The Law of Averages

Past Interlude — The Destined Duet

Chicago, Illinois 1955

Stanley walked through wide, well-lit streets of Northwest Chicago with its Champion at his side. Bastion flanked the pair, never far from his leader, and always ready to act. They walked through a neighborhood-in-progress, large wooden frames of homes yet to be built, all to support the massive influx of Eastern European immigrants fleeing the madness of the Soviets. Bastion did not trust the motives of these foreigners, and it showed in his every movement.

It was paranoia, Stanley told himself, and tried to rise above it. There was no room for the alienation of others in this frightening new world. When men could become monsters with but a dash of cosmic radiation and a stroke of luck, one couldn't afford to make enemies of others. Cooperation, Stanley thought, was the path forward. It was only practical.

That was the goal of this little excursion. The Champion of Chicago had consolidated nearly two-thirds of the active 'superheroes' gallivanting about the city. The man's undeniable charisma and pure heart had brought together these disparate beings and bound them to righteous purpose. Champion was bringing stability to a city that had nearly burst at its seams. Even now, the darkest parts of humanity sought to carve out their own little domains within the city. Every hero brought into the fold was one less casualty at the hands of a villain.

Their next hopeful—Stanley hesitated to call them a target֫—resided at the heart of an immigrant conclave nearby. The community was considered one of the safer territories outside of the People's influence. The conclave's population was over a quarter-million, with around half of those having arrived in the United States in just the past few years. Despite these numbers, and the nature of the inhabitants themselves, few villains had been reported originating from this section of the city. Part of this, Stanley theorized, was the origins of the immigrants themselves. Having seen the chaos erupting overseas, they strove to live an orderly, fulfilling life in their new country. The rest lay on the shoulders of the conclave's protector: a young woman, of all things, with some form of powerful telekinesis.

Powers seemed to care little about the gender divide. If anything, women were slightly overrepresented in their incarnation rate, and their abilities were no less potent than a man's. Stanley wasn't blind to the social ripples that this was causing in society. Too shallow to notice in the shadow of greater things, but no less impactful. Having a powerful, competent young lady as a prominent figure within the ranks of the People would be a massive boon toward Stanley's long-term goals.

Champion was familiar with the girl, who he described as having a good heart and a short temper. She didn't think much of the People, Champion had sheepishly admitted before setting out, and had refused to join with them when the burgeoning group had first reached out. Now that they had grown, and proven themselves to the city, Champion was hopeful that she would change her mind.

Stanley had doubts. Anyone capable of resisting Champion's charm was bound to be headstrong. Especially a woman. The man was almost supernaturally attractive, to the extent that Stanley assumed the man's power had some esoteric effect on his appearance. Beyond the superficial, Champion had an aura of trustworthiness about him. It wasn't his power. It was something else. Something the man was born with, that he put out into the world long before he was touched by the radiation of White Sands. Being around the man made one think that everything would be alright.

Once again, Stanley gave thanks to whoever was listening that he had found this man. He had come to Chicago looking for a pillar to hold the thriving, chaotic superhero community aloft. He needed an example for all to see. Someone more than human, perfect in a way that was unachievable yet infinitely desirable. Someone to prop up in front of the masses as a paragon of what should be. Champion was the closest that Stanley could ever get, and was perfectly happy to set an example for others to follow.

The man could stand to be a touch less optimistic, though.

"She's usually around here," Champion declared cheerfully, pointing to a nearby building.

Stanley stared at it. "That is a bar."

It was an overstatement. The place was a dive. It stood out starkly against its surroundings, isolated on the street by large alleys as if the neighboring buildings were leaning away in disgust. It gave the impression that, if it wasn't serving alcohol, the drinks would be poisoning its customers. Stanley certainly wouldn't be eating anything here.

Champion didn't share his distaste. The man was in streetwear, rather than his 'business' attire. No need to attract undue attention, though a mask might have drawn less attention than the man's face. Women, and the odd man, stared at him as he passed, dumbstruck by his flawless features.

Champion nodded at Stanley's evaluation. "She's not much of a drinker, really. I think she just enjoys the atmosphere."

"Of a slum?" Stanley remarked incredulously. "I thought we were looking for a heroine."

The sign above the bar's door read simply: Roger's. It dangled loosely in its fittings, poorly nailed into place. Stanley could hear loud shouts coming from within. He peered at the grimy windows facing the street, attempting to see into the dimly-lit building. His task became infinitely easier when a shadow appeared against the window, then the glass shattered as a man tumbled out onto the sidewalk.

The sound of a bar fight erupting filled the street, loud music, angry shouts, and breaking bottles. Bastion stepped forward and thrust out his hand. A translucent pane of shimmering force sealed the hole that the unfortunate man made, as Champion strode forward to check on him. Stanley followed, feeling in his pocket for the revolver that he'd acquired from one of Champion's subordinates, just in case.

Champion knelt beside the prone, drunken man, and lightly slapped his face. "You alright there, fella?"

The man warbled something incomprehensible, and Champion nodded. "Yeah, you're fine."

He stepped past the prone man, gently lifting his legs and reorienting him so that the street was no longer obstructed, then Champion casually strolled towards the bar door. Stanley cast a worried glance towards Bastion, who merely rolled his eyes in exasperation, before following the People's leader.

Stanley had seen his share of bars in college, but the inside of Roger's was completely outside his experience. It was absolute pandemonium, a massive brawl between every single individual within, without any clear goal or reason. The wooden furniture, cheap but sturdy, was freely used as improvised weaponry. The bartender wielded a pair of broken bottles, and was menacing a group of patrons while shouting something in furious Czech.

There wasn't time for further investigation. Champion strolled through the door, glanced around at the chaos, and cleared his throat assertively. A pulse of something unseen rippled out from him, demanding attention. Stanley's eyes were drawn inexorably towards the man, and nearly all motion stopped within the bar.

Nearly. Somewhere near the back, the sound of a fist meeting flesh rang out, and a man stumbled past the frozen crowd, bleeding from his mouth and collapsing in a groaning heap. A woman moved through the crowd with long, confident strides, and Stanley's eyes peeled away from Champion to gaze upon a much more welcoming sight.

She was tall for a woman, nearly Stanley's height, though clearly several years younger than him. She was long-legged and lithe, with refined features and full lips. Her dark hair was pulled into a half-up ponytail that cascaded across her shoulders. She wore a workers pants and a linen shirt that hung entirely too loose across her delicate shoulders. Her fists were wrapped in cloth strips and her knuckles were covered in other people's blood. Her eyes were sky blue and hard as steel, and a scowl was split across her pretty face.

Something stirred inside Stanley's chest, as interest took root sudden and strong. He took note of this person, all of her, as he rapidly discovered several interests that he'd never known he had. She looked fresh off a battlefield, every inch of her ready for violence.

She was the most beautiful woman Stanley had ever laid eyes on. Her hard eyes bored holes into Champion, as she shoved one of the motionless customers aside. The man went sprawling, but even then Champion's spell did not break. Only this one woman seemed immune; her, and Stanley, who found himself spellbound by the creature before him.

"Why are you spoiling my fun, Champion?" she sneered, the harsh expression sharpening her features into something almost animalistic. Her voice was low and throaty, and had the hint of an accent that Stanley couldn't quite place.

The People's Champion held out his hands submissively. "You have my utmost apologies, Miss Volkov. I didn't mean to interrupt. We were simply hoping to have a word with you."

"Over dinner, if possible," Stanley found himself suggesting. He blinked, almost as surprised by his own words as the woman in front of him. But Stanley knew what he wanted, and he never hesitated in reaching for it.

Her eyes flicked to him and narrowed. He found himself beneath the stare of an angry wolf, but he held firm. After a moment, she asked, "And who are you?"

"Stanley Summers at your service," he replied, sweeping into a courteous bow. "I'd offer my hand, madam, but I fear you'd rip it off."

Champion stared at him, aghast, but Miss Volkov barked out a harsh laugh. "You're a funny one." Her eyes roamed his clothes, and she snorted at him. "Lose the fancy coat and join me at the corner table. Champion, otva`li."

Stanley cocked his head at the sudden burst of Russian, but Champion merely bowed sheepishly and backed away. He clapped a hand on Stanley's shoulder as he passed, muttering, "Good luck, my friend." The moment the Champion stepped out of the room, his power faded away, and the bar seemed to spark back into lively motion. For a moment, Stanley worried that he was going to be attacked, but one of the patrons slugged another in the face, and the brawl immediately resumed.

He could just about make out Miss Volkov taking a seat in the back of the bar, leaning backwards and throwing a booted foot up on the table. She gestured imperiously, and a mug of beer weaved through the crowd towards her. Stanley stared at the casual display of power, before immediately shrugging out of his coat and hanging it on a nearby hook. He carefully picked his way through the crowd, dodging the worst of the fighting and nearly being socked in his face for the trouble.

Stanley made it to the waiting woman mostly unharmed, and slid into the seat beside her. He glanced around at the chaos, then gave her his most charming smile, and offered, "A lively place, this."

She scowled at him. "Don't pretend."

He laughed over the riot just beyond their table. "As you wish, Miss Volkov. This place is a dump, and I simply cannot fathom why anyone would spend time in it."

"Better," she praised, nodding at him. Her lips quirked up very slightly, and her features lost some of their edge. "My name is Anastasia."

"Anastasia," he repeated, tasting the soft 'a's that made up her name. "A good name. I like it."

"Because the approval of a stranger means the world to me," she replied. Her tone was sarcastic, but he could see the teasing smile flash across her features.

He grinned at her. "Then we mustn't remain strangers." He laid a hand on his chest. "As I said, I am Stanley Summers. I'm a scientist studying radiological phenomenon and their impact on society."

That seemed to genuinely surprise her.

"Not one of Champion's crowd?" she prodded. "You were hanging off his shoulder like a leech."

"It was the safest place to stand in the room," Stanley quipped back. He gestured to the bar, where the fight was slowly dying down. "I didn't want one of these ragamuffins taking a swing at me."

Anastasia arched an imperious eyebrow. "Is admitting your cowardice supposed to impress me?"

"Should I pretend to be a fighter?" Stanley queried with a laugh. "I suppose I could have strolled in, fists akimbo, and had my jaw broken by the first lad to stumble across me. What purpose would that serve?" He shook his head. "I'm a scientist, my lady, and I am unashamed of it. I will happily let others fight my battles for me."

"I'm no lady," Anastasia replied, leaning back in her seat. "Certainly not yours."

Stanley grinned at her. "Was that a challenge?"

She rolled her eyes and changed subjects. "Why are you here?"

"Because you invited me," Stanley replied, feigning confusion. "You are an alluring young woman, and I wished to know you."

There was no flush, no bashful look, no reaction to his words at all other than a simple nod, as if his attraction was expected, and obvious, and barely worth acknowledging at all. Her casual dismissal drew Stanley in like a magnet.

"Why was Champion here?" she clarified. "Come to invite me to join his merry band of costumed carnies once again?"

Stanley nodded. "Exactly."

"You can tell him I'm not interested," Anastasia sniffed, glancing around the bar. The fight had died down completely, and people were back to drinking as if nothing had happened. Bits of broken furniture were quietly stacked in the corner, and spares were brought out to the floor.

"My life is fine as it is," she finished.

"Fine?" Stanley queried curiously. "Not happy? Not fulfilling? Just... fine?"

She frowned at him. "If you are here to convince me that gallivanting around in spandex and giving speeches on the radio is the path to happiness, you might find yourself ejected through the other window."

"Oh, no not at all," Stanley reassured her. "Though I believe in what the People are doing, I'm here because I'm trying to seduce you."

She pursed her lips in amusement. "Are you always so frank with your women?"

"You said you weren't my woman," he pointed out with a bright smile. He couldn't keep the optimism out of his next words. "Have you reconsidered?"

"No," she replied flatly, but the corner of her lip tugged persistently upwards.

"A shame," Stanley lamented, slumping dramatically in his seat. "I suppose I'll have to content myself with sharing a meal with an interesting person."

"You want to eat the food, here?" she asked him incredulously. Even she seemed disturbed by the announcement.

"Lady's choice," Stanley offered.

She shook her head. "You don't want to eat the food here." Her eyes roamed his face. She seemed to weigh something inside herself, before snorting softly.

"Do you have a car?" she asked.

Stanley perked up immediately. "I can get one."

She considered him, then nodded. "Pick me up here tomorrow at six. Wear something you can dance in."

He left the bar feeling light and dizzy. He had to consciously avoid skipping with each step, and struggled to keep a smile off his face. He met Champion and Bastion outside, and they seemed relieved that Stanley was still in one piece.

"She's got quite a bite to her, doesn't she?" Champion asked, sharing an amused look with Bastion.

Stanley stared at the two blankly, then turned back to the bar. He could just about make out Anastasia Volkov between the throng of people drinking and laughing. She sipped at her beer, a contemplating expression on her face. He felt like there was more to her than the hard, cynical face she put on in public. She defended this community wholeheartedly. One didn't do such a thing lightly. She had hidden depths, and Stanley found himself thrilled at the prospect of uncovering them. Thrilled at the prospect of seeing her again, hearing her voice, learning every aspect of this strange, alluring woman.

He turned back to his companions, a broad smile on his face, and declared, "I think I might marry that girl."