1 Chapter One
This world is fucked.
If a God actually existed, he wouldn't have given humans supernatural powers.
I mean, I'm not a pessimist, but when you see on the news, 'Another Super Mass Murder' or 'Gang Of Supers Steals 100 million From United Bank' or 'Superpowered Group Commiting Sex Trafficking; Police Force Severely Underfunded To Do Anything', a person might just commit suicide to get out of such a terrible world.
Not me though. I have a family to feed.
My little brother and sister, my grandma, and my disabled father.
I have to work for them. I need to feed them. They count on me for that.
They know it's dangerous in this city and if they had a choice, they would prevent me from working.
My name is Jean Holland, 20 years old, and I work as a CIT driver. (Cash In Transit)
In this dangerous city, transporting cash is like working in the pits of hell, but it puts a lot of food on the table.
This world is full of 'people' we call Supers.
To most normal people, these guys are just monsters given a power they don't deserve.
Luckily, the government has hired talented hackers, programers and inventors to create and secure a type of cash system, where even if cash is stolen from a CIT truck, it would be rendered useless.
Unluckily, that means criminals would instead rob normal people to get around that problem.
And right now, while I was walking back home from work, I am being mugged by a Super.
"Ya see, what your gonna do now, pretty boy, is hand over your wallet. Unless you want to die."
The Super flaunts his power. Fire comes out of his finger tips.
I'm not afraid of death, I'm afraid if leaving my family. So, I comply with this piece of shit.
It's not like the cash I have in my wallet matters. I keep most of my cash in a special bank created by the government that works the same way as the money in CIT trucks. I keep my money in a credit card and leave it at home.
The only reason I carry cash is so on the off chance I get mugged, the POS would get satisfied and leave me alone after.
What's a couple hundred bucks, anyway?
"Here. This is everything I have."
The POS snatches my wallet and walks away while counting the bundle of cash.
I stand there and wait until he is out of view.
I have a gun on me, and more at home, but it's not worth the trouble. Most Supers have a gang or criminal organization backing them. If I kill this henchmen, another will just come after me and maybe my family. I can't afford that.
I continue walking back home and arrive at a slightly run down housing complex.
I run up the stairs and enter my apartment.
I'm greeted by my younger siblings.
""Big bro! Your back!""
I smile at them, not showing the stress from working and getting mugged.
"Hey, guys. You ate yet?"
The boy, Ricky Holland, nodded. The girl, Reina Holland, gave a thumbs up.
They don't go to school. It's too dangerous for them with all the Supers around. Instead they are homeschooled by my father and grandma.
I heard a while back on a news article of a Super pedophile targeting children and leaving them dead and unrecognizable after the 'deed'.
That was the only article where I got sick for a few weeks after reading.
Why were these 'people' given these powers? Why can't someone good gain them? Does power really corrupt? Or were these 'people' corrupt to begin with?
----------
I woke the next morning and got ready for work like usual.
After changing to my day clothes, I make my way to the kitchen and grab breakfast.
I go shopping for food about once every 6 months. I stock up on food in order to limit the times I go out.
I grab a meal replacement shake and chug it down.
Grandma entered the kitchen and patted my back.
"Dear, you should eat more. You're too skinny."
"Haha, don't worry, Grandma, this is enough for breakfast. I can eat more during break time."
Grandma just looks at me with worry.
I don't eat much at home so that the stock of food will last longer.
"I gotta go, Grandma. See you later."
I run out of the apartment quickly to escape her worried eyes and head to work.
Halfway to the CIT building, I see a Super running on building roofs overhead.
He seems to spot me and lands a few feet in front.
"Hey, hey, hey. Buddy! You got some cash on you? I really need to buy my fix, you see, and I forgot it at home. How 'bout I borrow some?"
I look at the guy with a blank face.
"Sorry, I haven't gotten paid yet. I'm off to work right now. I'll get some money then. You can just come back-"
The Super, having lost his patience, it seems, grabs me by the shirt and lifts me up while his hand changes to a sharp point.
"If you can't give me cash, maybe I'll just sell your organs!"
Shit. Most Supers I come across are just greedy for some cash. I've become so used to those types that I forgot the insane ones also exist.
Before he can do anything, I pull out my concealed weapon from the inside of my pants; A custom Desert Eagle .50 AE.
I immediately go for a head shot, but the Super tosses me aside and I just graze him.
"You bastard! I'll kill you slowly!"
The Super sprints at me just as I was getting another shot off.
We both strike each other at the same time.
He stabs me in the gut and I shot him in the face. We both go down, the dead Super lying on top of me.
"Argh! *Cough*... Shit. I... can't die... I gotta feed... family..."
I attempt to push off the Super, but his hand is still in my gut.
"Guh! Shit! Fuck these Supers! I wish... my siblings were born in some other world without these bastards..."
I lay there, bleeding out.
I start to cry. Not because I'm dying. Not because of this unfair world. Not for myself.
I'm crying because I'm leaving my vulnerable family behind. I have savings. Lots of money.
But my father can't walk to the store to buy food. My grandma is too old and an easy target. My siblings cannot go out at all because of the Supers.
Even if they do manage to buy food, how long will that last without a steady flow of money coming in? Grandma can't work, Father can't work, Ricky and Reina absolutely cannot work.
"God... Lucifer... Buddha... whoever, whatever... I've lived for my family... please, if I can be granted one... wish... I want every Super... to die..."
Slowly, I can feel myself getting cold. My eyes are getting unfocused and blurry.
I can't feel the gun in my hand.
...
I don't want to die...
...
[It shall be so.]
