by TheTimeTrust and T5
Chance searched quickly through several beach-houses, hoping to run across no one else.
They don't understand. None of them do. Luck is not a power or ability that can be controlled. It just is. And most of the time lately it just isn't. It's supposed to always protect me -- at least in theory -- but it doesn't necessarily do anything for anyone else around me. In excessively negative situations, my "luck" becomes "bad luck" for those around me.
Kristofer Schanz felt a pang of regret for the middle-aged man and his wife and grandchildren who had died in the collapse of their house. Chance's self-protecting luck could do nothing for them. If anything, the amount of luck required to protect him would make all those around him extremely unlucky. Chance idly wondered whether it had been his fault that the man's family had died, but quickly pushed it out of his mind. Luck sometimes felt like more of a curse than a blessing, especially since Chance's conscience bothered him for every life lost, every life he was unable to save.
Stupid. You're only human, Kristofer. Well... actually metahuman, but you're no Superman, since your only "power" is the power to survive against all odds. Doesn't do Jack-squat for anyone else, though. Wasn't any sense trying to explain that to my teammate, though. A job needed to be done, and petty argument wasn't getting anyone anywhere.
Chance winced as he recalled the harsh words he had said to Dirk Bell. That was so childish of me, and an unfair low-blow to make those comments, even though it was what I was thinking. I should have just kept my mouth shut back then. Why did I let him get to me like that? Tiredness and lack of sleep is no excuse for beginning arguments with my allies, especially in the middle of a crisis in which teamwork is vital. And it's pretty obvious that, to get along with Dirk, I'll need to use kid gloves. He is a valuable asset to the team in his own way, if he's handled correctly. Real battles should be picked carefully, if need be, on important issues, not personality differences.
A cow wearing a cape suddenly flew by, udders flapping in the wind. That was enough to jar him, or anyone, out of his reverie.
"What the hell am I doing here?" Chance said as he looked around at the beating wind, his words lost in the air before even he could hear them. "I'm no hero. I never claimed to be..."
Against all his instincts, Chance continued on, looking for people to help while waiting for the rest of the team to show up and do whatever they could. There was nothing to do but just survive and try to help as many as possible against the odds.
He thought about what Dr. Henry Quantos had said to him. Doc was right. The effect the Chance drug had on my body chemistry was different than Pete's was; he was truly the luckiest man alive, but I'm merely luckier than most. My lesser luck is compensated by an ability Pete never had, though: my body also redirects all damaging and/or lethal force back to its source, another so-called "power" that does no one but myself any good.
Chance frowned as he began to consider a thought that had been growing in his mind over the past twenty-four hours: What if this storm was his fault? What if he had brought all this bad luck on La Perdita as Pete had done on Malvan-X Corporation back in Mandelovia and every branch all across the globe? Pete had then been so negatively focused that he brought upon everything around him -- in that case the Malvan-X building and indeed the corporation itself -- incredibly bad luck.
Ever since Chance realized that a quirk of fate had cheated Pete out of his own life, Chance had taken all that upon himself. His conscience demanded that he find a way to help Pete, though he be seemingly dead and beyond mortal help. He'd been so narrowly focused upon the negatives since that time. Could it be that he had strengthened the storm that was brewing off the coast of La Perdita? Was a bunch of bad luck he irradiated ultimately responsible for the deaths incurred by this storm? The more he thought about it, the more he realized how negative his thoughts still were presently, and how that wasn't helping at all.
But how to start thinking in a positive way again, amidst all this destruction and death? And would it make any difference to anyone or anything even if he could somehow stop thinking so negatively?
What if the only thing I can do to save La Perdita is to leave the island?
Chance stopped. It was obvious he wasn't doing anyone any good right now. But to turn tail and flee when so many needed help? No -- it was against every instinct in his body. But what if it was the right thing to do?
Kristofer Schanz fell to his knees and did the only thing left to do, something he hadn't done since he was a child. He closed his tear-soaked eyes and buried his massive fists into the sand.
And Chance began to pray.
As his tears began to flow, he felt a soft touch on his shoulder. A beautiful woman, clad in white robes and golden hair that swayed in the wind, spoke with an ever-so-soft voice, "Don't cry, my friend. There is always hope. There still is purpose in life... for you and all creatures. Let me help you find that purpose."
Drying his tears, he looked at her more properly and asked, "Who...?"
"I am Maria. Let me ease your pain. I can help you find you destiny in this life."
And then she sat down and gave him a warm but soft hug, a motherly hug, a hug that felt full of love and safety. Chance relaxed in her arms and cried again, but this time he wasn't really sure why he cried.