[The Diary of a Nobody - Entry #001]
They call me "Lucky Punch."
I didn't choose the name. I didn't even ask to be a hero. Hell, I still don't know how I became one.
But I remember the first time I threw that punch. Not the one back in third grade—though, yeah, that was weird. No, I mean the punch. The one that turned a nobody into a problem. A criminal. A threat. A headline.
A hero?
That part's still up for debate.
…
Two Nights Ago – Eastpoint Strip Mall, 9:43 PM
Frankie Davis was not a fighter. Not on paper.
Seventeen years old, low grades, no athletic clubs, no special hobbies except doodling costume designs in the back of his history notebook. He worked part-time at Taco Tornado for minimum wage and avoided eye contact with nearly everyone.
But tonight, he was in the wrong place at the wrong time—or, depending on perspective, the exact right place.
"Yo, shut up and give me the bag!" shouted one of the masked men, waving a crowbar in the face of a trembling cashier.
Two others stood guard by the glass doors of the convenience store, eyes darting nervously. The police weren't supposed to show up for another three minutes.
Frankie didn't plan on stepping in. He was just passing by with a warm burrito in hand, trying to get home before his mom started calling again.
But then he saw the kid—a little boy crouched behind the snack aisle, knees shaking, clutching a scuffed toy robot like it was the only thing in the world that could protect him.
He didn't think. He moved.
"Hey!" he called out, voice cracking halfway through the word.
The robbers turned.
And Frankie's burrito hit the pavement.
…
[Entry#001,Continued]
I don't know what I was thinking. Maybe I wasn't. Maybe it was instinct, or stupidity, or the fact I'd spent too many nights watching old action movies with my uncle who used to be somebody before the city licensed hero programs turned guys like him into fossils.
But I charged.
I remember throwing my fist like it was the only thing I had left.
And then… boom.
…
SecurityCameraFootage–9:45PM
The footage was grainy, but unmistakable. Frankie's fist connected with the lead robber's jaw—
—and then the man launched backwards like a cannonball, crashing through the front window in an explosion of shattered glass and disbelief. He landed in a full garbage bin twenty feet away, unconscious and drooling.
A second robber tripped on a rolling bottle of soda—a soda bottle that hadn't been there seconds ago—and knocked himself out cold on a display rack.
The third robber raised his weapon. But Frankie's foot, mid-stumble, kicked a loose can that ricocheted off the ceiling, struck the man's wrist, and sent the gun flying.
Frankie stood alone in the chaos, wide-eyed, heart pounding.
A voice behind the counter whispered, "...Are you a hero?"
Frankie blinked.
"No," he said. "Just lucky."
…
LaterThatNight–
[HeroNetForums,AnonymousPost]
Did anyone see the Eastpoint footage? Some dude just obliterated three armed thugs with one punch and a bunch of random nonsense. Who the hell was that?
Might be a new unlicensed. A vigilante?
IDK, but the way he moved… wasn't normal. Reminds me of old-school masked types. Haven't seen one in years.
…
[Entry#001]
They're calling me a Viggy. Guess that's what you get when you do the right thing the wrong way.
I'm not a vigilante. I'm not some rogue badass in a trench coat or a freak with a death wish. I didn't plan this.
But I can't unsee the look in that kid's shining eyes when I saved him.
I can't unfeel that punch.
Something inside me changed that night.
Maybe I was born with it.
Maybe it's gene X.
Or maybe it's something else entirely.
But I've made up my mind.
I'm not just gonna sit on this. That'd be a waste.
I've got something—something—that can help people.
So I'm gonna try my very best to do so.
And if the world doesn't have room for one more hero…
Then I'll make space.
Even if I have to punch my way through it.