[ WP ] A superhero whose power is to calculate probability of things happening super fast .

`` You know, Cassie, you got a pretty good racket going on, do n't you?'' 
 
 Cassandra looked up at the voice, pushing her prescription sunglasses up the bridge of her nose. All she could really see was a vaguely human shaped smear, but the voice was instantly recognizable as Gordon, better known as `` The Golem''. He was a very typical flying brick hero, with the gimmick that he was actually made of clay. None of that would be a bad thing, but he was also a complete asshole with a persecution complex the size of Jupiter. `` Hello Gordon. Is there something you need?'' 
 
 `` Nah, just chatting.'' The reddish smear moved and her desk creaked under his weight as he sat on it. She mentally thanked the upper brass for making the office paperless so she did n't have any forms for him to get grime on. `` Just wanted to get some advice on how you go about running a total fuckin' scam, that's all.'' 
 
 `` I would n't recommend asking for that in a government office, Gordon.'' 
 
 `` Aw, do n't be coy, sis!'' His voice sounded friendly, but there was an almost concealed venom under his words. `` I mean, lookit ya. Good ol' blue collar heroes like me and the other street levels are out busting our butts for a raise, and here you are, sitting easy going inside where your only job is to tell us the future and get it wrong about half of the time. I mean, shit. At least weathermen have to stand up.'' 
 
 `` Speaking of weather,'' Cassandra said, `` Exactly what is it you're hoping to gain from me going out there on the streets and frying like an egg?'' To accent the point, she lowered her sunglasses, showing off her icy blue eyes, and twisted a finger through her tight white curls. 
 
 `` It's a metaphor, Cassie. What's the probability you know how those work?'' 
 
 `` 100 %, presuming no sudden, unexplained shift in the standards of English.'' 
 
 `` Ooooh, a rare 100 %'' Gordon waggled his fingers close enough to her face that she could see the definition of them before he pulled them away. `` Point is, you're here making bank for basically just doing guesswork.'' 
 
 `` It's not guesswork, Gordon. It's not my fault that most things are closer to fifty than to a hundred or zero.'' 
 
 `` Yeah yeah. Hey, if your power's based on your brain absorbing'all available information and extrapolating from there' or what the fuck ever,'' he flicked her glasses, his stony fingers leaving scratches along her nose, `` How's it work when you're nearly blind?'' 
 
 Cassandra shrugged. `` How do you digest food when you're made of brick?'' 
 
 Even without being able to see details of his face, she could tell Gordon was frowning. `` Look, sis, I just do n't like being bossed around by a glorified weatherman. So tell me, what's your little probability say is gon na happen right now?'' He leaned down in her face, close enough that she could smell the sub he had for lunch, and the desk groaned in protest. 
 
 Instead of answering right away, Cassandra pulled her phone out of her lap, revealing that it was on speaker, and that the caller ID read `` Rolling Thunder.'' `` I do n't know, Gordon. Why do n't you try telling me?'' 
 
 Even though she knew it was impossible, Cassie liked to imagine his red face going as white as hers as the door creaked open behind him, and a deep, rumbling voice spoke up. `` Yes, Golem. Why do n't you try predicting what I'm going to say to you right now?'' 
 
 Gordon whipped around, standing at attention so quickly that he broke off a corner of the desk. `` M-mister Thunder, sir! This is all just a-'' 
 
 `` It's funny you say'glorified weatherman'...'' the air in the room began to grow thicker, reeking with the strange, sweet smell of ozone. `` Cassie? Tell me, what do you think the forecast is about to be in my office?'' 
 
 Cassandra smiled sweetly, folding her arms on her desk. `` 99 % chance of thunderstorms, sir.''
