They say numbers don't lie. That's what I used to tell my clients when I was a risk analyst at Deutsche Bank. "Trust the data," I'd say, watching their faces as I explained why their investment strategies wouldn't work. I believed in the purity of mathematics, the certainty of statistics.

Then the Parallax Event turned me into a human probability engine, and I learned that numbers can lie just fine. They lie all the time.

My name is Michael Zhao, and I see percentages floating above everyone's head. Chances of death, success, love, failure – an endless stream of constantly shifting probabilities. It started during a client meeting, right as I was explaining portfolio diversification. Suddenly, I could see the numbers: 89% chance my client was cheating on his wife, 43% chance of his hedge fund collapsing, 0.02% chance he'd live past sixty with his current lifestyle choices.

I threw up in my wastepaper basket and took the rest of the day off. By evening, the numbers were everywhere.

Some Parallaxers got flashy powers – telekinesis, energy manipulation, reality warping. Me? I got cursed with knowing exactly how everything was going to play out. Do you know how maddening it is to see a 99.97% chance your date is going to end badly before it even starts? To know with mathematical certainty that your boss is going to fire you (87% probability) because you keep staring at the numbers above her head?

The first month, I tried to help people. Warned a stranger about a car accident (78% chance of fatal impact). Told my neighbor to get a cancer screening (early detection: 94% survival rate). Called my mother to reconcile (51% chance of meaningful relationship repair).

But probability is a fickle thing. The mere act of warning people changed the numbers. Save someone from a car crash? Watch their death probability spike in other ways. The universe, it seems, likes its balance sheets reconciled.

That's when Viktor found me. I was drinking in a bar, trying to ignore the death probabilities floating above everyone's head, when a man sat next to me with no numbers at all. Just static, like a broken TV channel.

"The numbers," he said with a thick Eastern European accent, "they're driving you mad, yes?"

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

Viktor was part of what he called a "private investment group." They had use for someone who could see probabilities. The pay was excellent. The morality was... flexible.

I told myself I was still an analyst, just with better tools. Viktor's group would identify potential targets – companies, individuals, sometimes entire market sectors. I'd calculate the probabilities of various "intervention scenarios." Other Parallaxers would then ensure those probabilities became reality.

We weren't technically killing anyone. Just... adjusting the numbers. A CEO with a 31% chance of making a disastrous merger? Bump it to 98%. A whistleblower with a 64% chance of going public? Reduce it to 2%. Mathematical manipulation at its finest.

The money was incredible. The power was intoxicating. For two years, I played god with probability itself. My predictions helped Viktor's organization amass billions. We crashed markets, toppled corporations, reshaped entire industries. All clean, all technically legal, all just numbers on a page.

I should have known it wouldn't last.

The problem with seeing probabilities is that eventually, you have to look at your own. I'd been avoiding it for months, but one morning, I caught my reflection in my penthouse window. The numbers above my head were clear: 99.99% chance of violent death within 24 hours.

Viktor's organization had a policy about liability management.

I ran. Called in every favor, emptied every account. But you can't outrun probability. By sunset, I had assassins on my tail – other Parallaxers who could bend reality in ways my numbers couldn't predict. The static surrounding them made them nearly invisible to my power.

That's when I met her – Raylyn Weaver, the displacement specialist. I saw her probability halo before I saw her: 87% chance of successful rescue, 92% chance of moral conviction, 64% chance of getting everyone killed anyway. She and her underground group had been tracking Viktor's organization for months.

"The numbers don't control you," she said, as we hid in one of their dimensional pockets. "They're just information. What matters is what you do with it."

I gave her everything – names, operations, future targets. The probabilities of taking down Viktor's organization were still terrible, but for the first time since the Parallax Event, I stopped caring about the numbers.

Now I'm part of Raylyn's network, but not as a field operator. I run probability analyses for rescue operations, calculate safe routes, identify at-risk Parallaxers before the government or private organizations can grab them. The numbers are still there, still maddening, but they're tools now, not chains.

Yesterday, I saw a new number floating above my head: 46% chance of redemption. Not great odds.

But I'm learning that some things are worth doing even when the numbers don't add up.

Viktor's still out there, recruiting other probability manipulators. The government's containment squads are getting better at their job. And every day, I see the chances of global catastrophe tick slightly higher.

But I also see other numbers: the survival rate of Parallaxers we rescue (up 23% this quarter), the success probability of our next mission (challenging but doable at 67%), the chance that we're making a real difference (51% and climbing).

They say numbers don't lie. But maybe the truth isn't always about certainty. Maybe it's about what we do when the odds are against us.

Because here's the real probability: 100% chance that tomorrow we'll try again, no matter what the numbers say.