The Law of Averages

The explosion over White Sands was seen for hundreds of miles in every direction. By that evening, every radio station in the country was covering the incident. Citizens were warned away from the area, with the government capitalizing on the awe and fear that people felt towards these new weapons. The danger, people were told, was immense. Naturally, every teenager within five states came flocking in.

  -Marcus Mercury's Guide to Everything

Dan hated sparring practice. Learning to fight well was one thing; he was rather excited by that, actually. Learning to kick ass and take names was another childhood fantasy that hadn't quite died as he had aged. He thought, deep down, that the training was both paranoid and superflous, but that was fine. The idea of it made him feel alive, manly. Heroic.

The reality involved Dan being violently tossed about by a man four times his senior. Marcus wasn't spry for his age, he was downright Herculean. To say that the old man was a little muscular was to say that the sun was a little warm. Nothing could have prepared Dan for the sight of the tremendously ripped body that lurked beneath the doctor's lab coat.

They started with grappling. Dan had taken a few years of Brazilian Jiu Jitsu in highschool, so he wasn't entirely unfamiliar with the concept. He had never been particularly good at it, lacking the competetive ferocity of his peers, but he knew the motions well enough. Dan wasn't particularly large or strong, though he was working hard on the latter, but teleportation was a fantastic equalizer. With his power to close the gap, he should be able to subdue any enemy whose upgrade didn't outright prevent melee combat. Or so the theory went.

In practice, Dan found that his fighting instincts were utter crap. He just... didn't particularly want to hurt Marcus.

Or anyone, really. He hadn't lived a life conducive to giving him any sort of killer instinct. He had no edge, no bite at all. Dan was all fluff.

He was oddly okay with that. Still, Dan practiced. He might not expect much fighting in his future, but a cool skill was a cool skill. There was no harm in learning it. Personally, he would prefer to just teleport away from danger, but Dan was sensible enough to realize that that would not always be possible. Better to know than not. He wasn't being paranoid. Marcus was paranoid enough for both of them. Dan was just being... prepared.

So, Dan sparred with a senior citizen five times a week, getting absolutely manhandled on every single occasion. It was a marvelous break from studying the voluminous tome that Marcus had bequeathed upon him. Dan would take his beatings cheerfully, so long as they bought him time away from that damn book.

There were no figureheads in the early days of the vigilante movement. No single person or group of persons stood above the mob of faceless spandex, neither in power nor virtue. The process of gaining powers was too random, too misunderstood at the time. It was tainted by superstition, misinformation, and fear.

Vigilantes often believed that they fought for the good of their neighborhood, their friends and family, their city and country. Many viewed themselves as blessed, whether by God or by luck or by fate. Those people without power of their own simply saw them as another violent gang. With most vigilantes being hot-headed young men and women, was it any wonder that the movement died in the way that it did?

  -Marcus Mercury's Guide to Everything

Dan had spent most of his school days lazing around, browsing the internet, and just generally being lazy. Learning, actually learning rather than the rote memorization he was used to, was a bit of a shock to him. Marcus would not accept anything less than perfection. The mad scientist had taken Dan's stubborn determination as free license to try and cram the totality of this dimension's divergent history and knowledge into his brain. Dan wasn't quite smart enough for that, but Marcus made a passable attempt at it. At least he was kind enough to keep things somewhat relevant to the subject matter, even if Mercury's excuse of crisis training was a thin facade at best.

Dan wasn't blind. He knew the old man was worried about him. Marcus had lived a long and, apparently, eventful life. Some level of cynicism was only natural. If he believed that passing down his hard earned knowledge was necessary to keep Dan alive, who was Dan to complain? Dan got what he wanted out of the deal, regardless. Marcus taught him how to help people. If the old man slipped in some other bits of training, well that was just gravy.

By the end of the first week, Dan had a passable understanding of basic first aid. He knew how and when to move an injured person. He knew how to clean a wound and stitch it shut. He could list the contents of a standard first aid kit and what each item could be used for.

The doctor deemed his ability to belt out facts as 'adequate' and spent another week teaching Dan the why behind each fact.

For the first time in his life, Dan felt like he was learning something valuable.

Gang violence was a major problem during the early 50's. Police officers at the time were woefully unequipped to deal with powered individuals, and averaged an almost 8% fatality rate nationwide. Arrests were equally ineffective. During the few times that a powered gang member was jailed, their release was inevitably secured through physical threats levied against judges, juries, and lawyers.

On August 3rd, 1951, fourteen police officers and six members of the New Mexico state legislature were murdered; a revenge killing for the arrest of a large gang leader in Albuquerque. Though this eventually proved to be an isolated case, the standard had been set. As a result of this tremendous disregard for the law, any form of civil service was often compared to martyrdom for years to come.

  

  -Marcus Mercury's Guide to Everything

In the middle of his second week of training, Dan sat down with Marcus and argued about the law.

"This feels like something I'd see in a dystopian novel," Dan announced, slapping a printed out piece of paper onto a lab table.

Marcus glanced up from his own work for about a second, more than long enough for him to read the excerpt that Dan had clipped.

The doctor snorted dismissively. "You would think that."

"Lethal force is authorized for authorities to implement in any situation where the aggressor has used or has been reported using an upgrade for combative purposes," Dan read aloud.

He brandished the piece of paper at Marcus. "There is absolutely no clarification on what 'combative purposes' means. I checked. This literally allows police officers to kill people. How can it be so vague?"

"It was purposely made vague," Marcus replied with distraction. The doctor scribbled something onto his notepad, the scratching sound of graphite deafening in the silence caused by his statement.

Dan silently waited for the old man to finish, extremely aware, through repetitive experience, that losing his temper would lose him the argument.

Marcus finished his writing with a flourish, and snapped his notebook shut. He looked up at Dan, crossing his arms and resting them on the table. His fingers drummed along the table in a rhythmic beat.

Dan bit down on the inside of his cheek.

"Did you check the year that the law was written?" Marcus finally asked.

"...No?" Dan replied slowly, racking his brain. "Why would that matter?"

"1951," Marcus informed him. "Introduced to Congress by Senator Dennis Chavez of New Mexico immediately after the August Massacre. His nephew was one of the victims."

Dan blinked. "That's... tragic, I suppose, but it was also nearly 70 years ago, during a time that could be charitably likened to the Wild West. Why hasn't it been updated?"

"Oh, it was updated," Marcus replied cheerfully. "In 1975, if I remember correctly. The original text read 'has used or has been reported using supernatural forces for combative purposes'."

"They changed two words." Dan deadpanned.

Marcus shrugged amicably. "It was a good law."

"I'm positive that police officers were allowed to kill in self defense before this law existed!" Dan argued incredulously.

"Quite so. That's not what this law is for." Marcus pulled off his glasses and wiped down the lenses with a cloth. The halogen lights in the ceiling reflected off the metal frame as he checked his work.

Dan folded his arms and waited.

When it became clear that there would be no reaction, Marcus sighed. "The law implies a threat, Daniel."

Dan dismissed the idea immediately. "We had the death penalty in my world. There wasn't a lot of evidence that it prevented crime."

"The law did not prevent superpowered crime. It did not stop home invasions, or robberies, or rapes, or murders through the use of powers," Marcus said evenly. "It simply made the consequences immediately permanent."

Dan stiffened. "Oh."

A moment passed.

"That's a little horrifying."

Marcus shrugged. "It was a horrifying time."

Both of them avoided bringing up that the law was still in place.

The Neighborhood Watch was the first publicly sponsored vigilante group. Formed in 1952, on the outskirts of Denver, Colorado, the Watch consisted of six members who had been independently active for a little under a year. They were sponsored, quite proudly, by a small business chain whose premises the Watch had saved from arson.

The group received brief national attention, as they operated openly and amicably with the local authorities despite their flagrant violation of the law. They were also notable for their general approval within the areas that they operated, a far cry from the mild distaste for vigilantes that most of the nation held at the time. An article on the Watch eventually appeared in the Washington Post, which included their patrol routes, powers, and descriptions, alongside an interview where the founder of the group stated his goal to snuff out all crime within Denver.

While presumably well-meaning, the group's collective power was quite low. A week after the WaPo article, a villain calling himself The Umbral Scavenger made the trip west to Denver, and killed four members of the Neighborhood Watch. The two surviving members disbanded the group soon after. The leader of the Watch was posthumously revealed to be the son of the Mayor of Denver, a fact that was an open secret within the Denver PD.

  -Marcus Mercury's Guide to Everything

"I'm giving you the week off," Marcus declared.

Dan started. "Excuse me?"

"I'm giving you the week off," the old man repeated.

Dan cocked his head. "Is this a trap?"

The two of them sat in their usual place within the doctor's laboratory. Marcus worked on his own projects, while Dan studied a book the size of his torso. Things were quiet on days like this; days where Marcus was immersed in his research and couldn't afford to personally tutor Dan. The doctor was available to answer any questions he might have, but for the most part Dan was on his own.

Marcus believed strongly in self-study, which was why his statement was so very confusing.

"Not a trap. I need the lab to myself this week. Go be elsewhere." Marcus motioned Dan away with one hand.

"So... I don't have the week off. You just want me not in the lab," Dan translated carefully. He needed to be specific here. Marcus quizzed him at the end of every week and the consequences of failure were both annoying and unpleasant.

"No. Take a break. Go to Earth." Marcus glanced up, and with a movement Dan could barely follow, pulled the book out of Dan's hands.

"You've been working hard," Marcus continued as if nothing had happened, his eyes returning to his work. "Go spend time with the few people you call friends."

Dan blinked languidly as he tried to process the situation. "No studying?"

"Mm," Marcus murmured, scribbling away at his notes.

"A full week?" Dan confirmed.

The doctor made a shooing motion with his free hand.

"There has got to be a catch," Dan stated with certainty.

Marcus paused his writing with a sigh. "It's a been a long time since I was your age, Daniel. I had quite forgotten that socialization is important for you. You've been here for three weeks. I think that you are getting irritable. A break will help balance you out."

Dan considered the point. As hard as it was to evaluate himself without bias, Dan was almost certain that any irritability he displayed was quite justified. There was also Rule #1 to consider.

The Doctor lies.

Dan glared at the doctor. "Nice try, you decrepit relic. Now what's the real reason?"

"Irritable!" Marcus declared loudly, rising out of his seat to jab an accusing finger at Dan. "I cannot work under such conditions!"

"You can't annoy me into leaving," Dan countered quickly. "I'm wise to your bullshit, now."

Marcus settled back down into his seat with a grunt.

"Should've never agreed to teach you," he muttered under his breath.

Dan took a seat and stared expectantly.

Marcus grimaced. "I'll be running a few experiments this week that require privacy."

Dan opened his mouth.

"Absolute privacy," Marcus insisted seriously. "As in just me. No other sapient beings."

He paused, then added, "Maybe take the rat along with you."

"Her name is Merr—"

"Don't care," Marcus interrupted. "Take it, go visit your friends, and rent a hotel for a week. We shall continue your lessons next Monday, and I'll fill you in on the results of my experiments then as well."

The two men stared at each other, Dan's curiousity warring with the grudging respect he had developed for the older man. Finally, he nodded.

"Good," Marcus said, returning to his work. "And bring some of those excellent cookies back with you when you return."

Dan, with great effort, turned away. There was almost certainly a significant amount of danger that would actually occur over the week, and the mad scientist wanted Dan out of the danger zone. The odds that Mercury was simply being overdramatic to secure more sweets were fairly low. That was probably not the reason for Dan's banishment.

Probably.