The Corporation had found him as a child, after he'd famously chosen to tie his left shoe first one morning. The resulting probabilistic surge had turned his entire neighborhood’s traffic lights sentient for eleven minutes. They gave him a sleek, soundproof apartment and a job: every day, at precisely 2:47 PM, he would face The Machine.

"You don't have more Switches than others," S.P.S. continued, its text flickering. "You just feel every path you close. Every 'no' is a universe you personally murder. The energy isn't from the choice. It's from the loss ."

Leo stopped breathing. "What?"

He was a hero. He was also a prisoner.

Leo didn't choose.