[The Diary of a Nobody – Entry #002]
So there I was—
Gun to my head.
About to die.
All because I thought I could play hero.
I knew I shouldn't have followed those men in the black suits. Everything about them screamed trouble. But I had that feeling again—that weird buzzing behind my ribs, like the universe was daring me to test my luck.
I should've just walked away.
But I didn't.
So now I'm kneeling in an alley behind a seafood restaurant, reeking of dead shrimp, with a guy in a slick black suit pressing a handgun to my forehead.
What do I do?!
"Mama, I don't wanna die!"
…
BehindtheAlley–2:13AM
The man in the black suit didn't flinch. He wore dark sunglasses even in the middle of the night. His expression unreadable.
Behind Frankie, two other suit-clad men lay sprawled on the concrete—one twitching, the other very still. Another man, dazed and bloodied, pushed himself to his feet with a groan, clutching his broken nose and staring daggers at Frankie's back.
The lead suit cocked the gun.
"This is what happens to Viggz who don't know their place."
Frankie squeezed his eyes shut.
POP!
…But it wasn't the gun. It was a tire.
A delivery truck rounding the corner blew a tire, skidding sideways and slamming into a dumpster just feet away from the group. The impact sent the dumpster flying—
Right into the guy with the gun.
The metal crash echoed through the alley. Gun Guy disappeared under the weight of his own karma.
Frankie opened his eyes. "What the…"
The last suit—the one with the broken nose—stared at Frankie, as if trying to confirm if what he just witnessed had really happened.
His eyes widened in shock and disbelief.
He stumbled back in horror, nearly tripping over his own feet.
"I—I don't—what are you?!"
Frankie scrambled to his feet, standing tall with a smirk. "What, you can't tell? I'm a hero, of course."
He spun on his heel and threw a punch—Bang!
It landed squarely.
The man's eyes rolled back as he crumpled to the ground, like a sack of bricks.
Frankie grabbed the black briefcase and bolted out of the alleyway, adrenaline pumping through his veins, heart pounding in his chest.
…
[Entry#002–Continued]
It took me twenty minutes to run back home, two to catch my breath in the bushes, and another five to climb the stupid ladder I hid behind the garage. My arms still hurt.
I don't even know why I keep it there.
Maybe I always knew I'd need it. Just never figured it'd be for hero sneaking instead of secretly sneaking and smelling my crush's hair.
Velure Silk & Citrus.
My favorite.
(XD Relax—I'm not a pervert.)
…
TheDavisHousehold–3:05AM
Frankie crept up the ladder like a raccoon avoiding a flashlight, easing his window open and slipping inside his bedroom with practiced grace.
Inside, the room was dark and messy. Posters of classic heroes from the Pre-License Era decorated his walls, along with a hand-drawn sketch of a masked figure titled Prototype Lucky Punch Suit #3 (Still Too Lame?)
He collapsed onto his bed fully clothed.
Thirty seconds later—
"FRANKLIN DAVIS! GET UP, SCHOOL!"
Frankie let out a muffled groan into his pillow.
"Five more minutes..."
…
Kitchen–7:02AM
Frankie sat at the breakfast table, hair wild, bags under his eyes, chewing toast dazedly.
His dad, a burly man with a mechanic's build and morning grunts for words, sipped coffee and scanned the news on his tablet.
His mom, bright and sharp-eyed, served scrambled eggs and hummed an old pop song off-key. "Rough night?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.
"You have no idea," Frankie mumbled.
"Did you finish your physics homework?"
"I, uh… might've been busy saving—studying. Studying for physics."
His dad grunted.
"No more excuses, Frankie. Gene X or not, the world still runs on good old-fashioned jobs and rent. You gotta pass calculus if you ever want to move out."
He winked at him.
Frankie nodded sheepishly and scarfed down another bite.
…
SchoolBus–7:48AM
Frankie slumped into a window seat as the rickety yellow bus rumbled down East 4th. A loud wheeze signaled the arrival of his only friend.
"Sup, my dude," said Russ—short for Rufus—a round, chip-crunching encyclopedia of sci-fi, conspiracy theories, and snack reviews.
Russ flopped next to Frankie, eyes narrowed. "You look like death. Again. Alien abduction or video game marathon?"
"Neither. Just… insomnia and dumb life choices."
Russ snorted. "So Tuesday?"
They both chuckled.
…
LincolnPublicHigh–8:12AM
The school buzzed with the usual morning energy—students swarming lockers, jocks bragging loudly, clubs recruiting in the hallways. Posters for licensed-hero merch and holo-signed selfies from celebrity students at hero schools glowed from phone screens and hallway projectors.
Frankie walked through it all like wallpaper—just another normal kid at a normal high school, the kind where no one had powers, and no one expected you to save the world.
Out there, across the city, were the real stars. The Supers. The ones who got their gene X early, scored a sponsor, and now lived in elite academies built for power and fame. People followed their hero school journeys like reality TV—liking, sharing, and millions romanticizing their lives. Hero school kids weren't just students—they were celebrities-in-training.
Frankie kept his head down, drifting through the sea of teens like a specter, unnoticed by anyone.
"Hi, Frankie."
He turned.
It was her.
Ariana Moore. Captain of the cheer squad. Top of their year. The daughter of his mom's friend. The girl who used to chase him around with a water gun in her backyard when they were six.
Now she looked like she belonged on the cover of a teen fashion magazine—totally out of his league.
She walked past him with a wave of her fingers and a smile. "Tell your mom I said hi!"
Frankie blinked. "Y-yeah… sure!"
He instinctively sniffed the air as she passed.
Her hair smelled like Velure Silk & Citrus shampoo.
As she and her friends drifted down the hallway, one of the jocks shoulder-checked Frankie with a sneer. "Move it, nerd."
Russ, eyes wide, mouthed silently: WHAT. THE. HELL?!
Frankie stood frozen and stupid, his heartbeat racing at 100 miles per hour, trying hard to hide the blush burning on his face.
…
Night-Time—OnTopofaSkyscraper
There's something strange going on in this city.
Guys in suits with silencers, trading briefcases.
Licensed heroes too busy signing autographs to notice.
And now I'm on someone's hit list. Especially since I stole—no, confiscated—the briefcase.
I got lucky last time.
But luck doesn't last forever.
If I'm gonna keep surviving, I need to figure out how this power works—
fast.