Wishers make up about one percent of all human beings.

  Now, that might seem like a lot, but most of those wishes were of Minor Rank. Out of a hundred wishers, only one would be above the Minor Rank, and out of a hundred wishers above the middle rank, only one would be in the Major Rank.

  There were about twenty billion people on earth, of which two hundred million were wishers, of which two million were of Middle Rank or higher, of which about twenty thousand were in the Major Rank. That meant that one percent of the one percent of the one percent, were of the Major Rank.

  That meant that wishers were everywhere and never really a minority, but those numbers were also just an estimate. No one really knew how many wishers existed within the world because there was no obvious way of tracking them. A lot of people believed they were wishers.

  A person would wake up, claiming to have lost twenty pounds in one night and say that they were a Minor Rank wisher. Someone would wake up with a clear face and say that they had wished away their acne. A lot of wishes were just unprovable.

  So Minor Rank wishers, unless given a consistent effect of some sort, tended to go by undocumented.

  And even if they were documented, it would be stuff like slightly superhuman strength or height. Some people were extremely fast and others were just talented. The right minor wish could give you a lot of opportunities.

  But Minor Wishes were like a very common lottery. Everybody knew someone who had a minor wish. They were common, even in the upheaval, people who had minor wishes were seen as talented or capable. Nothing like the inhumane flying demigod demons that clearly needed to be contained or studied.

  So they were exempt from the Heroes Union and free to act like a regular citizen.

  And that was where the wide world of henchmen came from.

  I sat quietly on the train as I watched the numerous men in conspicuous warehouse clothing sitting around me.

  If I had to guess, I would say they all had minor super strength. Some of them could lift twice what the average human could, and that would be before working out. Others could lift maybe ten times that. They were strong, very strong, and very grumpy.

  I ignored them.

  I wasn’t in my outfit and there was a chance that they were just regular warehouse workers as well.

  Though the fact that one of them was Jackson hinted otherwise.

  This was Cobra’s crew and they were probably headed home from a night of moving and packing.

  Some of it was legal stuff acquired in an illegal way. Other parts was just legal housing and movement of legal goods.

  I had busted a few of her operations before we had come to a tacit understanding. We had fought a couple of times, but I was a wait and cut kind of guy so we had never fought directly. I had taken out a few of her henchmen though and Jackson was one of my favorites.

  He was a big guy. A dark skinned man with messy curly hair. It was the type of messy that looked like it had started as a part of a style, but then slowly devolved into an actual mess under heavy work.

  “I’m tired of the extra patrols!” One of them grunted. “We did fifteen just this week alone and the Unio--”

  Jackson prodded that guy in the ribs.

  Everyone on the train knew who they were and what they did and everyone knew if you left them alone that they would do the same.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  But regardless, it would be very stupid to admit you worked for a villain in public, no matter how much the Union ignored her existence.

  “They said it was done though!” The offended party yelped. “I don’t get why we have to do this!”

  “Routine,” Jackson grunted. “She wants us to understand the territory so that something like this won’t happen again. She’s mad it took that damn bird to tell us what was going on.”

  If I had my suit on, I would have beat that bastard numb.

  Jackson was a bitch.

  In the most definitive sense of the word. I picked on him because he was easy to pick on. He was weasley, self-centered and worst of all, a poser. Back when I was knocking down some of Cobra’s operation, the tumor had skimmed off some of her supply and blamed me for it and ever since then I hated him.

  Cobra knew, but she still kept him around for some reason.

  “I fucking hate that guy,” Jackson added.

  Feelings mutual you germ.

  “I don’t know Jack. He was annoying for awhile but he’s been cool recently. He’s left us alone.”

  “That’s cause he’s afraid!” Jackson yelped. “Afraid of Cob-- the boss and of us. We know how he works so if he came at us we’d take him down.”

  Is that so?

  I coughed and one of the henchmen looked my way.

  “Headed to the Red?” He asked me.

  I gave a slow nod.

  “Yeah buddy! Head Red for a bed, huh?” He smiled with his hand out.

  I reached over and high fived him, surprisingly, without any difficulty.

  The Red, as the man called it, was the Red Light District. And both I and these not so gentlemen were headed there for very different reasons.

  We all had masks on.

  I recognized Jackson because of his voice, but even he had a mask on. It was a common thing.

  Superheroes wore masks, right? So why couldn’t everyday civilians?

  It was a cultural thing, particularly when you were engaging in not so legal activities.

  These guys were going there for the brothels.

  I was going to the blackmarket.

  I wore a loose tracksuit, a somewhat common uniform in the Red Light District. Underneath my clothes was a skin tight exoskeleton, one that supported me while walking. I could have limped and brought my cane, but that was an identifying feature and would put me at risk of being watched.

  The key thing about the Red Light District was anonymity. A lot of people wore masks when they went there, some for privacy like me. I had a helmet-like mask that covered both my head and my dreads and stuck to my face to allow me maximum visibility. I had on height adding shoes to fake my height and I had gloves on. The exoskeleton also helped obscure my body language, because there were wishers who could read people. Holmes-type tinkers was the slang term for them, people who could read other people like a book. I was one of them, technically, and knowing what I could do made me much more wary of others.

  I wasn’t actively being tracked and I could have arrived by drone at the district. But if you're too careful, people notice. I had instead gotten my drone to drop me off at the docks and take the train through the docks, through the warehouse district and into the Red Light District.

  And we were almost there. Train, or rail which was the slang term for the train, was the most efficient system of navigating the city. You could cut from one end of the city to the other in thirty minutes at most, and that was fast for a place as large as Oak City.

  I was looking outside through the clear glass windows when the train came to a halt.

  Now arriving at Myser Street and Verkehr Boulevard

  The sign changed and the train came to a slow grinding halt.

  “Pay her well, eh?” The henchmen said to me as we both got up to leave. “They don’t care if you’re quick, as long as you're generous.”

  His crew laughed and I let out a chuckle as we went opposite directions.

  I waved them off lightly as we went our separate ways. A bit away from me, I saw a girl wearing an eye mask with bunny ears on. She was talking to a guy, a really buff and shirtless guy and her face was getting redder with every word.

  The man mouthed a number, and she hesitated, thinking it over for a second before nodding and walking off to a hotel with him.

  Prostitution was the world’s oldest job they said, but only recently had women turned into a major customer of that business.

  A lot of people wished to be attractive and better in bed, and a good amount of the men that got that wish would come to this line of work to make a living.

  I sighed and turned the other way, off to see the market.

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