The Scumbag's Guide To Heroism

The movie Diane picked was called "Silver Protocol," and from the opening shot of a tuxedo-clad agent jumping off a yacht while it exploded behind him, I could tell we were in for exactly the kind of ridiculous spy thriller this world specialized in.

"Oh, I’ve been wanting to see this," Diane said, pulling the blanket higher up her lap. "Victor Sterling is one of the highest-grossing Heroes-turned-actors in the industry. His Aspect made him perfect for stunt work."

"What’s his Aspect?" Sloane asked, already grabbing popcorn.

"Momentum Control. He can transfer kinetic energy between objects. Watch."

On screen, Sterling rolled across the deck of another yacht, bullets sparking off the metal around him. He grabbed a champagne bottle, threw it at a gunman, and the bottle hit with enough force to send the guy flying backward through a railing.

"That’s bullshit," Sloane said immediately. "A champagne bottle doesn’t have that much mass."

"He transferred the momentum from the bullets into the bottle," Diane explained. "Everything that was trying to hit him became the weapon he threw back."

I watched Sterling vault over a railing, land on a jet ski, and speed away while more explosions went off behind him. The whole sequence looked expensive and ridiculous and exactly like something people with actual superpowers would do if they got bored of regular Hero work.

The runtime displayed in the corner: two hours, eleven minutes.

Plenty of time for the System’s absolute bullshit quest to haunt me.

I grabbed some popcorn and tried to focus on the movie. Sterling was infiltrating some underground casino now, flirting with a woman in a red dress who was definitely a villain but pretending not to be. The sexual tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife.

Sloane shifted beside me, getting more comfortable. Our legs pressed together under the blanket.

Diane reached for more popcorn, her fingers brushing mine in the bowl.

The quest notification pulsed once in my peripheral vision like it was reminding me it existed.

I knew exactly what I should do. Ignore it. Watch the movie. Don’t grope the two women sitting next to me under a blanket while we’re having a nice family moment. That was the sane, rational, non-scumbag decision.

But that Gold pull with selection option.

Five pulls. I could choose the best one. Gold tier meant Epic or Legendary abilities. The kind of power that could actually matter at Halloran. The kind that could close the gap between me and actual trained Heroes.

If it was just Sloane, I’d do it. Make it seem accidental, test the waters, see if she pulled away. We’d already kissed twice. Her Temptation Gauge was at sixty percent. She was literally in the Devoted stage according to the System. Physical contact wouldn’t be that weird.

But Diane?

Diane who’d caught me groping her during a hug less than twenty-four hours ago. Diane who knew I had a second ability and was actively suspicious of everything I did. Diane whose Read the Room Aspect meant she could probably sense exactly what I was feeling at any given moment.

Touching her thigh under a blanket wasn’t just risky. It was potentially life-ending.

I watched the movie for another ten minutes while my brain went to war with itself.

The rewards were insane. A Gold pull with selection would give me something genuinely powerful. Five hundred SP meant stat increases or more pulls later. The quest said optional, no failure penalty. The System was being unusually generous by giving me the choice to walk away.

Which meant it knew how hard this would be.

Sterling was fighting three guys at once in the casino now, redirecting their punches into each other while looking effortlessly cool about it. The woman in the red dress watched from across the room with a knowing smile.

"God, he’s so attractive," Diane said softly.

Sloane snorted. "Mom, you know he’s gay, right?"

"A woman can appreciate aesthetics regardless of availability."

I felt Diane shift slightly, adjusting her position on the loveseat. The silk nightgown whispered against the leather cushion.

My dick was still painfully hard from when she’d walked downstairs. The image of her in that nightgown, the way the fabric clung to everything, the outline of her nipples pressing through the silk, it was burned into my brain.

Fuck it.

If she pulled back or flinched, I’d stop immediately. Call the whole thing off. But I had to at least try with Diane first because she was the impossible hurdle. If I could get past her, Sloane would be easy in comparison.

I stretched, making it look natural. Arms over my head, back arching slightly. A normal stretch during a movie. Nothing suspicious.

Then I let my hands fall down under the blanket as I settled back into the cushions.

My left hand landed on Diane’s thigh.

Not the outside. The inside. Right where the silk hem had ridden up when she sat down. My palm made contact with bare skin that was impossibly soft and warm.

I squeezed slightly. Just enough to make it seem like maybe I didn’t realize where my hand had landed. Like I was still settling from the stretch and got confused about personal space under a blanket.

Diane went very still.

I squeezed again, a little firmer this time. Testing. Waiting for her to pull away or say something or react in any way that told me to abort immediately.

She didn’t move.

Her thigh was thick and warm under my palm. I could feel the muscle beneath the softness, the way her leg tensed slightly at the contact but didn’t pull back.

On screen, Sterling was making out with the woman in the red dress in an elevator while defusing a bomb at the same time. The music swelled dramatically.

I kept my hand exactly where it was. Maintained the pressure. Kept squeezing gently like I was still trying to figure out what I was touching.

Diane shifted her hips slightly.

Not away. Toward.