I just might be the luckiest guy in the world. Less than a year after the accident, and I've gotten better in a way people wait their entire lives to be. I survived my first of (I hope) many contracts, and my reward was a replacement arm better than the old one. It came at the bottom of a gift basket stuffed with chocolate and fresh fruit. The succulents were probably a disguise, but I enjoyed them immensely anyway. Once I got to the bottom of the basket, however, I dropped my apple in shock.

A beautiful, wooden arm lay on a bed of grass. I could hear tiny machinery clicking softly in the shoulder as it tried to find a body to latch onto. I took off my shirt and held it beside my left stump, and I immediately could feel again. There's no way for me to describe this feeling, but I will never, ever forget it. I immediately did all sorts of things I had a really tough time doing before, like making my bed or playing my keyboard. I was still terrible at both, but it felt amazing nonetheless. This high didn't wear off for a week.

After I had gotten used to just having my arm back, I decided to test if it had any cool powers I hadn't noticed. As soon as the prospect of "cool powers I hadn't noticed" crossed my mind, the hand detached and flew forward on a thin set of chains and wires. It crashed into a vase on the counter, which promptly fell and shattered on the hardwood. I sighed, and launched my hand toward the pantry to get the dustpan.

I'll probably discover everything about this hand in the near future, now that it's attached to me nearly all the time. But right now, I'm just happy I'm balanced once again.

The last job was rough. Probably the roughest ever. If not for the specific set of skills all us contractors had, we wouldn't have survived, and I definitely wouldn't be out of the hospital just yet. However, thanks to a few choice regrouping after we all discharged ourselves, none of us walked away with anything more than a bruised brain.

Phillip developed a knack for healing people up with laughter, which apparently does wonders, and my Firebird bone was a reliable as ever. Any hospital staff who cared enough to keep tabs on us were probably pretty shocked at our speedy recovery, but that was the least of our worries at this point. All I cared about was making it a lot harder for this kind of eventuality to kick my butt the same way it did this time.

A perfect solution came to me after about a week, in the form of a parcel. Presumably from the cheery mailman, but I can't be sure. It was a small metal device, that sunk straight into my shoulder as soon as it made physical contact. Making any kind of contact proved to be quite hard after it sank in, however, as a wave of silver started snaking over my skin immediately afterwards. Almost like it was getting a feel for my form.

Whatever the case, I think I just scored myself the coolest set of armour ever.

I've been thinking about my powers a lot recently. During those months when I was living one-handed, I thought my life was over. And when I my arm back, I felt like I had been reborn. I decided I want to share that incredible, surreal feeling with other people, starting with my local community.

The first thing I did was hop online and look through all those depressing gofundme's. I sorted for the ignored ones that I could fix myself, but even through I found plenty, it turns out not a lot of people are open to simply meeting a stranger after a promise of healing. I'm sure I fully scared off one poor old woman, and alienated four others.

I decided to change tactics, and joined a physiotherapy office. There, I could personally meet people suffering from horrible lingering injuries, and that might make a personal meeting easier to achieve. My first 'client' was a young student named Thomas Fredrick, who I (non-creepily) followed home and confronted directly. I need to stress that I didn't crash into the same car twice in two weeks trying to follow him home, because that would be absurd.

When I met up with him personally, I healed his arm on the condition that he could reveal exactly how it was healed, or who healed it. I'm not fully ready to reveal this information to the public just yet. When we had finished, I asked him if he could refer my number to anyone who couldn't recover from their injuries the same way he couldn't, and also whether he could tell me about any local supernatural occurrences. He was happy to oblige on both accounts.

I left our meeting with knowledge of a Vampiric Plague that had spread to East Hastings Street in Vancouver, a series of Supernatural Assaults in Winnipeg, and a Sea monster ravaging a coastal Italian town. I also have a steady stream of referrals from a good source.

I can keep doing good in this community for a long time, I'm sure.

I'm not going to sugarcoat it. There now exists video evidence of my supernature.

Granted, it's shaky, and the authorities have not been able to pin it onto me one way or another. However, the risk imparted to me my this evidence is great, and greater still is that to my family. Henceforth, until I am absolutely certain that no harm may come of it, I resign from my second life of adventure.

I take these coming months as opportunities to get ahead on my writing, maybe venture north, domestically, and write about the Territories.

I will also strive to find an appropriate stash for the 1.1 million in gold I just acquired. I will not be liquidating it for a good long while, as that would draw undue attention to myself.

I have a good life. A comfortable life. I would do well to remember that, and not throw it away for the sake of some costly thrills and good stories.

A weird thing happened a few days after my last job.

I was working down in my garage, replacing my stock of pens. Just as I had finished the third one, I got an email from Offr.com. I almost deleted it, but a few words caught my eye. The email seemed to imply that with the combined value of my newly created pens, and the 1.1 million in gold I had stashed away, I had 'unlocked' a new selection of items to peruse.

Supernatural artifacts, it would seem.

I guess I shouldn't be surprised that Offr.com would offer such a selection; their quick rise in popularity had always struck me as unusual, and now I had a better understanding of why exactly that was.

What I was surprised to see, however, were some of my fellow contractors selling their goods there. I guess I must have been late to the party.

I spent quite a few days trying to understand the specific requirements for an exchange of supernatural goods, but I'm just about ready to begin purchasing some very useful equipment.

The last month of my life was rough, and I finally fixed it.

There's no possible way to explain just how mentally turnt I was after my last job. I could hardly function as a normal human being, and resolved to hole myself up in my house as best I could. Even grocery shopping was an ordeal, not that I let myself get out if I could avoid it. With this in mind, one could imagine my relief when I was presented with a supernatural solution to my problems: The Dogtor's Gardens of Mediation and Healing.

The process was simple; you spend a day meditating with a group of troubled peers, and you get your jam un-jellied, mental-wise. Seems simple, right?

And the weirdest part? It was. It was so simple, I couldn't believe it.

There was this one guy in a hoodie, who I can't imagine was anything more than another troubled soul who didn't like how other people were getting cured of their woes. Certainly, just another upset supernatural-adjacent troublemaker.

Aside from this one thing at the very start, where I had to expose myself as the super-powered sidekick of the legendary Mark Colins, thus decidedly ending any hope I could have possibly had of achieving a normal life, things went great!

Christ, I'm going to have to make some calls.

I don't know how, and I don't know why, but my arm has a mind of its own.

Just last week, a few days after I got back from the job down in the States, I started noticing things. A split-second before I intend to reach for my coffee, my hand is moving. My closet was straightened up in the morning, before I woke up with the intention of cleaning. It's like living with a writing software's auto-complete script on all the time. There's no outward change in the arm itself, so I can only conclude that it's been conscious all this time.

I get the feeling it's been letting me control it ever since I got it, learning through my actions what arms usually do. If that's the case, it'll be fantastic at using a keyboard.

I decided to put this theory to the test; I called that number I got from Mark Collins a while back, and spoke to Bu Fang. We traded items for favours, and my suspicions were confirmed. Just the same way I was augmented, my arm was too. Unless there's something about Bu Fang's cooking that allows inanimate objects to eat it, I've got a living arm on my hands.

I'm not averse to this new quirk, to be honest. It's like having an extra set of instincts working with me; there's no conflict to speak of.

Still, I wonder what that last reward did to the arm. I feel a lot more connected with it now...