Things didn’t get better after high school. I was continually picked on. People tried to belittle me, and I had no friends besides the guidance counselor, Lynn.
She had a sister who came into powers when she turned sixteen but died a few years later. Apparently if you suppress your powers, they will consume you.
The Hero Society, when they re-established last year, had spread the word about people with powers and how they had come to be.
The old Greek gods and goddesses were dying and threw their powers out into the DNA of mankind. These powers stay hidden until they land in the perfect host, and then on their sixteenth birthday—Boom! —they have some sort of superpower.
They’d been given to humans to protect each other. Used for good. Of course, some people tried to go the other way and use them for their own self, but that’s where the Hero Society stepped in. They were the protectors of mankind. They had been doing a good job this second time around.
I hit the right key code in front of my door and walked in after the beep.
My office was fairly large. All white, glass windows, and completely organized. Chaos was not something I did well. I like routine and structure.
“How did it go?” Pops was sitting on my desk, waiting for me to come back.
“All right. He is letting me do a one-month trial and asked if I would consider joining the Hero Society.” I walked over to my refrigerator and grabbed myself a bottle of water.
“You should do it. Could be fun.”
“I’m not the superhero type,” I told him, rolling my eyes.
My chair was comfy as I sat down and sipped my drink.
“But you get to wear a cool costume.”
I laughed at my friend’s words.
Pops was a six-inch robot that I’d created as a graduation present. Back then he couldn’t do any outrageous tasks except move and put a ball through a hoop. Over the years I’d advanced him, and now he was his own little person, programmed with emotional recognition and a full range of thoughts and actions. He was my best friend.
Pops’s real name was Popeye, after the TV show I watched as a child. His original torso shell was actually made from a Popeye Spinach can. We kept it for a while, but he asked for an upgrade a few years ago, and I figured it was time. His arms were thin and could move like any humans could, same with his legs. He had a small line for a mouth, but his internal speaker made him sound like his voice was coming from his little lips.
His black eyes were looking at me, and even though he couldn’t move them expressively, I was able to tell what his mood was by his tone. He’d taught me that.
Tiny clinks on the desk brought my attention to my other friend: Cora, my robot dragon.
I like reading fantasy novels in my spare time, and I’ve always been obsessed with dragons, so Cora was a fun project. She has evolved quite well, and now acts like both a cat and dog, depending on the situation. She couldn’t talk like Pops, but she was highly intelligent.
Her length, from her snout to the tip of her metal tail, was about eighteen inches. She was completely covered in shiny metal, but her eyes were big and blue. She opened her mouth and huffed—her way of saying hello—while walking on all fours over to me.
She was considerably light since I used tungsten for the robotic parts, microlattice for the exterior, and for the wings I used graphene. All were very durable metals, and lightweight, making her the perfect agile and strong creature that she was.
Cora was my guardian when I had my little meltdowns. She protected me until I came back around after a half hour or so. Her little body held many extra traits. She could lift up to two hundred and fifty pounds and could fly, but carrying that weight while in flight was something we were working on. She was also able to create a small flame from her mouth, but has programming that restricts her from using it unless I or she were in danger. Though, she found ways around it sometimes.
Both Pops’s and Cora’s batteries held enough energy for three days, but I gave them both some solar charging panels just in case they didn’t make it to their charging beds in time.
“He’s putting my cozy robots out there, and for the price I’m asking. I should be able to help people, right?”
I didn’t know how great I’d be at being a hero, but I felt like I did have things I could offer this world to people who were hurting and alone.
Pops didn’t say anything, letting me form my own thoughts, and Cora was eyeing a reflection of light on my desk like she was about to pounce on it.
I drank another sip of water and toasted myself: to being a hero, and whatever madness would entail.
Chapter Two
Arthur
Blood was oozing from my right temple, and my sight was going fuzzy. Hell, my whole body felt weak.
At least I went down fighting like a hero instead of running like a coward.
There were men standing a short distance away, I barely recognized the heroes covered in gore. They were talking about going back into the past, and then Asher, the Hero Society’s witch, did something with a sword and lightning.
The wind started to spin around them, while the storm increased its severity.
My head started to pound, and my eyelids had lost the will to stay open. I was about to die.
I wished I’d made better decisions—that I’d done the things I wanted, instead of what my family wanted for me. That I’d chosen a better girl, because the one I thought I was going to marry left me when things got hard and never looked back.
So many mistakes, and now I had to die knowing I’d made all the wrong choices.
“Fuck!”
I sat up in a rush, my hands going to my head to feel for the blood, but there was none.
I was alive.
Sweaty, and my body was still shaken up, but alive.
The heroes had managed to turn back time to a year before the battle.
But that year anniversary was closing in, and the post-traumatic stress from having died and coming back to life was increasing every day.
The sun was just starting to peek up from the mountain outside my window.
No use in trying to go back to sleep; I’d just have the same horrific dream over again.
I rolled out of bed and stretched, feeling my body aching from last night’s work. My shoulders were sore from painting, my arms raised over my head for hours. But the outcome was worth it.
My fingers searched for the glasses I knew were on my nightstand somewhere, since I couldn’t see well without them. Everything was just blurry.
Yay for great genetics and astigmatism.
I can thank my mom for the sight issues.
No matter.
Once my glasses were secure on my face, I looked around the large warehouse apartment to see it in the same condition it was when I fell asleep.
Organized chaos.
Before the big battle last year when I died, I had been a hot shot in commercial real estate, eager and hungry, always looking to be on top of the world. I had money, women, and power—the life my dad had always wanted for me. He was a politician, so he wanted me to have all the power I could. To him, those things measured success.
But then the world was falling apart, and in the end, none of that mattered.
Death doesn’t care how old you are, or how much money you have in your pocket. Death comes swiftly and doesn’t discriminate.
After I was given a second chance at life, I decided I was going to live it the way I wanted, not the way I was bred to live it.