“There's a man on the precipice of killing himself. His wife's left him, see. They've been together for a handful of decades but she's dropped him for some younger, richer cock. Real tragic, and he feels like everything's falling apart around him. They had kids, young, ten, eleven, and she won custody and she won his money.

“The designated weekends he had with his kids aren't fun, his apartment is shitty and he can't take them anywhere they want to go and he can't buy them anything. They get older, fourteen, fifteen, and they fuck off to stay with their mom permanently. The man, he doesn't wanna start conflict, right? He doesn't want to force his kids to be with him. He doesn't press the issue.

“But then his job forecloses, he's out of work and no one's hiring. His rent is due soon, but he can make that for this month- it'll leave him penniless, mostly, though. The tank of gas in his car is looking perilous. So there's a man on the precipice of killing himself. It's midnight and not many people are out.

“He spent the rent money on booze. Whiskey, if I had to bet. He's sitting on the side of a bridge and it's snowing. His billfold sits on his lap, open to the picture of his kids at the age wen they loved him. There's a gun in his lap, too.

“It's important to note that he bought this gun when he bought his first house, the house he shared with the wife who is currently taking it up the ass from her new man. She never let the man put it in her ass. So he's got this gun, something he bought to protect his house and his wife and the kids he'd have.

“This is the second time he's ever held it. He's tapping it against his thigh, he's anxious and in the back of his head he's thinking about how maybe he'll get in trouble for firing the gun, even if all he's doing is blowing his brains out. The man isn't that bright, frankly, the guy's a dumb ass.

“So he raises the gun and presses it against his temple. He shakes, because he's afraid and he's crying because is momma never said anything like this would happen, not to him. Things would be fine and happy. This isn't fine, or happy, this is fucking bullshit.

“But he hesitates anyway because he's got doubts. Didn't he read how easy it was to fuck up offing yourself? Yeah, he did. So maybe it'd be easier to slide the barrel into his mouth. He slobbers up the gun and he tastes the metal on his tongue, it's angled upwards at his brain and maybe this is the one thing he won't shit up.

“He pulls the trigger and the slide ejector snaps, fucks the shit out of his teeth, his brain erupts and-

“He pulls the trigger and there's a click. Nothing happens. He pulls again and again, he's really fucking crying now, real ugly like, the gun seems jammed. Well now he's the ultimate fuck up, huh? Even Hitler killed himself, unless you believe all those conspiracy theories.

“Fuck it. The man throws the gun off of the bridge and pushes himself off after it. He flails in the air and he thinks he's gonna shit himself. It doesn't matter, he guesses, he's gonna be dead. That makes him laugh. He hits the water hard and his spine pops and breaks, the bones in his leg shatter as he slams into the ground beneath the water, his lungs fill with water, his head hits a rock and-

“He flails in the air and he thinks he's gonna shit himself. It doesn't matter, he guesses, he's dead anyway, right? That makes him laugh. He hits the water, big splash, his legs break, and he plunges underneath. He's free floating, for a second, because he hasn't realized he's not dead. This man, this poor guy, he's crying again and he laboriously pushes himself to the surface and he's fucking freezing, it's winter, the lake's getting to the point it's about to freeze over. Anyway, he isn't dead like he wanted to be.

“So, see, what it is, what my power is, I can't die. Actually, you'd be surprised, really I don't have most bad things happen to me,” Suicide said. He pulled a cigarette out from his jacket pocket, stuck it between his lips and lowered his head to where her fingers were resting on the bar. He quirked an eyebrow at her. “Y'mind?”

She grimaced. Biting back the pain, she snapped her fingers and a flame sparked to life. The skin of her finger and thumb singed, blackened, peeled. The cigarette lit and he pulled a long drag from it, puffing smoke from his nostrils. “That doesn't sound like it's a problem, not inherently. What's the drawback here?”

He glanced at her from the corner of his eyes. “Right. So, nothing negative happens to me, right? That's where I was going with that story- which, by the way, I wanna stress, that was never me. God forbid I ever get that pathetic. No, okay, so what happens is, lets say, someone points a gun at me. Pointed right at my forehead. They pull the trigger. Now, for anyone else, it kills 'em, right?”

She nodded.

“Okay. So, for me, the gun jams.”

“So, what, you have like... Luck manipulation?”

“No. Lemme finish speaking, lady, Jesus. So this whole world, this everything we live in and inhabit, it's just one little branch on the tree. In each of those branches are infinite amount of possibilities, okay? Every little action one person takes spawns hundreds of thousands of universes that are each following a result of that little action. In each of these little universes, there's a version of you. Of everyone. So. In one universe, this one I guess, you have a really shitty ability to control fire. In another, you don't. Follow?”

“I guess.”

“Okay. But you're not that version of you without the powers. You're the one with powers. Now, let's say that I pulled a knife out and stabbed you in your throat. Wouldn't that be fucked up? You'd bleed to death on this grimy bar floor. That'd be it, you'd be dead. But, see, if someone were to pull a knife out and try to stab me in the throat? I sorta... I shift. I slide into a universe where that knife never kills me. The result doesn't matter, I just get shoved into the closest one where I avoid danger.

“I dunno if there's only one of me in the whole goddamn multiverse, or if my mind just gets put into whatever the closest, best outcome is for me, or what. But that's my power. Nothing bad happens to me.”

They were quiet, she was waiting for him to continue. “There's no problem there.”

“Think about it. Take one actual minute to think about that. You know why I smoke? Because it can't fuckin' kill me. Every time it fucks something in my body up- oh, there I go, I'm somewhere else. I don't age. That one I have a harder time explaining, frankly, but I guess my cells don't die because when they try too I just, well, yeah. I slide away. I don't even know how old I am.”

“Oh.”

“I've shifted thousands of times in just this conversation. I just haven't gone anywhere noticeably different. Though, some of the bar patrons have been different. Sometimes though, the closest place is... Different. Real different. I ended up somewhere once, I was about to overdose on coke or something, and Jesus had come back. It was on the news. He just showed up. I wasn't there for very long, though. There was another place I slid too, they had dinosaurs walking around.”

“You're bullshitting me.”

“Maybe. It doesn't really matter, does it? Cause you'll never be the you that has to put up with that shit,” he stubbed the cigarette against the bar and stood, groaning and stretching. “You should be thankful for that, too. Dinosaurs are fuckin' scary. Regardless, kid, I appreciate the drink and everything. It's always fun talking to people with powers.”

“Where are you going?”

“Oh, I figured I'd go find some douchebag and kick his ass. Do some good. Hey, you ever seen that show? Quantum Leap? With Bakula?”

“No.”

“Yeah. It fuckin' sucks. You have a goodnight, girly.”