Miguel is struck in the head over, and over again by his abusive adoptive father.

  “SHUT UP, BOY!!! I SAID, BRING ME A GODDAMNED… BEER!!!“ He struck the poor boy, cracking his skull in the pavement. He begged for him to stop because it hurts, but finally, the poor boy went limp.

  Today…

  Miguel’s brain is being studied by the 3D Hologram.

  “Your frontal lobe is heavily enlarged… rewired… Unlocking a hidden ability in your neurotypical mind… Have ya ever had a brain injury prior to meeting us?” asked Fred.

  Miguel remembered his adoptive father beating his poor head over and over. “Not that I fully recall. Before I met Prometheus, I didn’t remember a lot of things…” Miguel shook his head, dismissing the nightmares as nothing more than horrible mind clutter.

  “Weren’t ya with yuh abusive adoptive father?” asked Fred, who smoked his cigar in his mouth.

  “My first memory was when I was 15. I… again… don’t remember…” said Miguel, looking worried and terrified.

  “Acquired Savant Syndrome. Very rare disease.” said Fred. “I ain’t uh… fully qualified, but from my men and women’s studies, your mind was so rewired you see combat as somethin’ you’d snack on for a day. Heh… Your brain’s been enhanced in a way where some people like you can master a piano motif in just an hour. Or solve Rieman’s Hypothesis with a single thought. Some kinda… sumthin’... that happened to ya when you were younger significantly enhanced your talent… to fight… To master… techniques none of us can…”

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  “I believe that anyone can have such power… If they try hard enough,” smiled Miguel.

  “But this ability of yours… How would you like tuh advertise it?”

  “‘Advertise?’” asked Miguel.

  “Yeah… Instead of it being somethin’ like a perceived weakness, in a way, aside from your actual powers, it’s an actual superpower of sorts… Makes ya control your shit better.”

  “I wouldn’t want to advertise my… my thing… My weakness…”

  “Your trait.”

  “It’s held me back all these years. All these years… All these… All these years…” Miguel taps his fingers.

  “You can advertise yourself… Not just your trait. Advertise… you… What makes you so good?”

  “I don’t know…”

  “You don’t know?” asked Myrmex, walking in. “Miguel, you stopped Dracula. You beat Aurora. You chose to help people AND ADJUST for other people even if it hurt you the most! And people felt guilty about it. HATED you for it! You saved the world! Countless of times!”

  “‘Countless of times…’”

  “Advertise that. What makes them hate us is because they don’t see what we see! So, make them! Do what you do best…” said Myrmex, crossing her arms. “Write stories.”

  “Huh…” Miguel rocked forward and backward. “Sure.”

  Miguel, that evening, sat in front of his laptop and began typing. “Chapter 1: I am Miguel Azral… It was a cold evening when Prometheus decided to land on our world-...”

  Meanwhile…

  Unbreakable, strolling in the street, smiles, showing off selfies to his peers, wherein he strolls by a library to find some erotica manga, only to see… in the shelf right below the Disability Fiction scetion…

  The Aswang King.

  Unbreakable stares at it and sneers, crying, proceeding to blow up the store with a single flick of his fingers.

  “Sir! Are you okay?” asked the cop.

  “Terrorist,” said Stefan. “Took care of ‘em for you.” He sneered.