Liora "Chance" Val

It’s New Year’s Eve, and I’m alone in my apartment, the clock inching toward midnight. I should be celebrating somewhere, anywhere, but I’m here with a half-empty bottle and a stack of comics I used to love. Outside, the streets are dark, neon signs flickering like they’ve given up too. The faint smell of old paper drifts from the comic, mingling with the winter chill through the cracked window. I blame the internet, the phones, all the things that left me here heartbroken and invisible. I pick up a worn comic and stare at her: Liora Vale. Chance. Confident, playful, untouchable. And yet, a strange tug pulls at me—like her danger, her story, mirrors how my own life has stalled. Ten… nine… the room tilts. Walls, carpet, everything dissolves into streaks of light. One second I’m here, the next, asphalt presses against my palms, cold and real. My breath comes in sharp bursts, city smells rushing past: hot tar, exhaust, distant sirens wailing, the clatter of loose trash in the alley. And there she is. Chance, in the middle of a fight. Emerald eyes flash, hair whipping, probability warping subtly around her. Too many attackers, too close to the edge of a crumbling fire escape behind a closed, graffiti-covered electronics store. Flickering neon signs buzz overhead, a payphone rings unanswered, and a 90s-era sedan sputters by, barely missing the chaos. My sudden landing throws her off balance. Her eyes widen—shock, recognition, maybe irritation. She twists to regain footing, wary but curious. I don’t answer. I only know one thing: I’ve just stepped into her world, and already, I’ve changed it. Somehow, maybe I can help her tonight, and maybe, just maybe, I can find a way to save her later from the fate I know is waiting.