exciting to happen. Sometimes she has her own adventure or sometimes she hijacks someone else's.

That someone has been me six times or no, seven now. Everytime, I think I will have a normal day, that there is nothing particular going to happen, but every time Ava shows up, I have the most eventful day…

“...amien, Damien!” Ava interrupted me from my thoughts “Don’t ignore me! You know how much I hate that and I know you’re aware of what happens when I get bored…” Now she was walking right beside me.

“Yes, yes, something random is literally gonna fall down the sky to make you less bored. I was merely thinking about the absurdity of your power.” I continued, "It’s as if you possess an endless winning lottery ticket, Ava. You are living life with cheat codes activated, a pay-to-win character in a game where the rest of us can barely scrape by. It’s like…"

“Oh, Damien stop it, all these compliments will make me blush,” she said bashfully, her cheeks coloring red, her eyes darting everywhere but at me.

“Cut with the theatrics, it doesn’t suit you” I retorted while rolling my eyes. “You know, I’m still trying to wrap my head around your ability. You claim that whatever destined for me will occur, with or without your presence. Yet, can’t shake the feeling that your power somehow exacerbates situations.”

“Well, if you want me gone, just say the word.” she says, switching her tone to a knowing one, while looking me in the eyes.

Yeah no, can’t risk that. Every time Ava popped up the most crazy stuff happened to me. Stuff that would have killed me ten out of ten times. Miraculously, not only did I survive each ordeal when she was around, but often I emerged better off.

I remembered the first time I met her, I was still in the secret service back then.

To keep a long story short, bad intel led to me being stuck in the residence of a major gang leader on the fourth level. A sudden noise forced me into hiding inside the bedroom closet.

Peering through the closet’s slits, I witnessed the lady head giving another kind of head to the leader of a rival gang. The situation escalated, and her husband arrived home unexpectedly. After some angry shouting and becoming more and more agitated, his rage culminated in a self-induced explosion.

His special power was apparently creating explosions and that day he decided to make his last by exploding himself. His house and the surrounding block went up in flames.

Miraculously, I survived due to the closet’s position against a poorly constructed wall, which, compromised over time by neglect, gave way under the force of the explosion. And I kid you not, the closet, with me inside, was propelled away from danger, as if surfing on the blast wave using the broken wall as a surfboard.

Now where did I meet Ava in this little story? Well, apparently she was hiding next to me in the closet…

I refocused on Ava as she began sharing one of her recent "adventures," involving some poor sod experimenting with portals.

In fiction, portals serve as gateways between two fixed points, enabling the transport of goods and people across vast distances, limited only by the portal's dimensions. However, in reality, portals function unpredictably, almost always transporting individuals to random locations.

My understanding is limited, as I've not delved into portal studies, but it's believed that their randomness stems from a necessity to navigate through chaos.

And if there is one thing chaos loves, it's unpredictability.

I continued listening to Ava.

“Well next thing he knows, he put his head in his self made portal and when coming back out, his head is now a chicken. And not just the head of a chicken, noo a full sized chicken in the place of his head. And the first thing he does is lay an egg!” She started giggling. “Isn’t that amazing?” She asks me.

“'Yes, what are the odds?' I respond, her giggles escalating into full-throated laughter.

It's a beautiful sound, reminiscent of little angels reveling in joy, the kind that could compel fortunes to be spent just for a moment's hearing. Yet, as captivating as her presence is, I mustn't let it distract me. I'm on high alert, anticipating something 'exciting' to unfold shortly.

Or perhaps this time, Ava's intent was different, maybe simply to see me—though I quickly dismiss such a notion with a self-deprecating laugh.

My unease stems from her preemptive approach today, diverging from our usual encounters amidst or post-events, usually signaling that this event might be uniquely significant to me.

Well, I say usually, her approaching me before actually happened only once. I glance at the scar on my hand holding my cane. A memento from back then, I still don’t know what those super powered monkeys wanted with me…

That was the one encounter with Ava, where I came the closest to death or losing one of my extremities even with her being there.

Now that I think about it, that was the fourth time I saw her. Isn’t four considered very unlucky in some Asian cultures? Something about “four” having a phonetic resemblance to the word “death” in several Asian languages.

I know Ava has some Chinese heritage. And like all special powers resonate with their bearer’s personality, it also likes to take inspiration from beliefs and traditions.

Now that information wouldn’t really matter except this is my seventh encounter with Ava.

And isn’t the number seven widely considered lucky in various cultures? Something about its positive associations in history, culture and legend.

For example the Seven Wonders of the World, seven seas, and seven days of the week. And in the Bible, didn’t God rest on the seventh day?

While I don’t see Ava being religious with that particular God, having Lady Luck by her side, it's the collective belief of the number seven being lucky that should apply here.

Let’s hope I am right and only treasure and riches awaits me this time, ha.

I glance again at Ava, she is still talking about her adventures, not caring I only answer with the occasional nod of my head. I am actually really surprised by her talkativeness without me answering back.

Normally there is more immediate action in place of talking, but normally we are also not just casually strolling next to each other.

As we near the elevators, the absence of any unusual activity is notable.

These elevators, set within a towering tube at the city's core, connecting the various levels, remind me of an intricate public transport system, albeit with rooms substituting for trains or buses, navigating vertically. The system is bifurcated, one side dedicated to ascension, the other to descent.

As we veer towards the descending section, I again notice the big disparity in protocol between the two directions.

Ascending requires security measures like identity verification and baggage checks further compounded by a toll for the privilege of elevation. The journey to the first floor is particularly stringent, accessible only to a select ‘special’ few.

In contrast, descent is a free-for-all, no check, no scans, no fees, no nothing.

I can't help but exhale in frustration at the blatant oversight. The city's administration has deliberately turned a blind eye, simplifying the task for anyone looking to smuggle contraband downwards.

The message is clear: as long as you're descending, your background, intentions, and burdens are of no concern. Once relegated to the lower levels, the possibility of returning upwards is slim, rendering your past and potential misdemeanors inconsequential.

This system's lopsidedness isn't just a security lapse; it's a testament to the city's hierarchical ethos, where elevation is synonymous with privilege and descent with disregard. It reeks of a deeply ingrained unfairness, a corruptible framework designed to segregate and control under the guise of order and safety.

The management of this vertical world isn't just flawed; it's fundamentally skewed, prioritizing containment over genuine security, and in doing so, perpetuates a cycle of inequality and exclusion.

How did it come to this? Who decided that this is the way it works? It doesn’t matter… No, the crux of the matter is the need for change, a transformation that's non-negotiable. It's a certainty I'm committed to ensuring.

Casting another glance at Ava, the personification of luck itself, I can’t help but hope her wish for excitement won’t derail my plans.

However, catching my look, she offers a mischievous smirk and a wink.

It’s as if she’s reading my inner thoughts and challenging my concerns, guaranteeing that she’ll for sure introduce complications.

I raise my gaze, silently pleading for the strength to navigate everything that will come.