You don’t understand him. You’ve seen him destroying buildings with his luck just by walking through them, cackling with despair as hundreds suffered at the hands of his fellow terrorists. But at night, he carried blankets and food and bottles of water out to the survivors, still with a manic grin and an attitude that looked down on everyone he viewed as talentless. But he helped you, because,

“Someone has to be there to witness it when hope rises again.” He grinned, face gaunt and pale and unsettling, but he handed you a packet of dried fruit, which you took gratefully. “Even worthless talentless people have their use in society.”