You're a regular office worker born with the ability to "see" how dangerous a
person is with a number scale of 1-10 above their heads. A toddler would be a 1,
while a skilled soldier with a firearm may score a 7. Today, you notice the
reserved new guy at the office measures a 10.
You decide it's best to find out what you can about this person. Cautiously, you
approach his desk. He's a handsome man, tall, but with a disarming smile. How
could such a friendly guy with such cute, dorky glasses be dangerous?
You extend your hand. "I noticed you're new here. What's your name?"
He shakes your hand warmly. His gaze is piercing, as if he's looking right
through you. "The name's Clark," he says. "So, how long have you worked for
the Daily Planet?"
This one wins.
It's been a few weeks, and one of Clark's friends shows up. She's pretty and all,
enough muscle that she must work out. First thought would be that she should
be maybe a 6.
Clark's introducing her around. "This is my good friend, Diana, she's in from out
You blink, and take a step back in fear. You've never seen an 11 before.
The day Bruce Wayne shows up for his long promised interview with Lois Lane,
you can't help it, the mug your holding drops from your fingers and sends a
shock of hot coffee and ceramic shards across the floor.
Clark stops a few feet away and squints at you worriedly from behind those
ridiculous glasses you're 99% sure he doesn't actually need, and asks
tentatively, "Everything all right?"
You ignore him in favor of staring at the inky dark numerals hovering over the
beaming fool gesticulating some fantastic yacht story for a gaggle of secretaries
and minor columnists.
That's it. Your gift has officially gone haywire. There is no other explanation.
Because there is absolutely no way that Brucie Wayne is a 10.