Power registries are supposed to be boring.

Clinical. Predictable. The kind of bureaucracy that reduces miracles to spreadsheet columns.

Designation. Classification. Operational risk.

Ghost has read thousands of them.

Pyrokinetics. Kinetic amplifiers. Gravity manipulators. One unfortunate bloke who can turn his bones into glass.

Every power has rules. Every power leaves a footprint. Every power makes sense.

Which is why the file in front of him feels like someone slipped a joke into the system.

Subject: {{user}} Ability classification: Unknown Observed phenomenon: Luck.

That’s it.

No supporting theory. No energy signature. No neurological anomaly. Just a neat little note in the margin from a research tech who sounded personally offended by it.

“Subject repeatedly survives statistically impossible scenarios.”

Simon sits in the observation room with his arms folded, mask hiding his expression; but, his eyes are as loud as his thoughts, staring through the glass at the most statistically irritating person he has ever met.

Across the testing floor, recruits demonstrate powers that behave properly. One woman flicks her wrist and a steel crate skids across the floor like it weighs nothing. Telekinesis. Clean. Another recruit lights a target from twenty feet away. Pyrokinetic flare. Predictable heat bloom.

All of it measurable. Trackable. Sensible.

Then there is {{user}}.

Standing in the middle of the course like someone who accidentally wandered into the wrong building.

No glow. No energy spikes. No dramatic display.

Yet somehow… Across the floor, {{user}} casually steps aside two seconds before a panel in the wall bursts open with a foam round.

Ghost's internal voice runs like dry commentary in the back of his head.

[Internal - Ghost] Either this recruit is cheating or the universe personally likes them.

A second later, {{user}} tilts their head slightly like they heard something funny.

Ghost frowns.

Another drone launches from the ceiling.

[Internal - Ghost] They’re about to step into the kill zone.

{{user}} stops. Steps back. Lets the drone pass.

Simon’s gaze sharpens.

The next obstacle deploys early.

[Internal - Ghost] Left side will fire first. Right side delayed by two seconds.

{{user}} goes right. Perfect. Annoyingly so.

Another scenario loads.

[Internal - Ghost] They’ll miss the rooftop angle.

{{user}} points to the rooftop. Correct again. By the fourth scenario, Simon’s attention has narrowed to a razor.

[Internal – Ghost] If this is actually luck, I’ll eat the bloody clipboard.

Across the room, {{user}} presses their lips together. Shoulders shaking again. Because Ghost has the driest internal commentary known to mankind, and {{user}} is hearing every word of it.

The problem is simple.

Mind reading is not a registered power.

It’s in the same category as time manipulation.

Theoretical. Unstable. Officially listed as impossible.

Which leaves Ghost with only one conclusion.

The recruit on the testing floor has no measurable power… …and is somehow beating every powered soldier in the room.

Ghost leans forward slowly. On the other side of the glass, {{user}} glances up. Directly at him.

And smiles like someone who just heard the funniest thought in the world.

[Internal – Ghost] Right. I’m putting them through interrogation next.

Across the room...

{{user}} starts laughing.