Chapter 1 – The 2012 Olympics

On October 17, 2010, magic returned to the world. But the world didn’t notice

until 2012.

It was the climax of the XXX Olympiad in London. August 7th, at the Olympic

Stadium in Stratford, thousands crowded the stands for the 100-meter dash. Since this is

one of the only events that people care about, with the winner crowded, ‘The World’s

Fastest Man,’ millions watched on live television around the world. And it couldn’t have

been a better day – clear skies, little wind, and the buzz of anticipation.

Now, most people remember this day as the 100-meter finals, but really, it was

just the 4th preliminary heat.

Still, it was one hell of a field. There was the previous champ from Jamaica, the

favorite from the US, and a bunch of other guys so ripped that everyone I know swears

they were all juiced. But as they moved to the starting line, no one cared. We just

wanted to see people race. And really, if they’re all doing it, who gives a damn?

Certainly not the crowd, as they chanted and screamed.

The calls got louder when the starter called out the start. “Gentlemen, on your

mark.” Then the tone sounded, telling them to get ready. And bang, they were off.

Unfortunately, the alarm immediately sounded. False start. It was some guy from

Paraguay who ended up finishing last anyway. Thanks to him, everyone turned around

and walked back to the blocks.

Again, the runners took their mark. Crouched on all fours, they rose up as the

tone sounded, ready to shoot out like a bolt. But, as before, the alarm sounded. This
confused the athletes since the gun hadn’t gone off. This also agitated the crowd, filling

the air with boos.

The runner meandered around for a moment, wondering why their race had

stopped. That’s when someone noticed a ball on the track. An official ran out to move it

away.

Except it wasn’t a ball. It was a shotput.ball, I think it’s just called a shot. The

runners looked down at the shot, then turned to glare at whoever just interfered with their

race.

That athlete was Kazimir Pavelec, an eastern-bloc holdover from the Czech

Republic. He wasn’t hard to spot, especially while standing in the shotput circle. He

should have looked embarrassed being that he was just practicing – the competition was

after the 100-meter race. However, he gazed out at his shot with his mouth hanging wide

open. This was because he was standing on the wrong side of the stadium.

Now, the world record at the time was 75 feet 10 inches. Kazimir stood on the

south side of the stadium. The runners stood on the north side, over 400 feet away. No

one in the world should have been able to do that with a 16-pound lump of iron. But that

didn’t change the fact that he somehow threw the shot across the stadium. Once people

realized where the shot came from, they stared at him in awe.

Being the Olympics, it didn’t take the reporters long to find a video of the throw

and replay it on the jumbotron. Nothing seemed unusual. If anything, Kazimir was

taking it easy. Yet the ball soared across the entire stadium, flying and bouncing like a

baseball.
 Official conferred for a few minutes. Then they led Kazimir to the back for a

drug test. He came back clean, but this didn’t do much to erase suspicions. More doubt

was raised when Kazimir could not repeat that throw. In fact, his best throws didn’t even

earn him a top five finish in the event. If it wasn’t for the 400 foot super-throw, he would

have just been a glorified tourist.

Sportstalk treated this like big news for a few weeks, but eventually, people

figured that he just had some crazy ex-East German sports scientist make him a crazy,

undetectable steroid, and their attention turned to other things. Still, the mention of

shotput in sports bars still gets someone talking about this magic throw.

Now, years later, I know how he did it, even if he didn’t. See, he wasn’t throwing

the shot harder. That’s why even with all his effort, he didn’t come close to matching that

throw ever again. What he did was temporarily make the ball lighter. So, sure, he could

sail that thing across the stadium without any trouble. The spell wore off by the time

officials got to it, but if it were still active, they’d have found a big steel ball the weight of

a baseball.

And, you know, it’s not even that complicated of a spell, at least for me. But

maybe I’m not a good yardstick for this. I think he can do that spell nowadays any time

he wants, but so can a lot of people.

Still, that day in August of 2012 was when the world had their first glimpse of

magic. It wouldn’t be long before they had all they could handle.
Chapter 2 – Central Park

“You know, I've always been good with animals. A friend of mine had this

Persian cat who loved me. She'd just walk over, purr, and sit on my feet until I’d finally

pet her. Either that or she'd dive into my shoes. I never did figure out why she did that.

But this is ridiculous.”

I had this conversation with the driver of a horse-drawn buggy in Central Park.

The day was June 27th, 2015. The sun was shining bright through a little bit of smog. I

had a piece of New York pizza next to me that I was hoping to enjoy during a lunch break

for some stupid medical convention. I’d be heading up to Boston the next day to see my

brother. But neither me, nor the driver, were going any place soon. The 1000-pound

horse squashing my foot made sure of that.

The driver tugged at the reins, trying to get his steed to stand. “Come on, girl,” he

said while making a few clicking sounds. Nothing happened. This was not the romantic

ride through the park that he advertised. The young couple sat in the back of of the

buggy didn’t seem to mind though. They snapped shot after shot, saying things like,

“That’s so cute.”

A gathering crowd said a lot of the same things. Someone asked if I was a horse

trainer, or maybe a whisperer. They all enjoyed the sight. Only two people felt otherwise

– the driver tugging on the reins, and me with my rapidly numbing foot.

“Ok, fine. What’s going on?” I said that as I slapped the horse on the shoulder.

With a whimper, she lifted her front foot and offered it to me. “I can’t take a look with

you squashing my foot.”

 No problem, the horse rolled to the side and off my foot. No problem, except for

the fact that the horse seemed to understand what I was saying. And as I looked

completely confused, she stuck up her front foot.

I figured the horse wanted me to look at her foot. That’s what all my patients do

when they want me to look at their foot or something. My mind snapped back into “Dr.

examination” mode, and I took a look at the foot and the leg.

“What’s going on, Dr…. Shao?” I blinked, wondering why the driver knew my

name. But then I remembered why I was in New York. The medical convention. The

boring bunch of lectures that the board required me to attend. And, yes, the nametag

around my neck that read, Dr. Steven Shao DC.

“Hang on.” I felt up and down the tendons in the horse’s limb. Though I’d never

worked on a horse before, everything is pretty much the same as in humans, except for

the hoof. But the problem seemed to be in the tendons. “Has she been walking alright?”

“Well, maybe she’s got a bit of a limp, but we’re not pulling a ton of weight. Plus

we’re supposed to go slow.”

I think I nodded instinctively as I massaged out some scar tissue between the

tendons in the leg. The horse tightened up a bit over tender areas, but she held still. I

heard someone in the back ask if this was safe, or what if the horse kicked or something.

But she didn’t, not that it would have mattered anyway.

Finishing my work, I let go of her leg. “Give that a try,” I said. The horse hopped

up onto its feet, tapping its front limbs, drawing oohs and aahs from the crowd. “How’s

that feel?”

The horse gave me a lick.

 “Glad to hear it, now get back to work.”

With a whinny, the horse trotted down the path, walking past the now sprawling

crowd. They cheered.

The driver yelled back at me, “Hey, she’s doing great. I owe you anything?”

“Nah, I don’t even know if I’m supposed to treat anyone here in New York. And

I’m not a vet, anyway.”

I lost sight of the driver, but I sure he didn’t mind. But then I felt another weight

on my foot – a golden retriever. And he looked at me with bid old puppy eyes. His

owner asked, “His hip’s been bothering him for months now.”

“Alright, let’s see what I can do.” Lunch would have to wait for another day.

So would the conference, which I never got back to. Luckily for me, they didn’t

keep attendance that afternoon, so I didn’t have to do more continuing education that

year, but I did miss a controversial speaker – well, controversial then. His name was Dr.

John Maharin, and he faced a hostile crowd.

“What exactly are you suggesting, Dr. Maharin?”

“What I am saying is that the rules governing the human race have changed. And

that we must adjust accordingly.”

“Do you have the research to support your wild hypothesis?”

“I submitted my research for peer review a month prior, but it has still not been

reviewed. This too must change.”

Eyes turned to a few older doctors. They stammered and gave the usual reply.

“We have much to evaluate, and Dr. Maharin’s research will be looked at in time.”
 “Perhaps, but by that date, the world will have seen enough for their own eyes.

And we will be playing catch-up for years.”

The doctors mulled over his advice, but nothing occurred that day, or any day for

some time. When asked about it later, Dr. Maharin had this to say. “The medical

establishment, as well as the government, owe a few debts, namely to the drug and

construction companies. If it’s not in their financial interest to utilize changes, they’ll

resist, as I’m sure you’ve seen over the last few months. But change can’t be stopped.

That you can count on.”

Chapter 3 – Walking on fire

Let me tell you about my friend, the Firewalker. When I met him in college, he

was the man. He had the girl, he was the best baller we knew, he had a car. He was the

best at video games, no one could take him on Madden. Hell, every guy I knew wanted

to be just like him.

Of course, we were also all idiots in college. He bounced around between majors

for a while. Spending his days on the court, he ended up dancing on and off the academic

probation and subject to dismissal lists – not the lists you want to be on. His girl left him,

saying that she wanted to date around, to find someone know knew where the hell he was

going. And when the rest of us graduated, Ryan Douglas, the Firewalker, stayed behind.

Fortunately, he got his head together after that. One transfer, a few summers of

school, and a stint in grad school later, he got himself a teaching credential. Three years

later, he found himself back in LA with a job at a middle school. When I rented him the

back house to my place, part of me wanted a return to the late nights of Nintendo thumb

and Thai food delivery. But I found a new friend, at least for the start. He’d be working

on lesson plans and grading papers all the time. And most of the time, he’d be at school,

either doing some teacher stuff, or coaching basketball after school. I guess all his time

on the court did some good after all. A new leaf had been turned.

A couple years later, he was back to the old leaf. I think he got tired of all the

political and bureaucratic junk that they made him jump through, so he spent his nights

plopped in front of the TV. Maybe this was even worse than before.

But then magic found him.

 It was a Monday, June 29th, 2015, right when instances of magic were starting to

crop up. He was waiting in line at the bank. In his hand was his paycheck for a week of

summer school, and even though the money was nice, he’d have much rather had the

time to do something else. Anything else.

As the line plodded, his thoughts switched between quitting, or maybe going back

to school, or… well, that was the problem. He never could find something that he really

loved. Something that he felt was worth pursuing. That was why she… yeah…

A loud voice snapped him out of his daydream. “Everyone, down on the ground!”

Screams followed the voice. Diving bodies accompanied these screams.

Statistics showed a massive increase in bank robberies from 2015 to 2018. Most

economists blamed the economy, or rather its inability to keep up with the rapidly

changing workforce. On paper, this was just one of the early crimes. But reality told a

different tale.

As two gunmen sped around the bank, Ryan felt something. That’s the best he

could describe it. Something. But it was something he’d been looking for.

“Get your ass on the ground!” As loud as the gunman shouted, the 9mm in his

hand shouted a lot louder.

Ryan didn’t move an inch. To this day, he’s not sure how he knew what to do.

But he knew.

FOOSH! A fireball shot from Ryan’s hand and melted the gun right out of the

gunman’s grip. The backlash from the explosion sent the crook sliding across the room.
 A blast like that drew the attention of the accomplice. But he too was met by a

blast of fire. This one hit him right in the gut, and plastered him against the wall. The

gun went sailing, and the robbery was over.

But Ryan’s day wasn’t over yet.

Outside, a car screeched out of the parking lot. A getaway driver sat behind the

wheel, and after seeing what happened inside, he wanted to be anywhere but there.

Ryan heard the screech too and shot out after him. The getaway car flew past

traffic, tires squealing around corners.

Somehow, Ryan stayed right on his tail.

The getaway car sped up towards a hundred miles an hour.

Ryan stuck right behind it. Seeing an opportunity, a bolt of fire shot out and

melted the rear tires on the getaway car. It spun out, wrapping itself around a pole. The

chase was over.

I found out about this a few days later. I had just landed at LAX when I got a text

from Ryan telling me to go to Legends, a local sports bar. This wasn’t unusual; we went

there all the time. We even called the owner, “Uncle Earl.” But when I saw him ignoring

the TVs and staring at the newspaper, I knew something wasn’t normal.

“Hey, Steve, check this out.”

Ryan was pointing at a picture of himself in the paper. The attached headline

read, “Bank Robbers ambushed.” As I read the article, Ryan didn’t say much. I guess he

thought the news spoke for itself.

 Another paper landed nearby. “This is for you, Steve.” It was a New York Post

from a few days back, and right there on page 17, in a tiny box, was a mini-headline, “A

Real Dr. Doolittle.”

“When’d you change your name?” The goof and newspaper came from Kevin

Hernandez, another friend of ours from college. He read from the article, “Dr. Steven

Chao treated various animals yesterday in Central Park. They didn’t even get your name

right.”

“Ryan stops a bank robbery and you want to talk to me about how I pet a few

dogs.”

“Hey, you haven’t been around for the past few days. I couldn’t get him to shut

up.”

Ryan just smiled.

“No comment?” I asked.

“No, I’ve got something else to talk about. I finally know what I want to do.”

“No more basketball coach?”

“Nah, that’s ok, but what I really want to do… what I really want to be, is a

superhero.”

I think I laughed my ass off.

Once I calmed down, Ryan continued. “Look, you dumbass, I’ve been looking

for something to be excited about for years. Coaching ball doesn’t suck, but I haven’t

had a rush like I had, well, ever.”

“So, an exciting day where you almost got killed is leading you into your new

profession.”
 “Die fast or die slow, you die either way. I might as well have some fun.”

I thought he was nuts. I thought Kevin was nuts too for humoring him. Actually,

Kevin asked me something to the side. “Did you get to see your brother?”

“Yeah.”

“And everything’s cool?”

“Maybe.”

He could tell that I didn’t really want to talk about this, so he went back to

humoring Ryan. Of course, I found out later that Kevin wasn’t just humoring him. That

was a few weeks later.

It was in my backyard, and Ryan was making his big presentation.

“Call me Firewalker.”

“Dumbass.”

“Shut up, this is cool.”

“Look, dude, just because Jim Lee can make it look cool in a comic book, it

doesn’t mean you can make it look cool in real life.”

Kevin sat off to the side as I ripped on Ryan’s costume. There were flames

covering a leather jacket, and other bits of red down his pants and boots. It looked like

he’d cook in there, especially during a Los Angeles summer. “Hey, this works, doesn’t it,

Kev?”

Kevin didn’t say a word. He just stuck his hand out. Suddenly, it seemed like an

imprint of his hand shot across my backyard and into an ice chest. It emerged a moment

later with a beer. Then the can of Coors shot through the air and landed in Kevin’s hand.

Me and Ryan just stared in silence.

 Once Kevin finished the beer, he said, “I’ll ride with you, Firewalker. Call me

Longarm.”

While this was going on, I never stopped to ask why we seemed to getting

powers. I guess I figured that people were getting magical skills every day, at least

according to the news. Why shouldn’t the three of us be getting them too?

My two aspiring superhero-buds didn’t stop to ask either. I saw them outside

early one morning, all dressed up like the Superfriends, and driving off to fight crime and

patrol the city. For some reason, I figured Batman would have driving something more

impressive than a Jeep.

That day, they drove around the city and made the six O’clock news. That day, I

went to work. We both stopped the same amount of crime.

See, that day, them superheroes found out something about Los Angeles – no

matter how bad it seems in movies, there’s really not that much crime going on everyday.

Well, at least crimes you care about. They’d ask, “Hello, good citizen, have you noticed

any crime lately?” The response would be something like this.

“What the hell are you wearing?”

“Yeah, there’s that guy selling DVDs over there. You should bust him, this

Batman he sold me doesn’t work.”

“Get off my lawn you freak!”

“You really should stop those taggers.”

Finally, they found a crime. “Do you know where they are now?”

“They always come in the middle of the night.”

 Actually, they tagged in broad daylight. They were just better at sneaking around

than my buds were at spotting them. By the end of the day, they were tired. But

somehow, they found someone in need of help.

This is the report I saw on the news. “With amount of stories we have about

people with weird abilities, it’s not surprising that we finally see this.” What I saw were

Ryan and Kevin walking around in their idiot-suits. “Yes, we now have superheroes

patrolling our city. They even help those in need.”

The picture changed to a shot of Ryan standing by a bbq. He lit a small fireball,

tossed it into the charcoal, and poof, instant ignition. The cook standing nearby was

pleased. Then the reported interviewed Ryan.

“Excuse me, what should we call you?”

“I’m the Firewalker, and this is Longarm. We’re here to protect the city.”

“Well, I’m sure everyone here is thankful. Did you see a lot of crime today?”

“Thankfully, no. It seems the city is actually a peaceful place. A good place to

live and raise a family.”

“Hmm, that seems to go against the reports of some of our competitor stations.”

“Perhaps. Or perhaps being a superhero isn’t quite like the movies.”

He was partially right. Being a superhero isn’t quite like the movies

EVERYDAY. But there’s always those days. That’s what got him into the costume.
Chapter 4 – A Whole New World

By 2016, magic was everywhere. You could tell because the newscasts stopped

covering it. The first people who could jump over buildings enjoyed their 15 seconds of

youtube fame, but after the fifth time people saw someone dunk with their feet, they

stopped watching.

Just like the first man who figured out how to increase his strength. His name

was Wallace Shaw, and he looked like the kid you picked on in high school. Yep, Wally

was short, chunky, and always the last kid picked for dodgeball. He wasn’t really smart

either. Kids used to joke that he’d lost the genetic lottery.

I know this because he said it all during his news conference for being the NFL #1

draft pick. Now, he was still short and chunky. But his measurables were off the charts.

He hit 150 reps on the bench press. No one else could even do 50. And when he

stopped, he just said, “Come on, you get the idea.”

He was only 5’8”, 230 pounds, tiny for an NFL lineman. But the films from

college told a different story. He powered through double, triple teams. Sportswriters

called him the end of smashmouth football. No matter how many blockers you put on

him, he’d power through and stop you for a loss. 350 pound monsters would get tossed

aside like nothing, or fly through the air like a sack of potatoes.

That’s what the sportcaster said. I’ve never seen a sack of potatoes fly.

So, with the #1 pick in the 2016 NFL draft, Wallace Shaw, from the Univerity of

Southern California, defensive tackle.

 People weren’t sure what’d happen in the NFL, but it didn’t take long for the

questions to get answered. No one could move this kid. He’d throw off behemoths, and

knock down runners with a simple slap. Or he’d throw an offensive lineman, and use

him to trip up the runner.

Not surprisingly, he got way cocky. I would too if I were getting paid to do

something I could in my sleep. Of course, the solution was that he figured out how to

magically increase his strength. Or rather, his body figured out. I’m not sure he could

control it consciously.

I guess it’s not surprising that someone used a strength spell to dominate the NFL

and make millions. It wasn’t surprising either when other freaks of nature arrived.

First was Dave “Bullet Train” Rayne, who ran the 40 in 2 seconds flat. Then

there was the Ghostman, who could throw and illusion. Tacklers who find themselves

flying through the air as he ran untouched down the line.. The league accepted these

guys, even treated them like All-Pro heroes. But the last straw came from a quarterback.

And it was during the super bowl. Jack Karrins wasn’t the prototypical

quarterback. He didn’t have a laser arm or stand 6-6. But he was accurate. He went 43-

56 in a game once, with the only incomplete passes being downs where no one was open.

SI called him everything right about the west-coast offense. Every pass would only go

for 5 yards or so. But he’d never miss. So, his team would just walk down the field and

right into the end zone.

Of course, this was because he could control the flight of the ball. And of course,

his undoing came during the 2018 super bowl. That week, the experts had their usual

round table session.

 “You got to like the Raiders in this one. Wally Shaw is the ultimate game

changer.”

“That may be true. But Karrins will operate solely out of the shotgun,

neutralizing Shaw’s impact, and the Patriots will have it.”

“Talk all you want about west-coast, shotgun, the spread, whatever you want. But

football comes down to one very simple game. I put my big guys here, you put your big

guys here. They’ll push. Whoever’s stronger wins, and history stands behind me. Jack

Karrins can do whatever he wants, but it won’t matter one bit.”

Jack Karrins didn’t like this one bit.

That Sunday, Texas Stadium was filled to the brink with the most rabid group of

NFL fans in the nation. Signs in the crowd encouraged Shaw to introduce Karrins to the

Astroturf. They all wanted a hell of a show. Jack Karrins gave it to them.

Initially, everyone was surprised. It seemed like the ball had a mind of it’s own.

The kickoff took a weird carom and Oakland had to cover on the 1. Then Oakland passes

would unexpectedly hit helmet and bounce into the air, just waiting for the Patriots to

intercept.

Karrins was the complete opposite of this. His three drives were textbook. 20-20,

160 yards, all through the air. And he made it look easy.

For the first half, the crowd went nuts. They jeered Al Davis, ripped on the

Raiders, and the announcers said it was an embarrassment. By the fourth quarter, no one

was cheering anymore. Some were bored, some had left, but everyone knew something

was up. Maybe the Raiders were on the take or something, but there was no way that one

team could be that good while the other was so bad.

 The key play happened in the third. Wallace Shaw went in at fullback, clearing

out a path for his runner. Like every other time, he tossed Patriot after Patriot aside. It

looked like a clear path for a touchdown. But then, the ball carrier dropped the ball. He

wasn’t hit or tripped or anything. He just dropped it. The ball rolled free for a moment,

but then everyone dove towards it. Shaw threw aside everyone, giving him a clear line

for the pigskin. He bent down to pick it up, but it squirted to the side, just out of his

reach. He dove for it, but again, it moved away. He didn’t get a third change. A

mountain of players covered the ball, and the play was whistled dead.

Now, everyone watching the game thought it, but only Shaw said it. He slammed

his helmet of the turf and yelled, “This is fucked up! I don’t know who’s out there

fucking with this game, but fuck this! All you at home should shut off your fucking

screens because this game ain’t fucking fair!”

The networks had a hard time censoring all that.

Shaw stormed right off the field and down the tunnel. Rumor has it that he

jumped into a limo, full pads and all, and went right back to his hotel. The NFL didn’t

care about that. They were more concerned with the fact that viewers did the exact same

thing. Ratings plummeted from 20 million down to under a million. Thank god for real-

time neilsen ratings. Sportstalk couldn’t get enough of this for weeks. But they really

focused on one thing. As the ball bounced around, everyone looked shocked. But there

was one guy who’s job was to photograph Jack Karrins at all times. And during that

time, he was laughing his ass off.

This got the FBI involved. Anytime a fix is suspected, the black suit will be close

behind. They sweated Karrins using some confidential methods, and he talked. He could
control the ball. One touch to enchant it, and then he could make the thing dance. Thing

is, this wasn’t technically illegal.

But not for long. A rules committee convened in days. Jack Karrins was banned

for life. In court, lawyers said that you couldn’t just ban one player just because he was

magical. No problem, they banned everyone with magical abilities. Lawyers shouted

discrimination. And I knew what was coming next.

I was at Uncle Earl’s sports bar with Ryan and Kevin when the announcement

was made. On ESPN, the commissioners of the NFL, along with every other major sport,

gave a unified announcement. All games were cancelled indefinitely. All leagues were

defunct until further notice. The sports anchors looked shocked. Their jobs were over.

Inside the sports bar, everyone booed. But after a few minutes, people’s attention

turned towards those with magical gifts. Namely, me and my two buds. Threats and

insults sailed at us from the whole room. One drunk picked up a pool cue, wanting to

bash our heads off. But one angry look sent him cowering. They all knew what would

happen if they tried anything. Poor Uncle Earl wanted anything but to have his bar

burned to the ground. So, we got kicked out and banned. I thought it was a raw deal, but

Ryan was the good guy and led us out of there.

And so, by the end of 2018, professional sports in America were over, and there

were a lot of pissed off people around. Their anger focused mostly on the magically

gifted, and with us estimated at 25% of the population, it wasn’t hard for the masses to

lash out.
 Now people will say that this is just one example of how magic changed the

world. But all that really happened was the introduction of a new technology. And like

every time before, the world struggled to adjust.