Ags led you down a well lit empty concrete hallway. Very bland, but that is the purpose. At the end of the hallway, you hear some clinking, like metal on metal, but in a short and shrill way. Ags opened the door to reveal a garage with a half deconstructed car in the middle of the room. From behind the car, a head poked out covered in motor oil and grease.

This must be the esteemed Oracle. I mean, sure, he can predict some things, but he surely can’t actually predict the future? Right? That would cause all kinds of paradoxes, if pop culture is to be believed. Ags walked up to the Oracle, yelling, “Hey Oswald, I brought that kid I was telling you about the other day.”

The Oracle, now Oswald, looked over at you with squinted eyes, “Colored hair, letterman jacket, scars… yup. That is prime protagonist material.”

Wait, what. You speak up, “What are you talking about?”

Oswald sighs, standing up further from behind the car, now appearing as if he is about 5’ 7”, “Ok, short version. Normally, I can sense what things can happen in the future, and what events lead up to them. Lately, I can only see one possible outcome. Most of which involves you. Now, that means we are now in a predestined existence. We are now in either a movie, book, or just simply a story. Considering your appearance, you seem ripe for being picked as a protagonist. I asked Agatha here, to bring you in, because of this. Now, you’re here. I will be the first to join whatever team you end up putting together. Actually, I’ll be second. First has much too high of a mortality rate for me.”

You put your hands, “Hang on a minute, you’re saying that this is a story? And that I am the main character? Please. I may have colored hair. I may have scars. But I am not cut out for that kinda thing.”

Oswald now fully emerged from behind the car,, “Ok, duh. I should have seen this coming,” Oswald smacked himself on the forehead, “Dumb thing to say. Look, you aren’t. You are right. But, many stories start like this. The refusal to the call to action. Standard trope. Now, I like to make gear, maybe that will change your mind, unless you’re one of those dumb, ‘never give in’ types that are just so frustrating to read. Yes, they’re endearing, but they are soooo played out and so like each other, that it is no fun.”

You stare daggers into his back, “So what if I am? What are you going to do, magic me away in this fantasy of yours?”

Oswald stares right back at you, “You are. Alright, this is still salvageable. The story keeps going as long as someone will hear it. Ok. Kid, don’t tell me your name. Might be used against you, an likely holds some dumb key to your backstory or a descrition of your general personna.”

Ags walks back to you, sighing, “Don’t mind that. He says something like this every time his ‘sense’ acts up. This is the second time this month. You don’t want to know about the moon landing.”

Oswald whips towards Ags, “I have told you before, and I will tell you again, that was faked.”

Ags holds her hands up, exasperated, “Please, just look at some satellite pictures or something. Everyone saw it, it wasn’t faked.”

Oswald laughs, “I did look at some satellite pictures,” he jabs his thumb to his chest, “My own. My satellite found no flag, footprints, or any of that stuff. That whole thing was a scam to convince the masses to fund the space program to fill our orbit with more trash, preventing us from ever leaving, driving the general prices of our ‘Earthbound’ material into ridiculous prices, since it’s ‘limited’.”

Ags seeps down to her knees, “I will never win an argument against you, will I?”

Oswald chuckles, “Nope. You are the stalwart person that puts up a front around everyone except your close friends.”

Ags sat, eyes wide, then narrowed, “You know this, since you are one of my close friends.”

Oswald smiles, “Glad to hear it,” he turns back to you, “Now, I got technical prowess in spades,” he gestures to a bunch of shovels turned into a table, holding a computer, “No one ever laughs at that. Anyways, what kinda gear do you want? Fire, since your hair is orange and likely tired to some traumatic event in your past?”

You cross your arms over your chest, “No fire.”

Oswald sighed, then chuckles, “What, did your house burn down? Parents perish in flames? No ‘I survived because the fire inside me burned brighter than the fire around me’ kind of thing?”

You pause, “No… none of those things. My hair is orange because a week or two ago, my favorite coffee shop burned down, so I wanted to pay homage. Thankfully, no one was hurt and it didn’t spread.”

Oswald stops, then laughs, “Really? That’s hilarious! Ok, ok, please, tell me how you got those scars?”

You lean back a bit, “No.”

Oswald, still chuckling, “Pretty please?”

You sigh, “I was reading a dungeons and dragons book above me, that fell and the corner was metal coated, since it got ripped up by my dog. The corner sliced through my cheek and almost got my eye.”

Oswald buckles over, laughing, “Kid, you got the lamest backstory I’ve ever heard. Next you’ll be saying you were in the card club.”

You stare yet more daggers into this man’s back, “So what if I did? I enjoyed it, my friends enjoyed it. It was not harmful. It was good clean fun except every other saturday.”

Oswald doesn’t even look you in the eye as his laughter renews, “Ok, stop, that is much too bland for a person to have as their backstory. We need some parental disagreement, maybe some divorce, but knowing you, they likely lived happily ever after.”

You cross your arms, “That’s a little rude, considering my parents have been happily married for twenty years now, not to mention how much support they’ve given me.”

Oswald coughs a little during his laughing, then looks back up at you with a more serious expression, “You’re right, I had no right to pry, but, come on, Kid, give me something to work with. Are you superpowered? Supernatural? Alien? What’cha got?”

You lean forward, “Alien, yes. I moved here from England when I was a kid, is that enough for you?”

Oswald smiles at you, “Wow, nothing special whatsoever.”

You twitch, then manage not to punch him across the room, “I am plenty special.”

Oswald simply keeps smiling, “Sure ya are buddy,” he turns around and walks back to a desk, “I can work with this. Unorthodox hero, plenty of humor there, but what about serious moments? UGH!”

Ags runs over and places her hand on his back, “Are you OK?!”

Oswald looks up to her and leans into her hand, “I’m the comedy relief, that has a higher fatality rate than even the first companion.”

Ags suddenly backs up and Oswald is now sprawled on the floor, “If you keep making those jokes, we’ll never get anywhere.”

Muffled a little, Oswald manages to say, “These are important things.If I can figure out the genre,” he stands up and wipes himself off a bit, only getting oil stains further down his clothes, “Then I can figure out where this is all going. You know how fickle the quantum realm is.”

Ags sighs, “There it is, the explanation as to how you can predict things.”

Oswald throws his hands in the air, “I’d like to see you try to dissect the meaning of reality from a bunch of confused ones and zeros.”

Ags looks up at Oswald, eyes droopy, “Can we please just get on with this please? I have a meeting with the Boss later.”

Oswald immediately pauses, then shrinks back, “The Boss?”

“The Boss.”

You chirp up, “I can’t help but feel a little out of the loop.”

Oswald nods, “Well, we can discuss this,” Oswald makes air quotes, “”Organization” later. I still got to make you into a superhero.”