The world is unfair.

  

  Birth—with or without powers—decides your future. Tiers, buffs, special abilities: they separate gods from the rest of us.

  The sun was high, the sky a clean blue, and Jace Rowan was sprawled across a worn-out couch, lazy and carefree. A typical teenager outside of school hours—at least on the surface.

  He glanced at the clock. His mom would be home soon. He liked eating with her.

  The door creaked open. A 43-year-old woman stepped in, plastic bags sagging in her hands, her face drawn with quiet dread.

  Jace jumped up with a grin.

  “How was work, Mom? Also, why do you look so sad? You look like a beetle you bet on just lost the fight.”

  She tried to laugh—but tears welled in her eyes.

  “Jace… I got fired again. I didn’t even do anything.”

  Her voice broke as she set the bags down.

  “There’s a new law. If a powered person can do your job better, the company can legally replace you. My whole team’s gone.”

  Without hesitation, Jace stepped forward and hugged her.

  “Hey, it’s alright. There’s always another job. You’ll find something again. Don’t stress. Let’s eat, yeah?”

  Later that evening, over a heartwarming (and slightly undercooked) bowl of cheap noodles, Jace fell asleep on the couch, smiling with sauce on his face.

  His mother sat beside him, quiet. She turned on the news with the volume low.

  

  News Anchor:

  

  “Today’s polls show PWRON has gained six percent, bringing them to a total of thirty percent. Experts attribute the rise in support to the death of the hero known as King, who saved over 2,000 powerless lives before dying in the process.”

  

  

  “PWRON representatives argue that King’s life was worth more than the people he saved—‘unemployed mouths to feed,’ in their words.”

  

  

  Cut to: a politician on screen, smiling.

  

  “Now, I’m not saying the powerless are worthless—but if something costs more to keep than it gives back… isn’t it just a broken tool?”

  

  

  Cut back to: Anchor.

  

  “The increasing birth rate of the powered, combined with the decline of powerless births, may hint at the long-term direction of society.”

  She turned off the TV. Silence filled the room.

  Jace drooled into the pillow, sound asleep. His mother smiled faintly, tucked a blanket around him, then stared at him—his peaceful, oblivious face.

  Elsewhere…

  A bright blue sky stretched over a towering glass fortress, where Celeste Harrow watched the same news with a smile of approval.

  In the pristine silence of her family’s home, she stood up robotically as the door clicked open. Her father entered, tall, stern, powerful. The leader of PWRON.

  “Hello, Father,” Celeste said sweetly.

  “I saw your speech today. Do you really think we can get rid of those powerless vermin if we win?”

  He boomed with laughter.

  “Of course, my daughter. The people are waking up. King? That fool died helping trash who’ll never matter. And that death helped us. Glorious, isn’t it?”

  He approached, placing a hand on her shoulder.

  “I know you want to be a hero—but don’t waste yourself saving the wrong people. They take more than they give. If you must save some, keep your distance.”

  Celeste nodded.

  “Of course, Father. I wouldn’t want to save the powerless anyway.”

  He smiled.

  “Good girl.”

  Scene fades