A superhero whose power is erasing memories decides to become a bad guy

Whenever I close my eyes, I see glazed expressions. Faces with no emotion, showing no sign of any recognition of their surroundings. It always lasts for just a split second. Then, they blink once or twice. Their pupils dilate, and they look around, taking in the world for what feels like their very first time. They have no recollection of their past. Any knowledge they might have once known, any family they might have loved, or any hopes and dreams they had waiting to be realized, all of it has been taken from them. And I am always to blame. When I first figured out that I could erase memories with a specific touch and the use of my willpower, I was positive that I could find a way to do good in the world. And with a little luck, I succeeded for a while. Villains would emerge with lofty plans to murder, create chaos, and otherwise cause harm to innocent people. Whether it was Miasma with his poisonous gas, Zygote with his genetic mutations, Firestorm with his flamethrowers, or anybody else with a half-baked evil scheme and the weapons to make it happen, I was there to reduce their plans to nothing. At my touch, their eyes would glaze over and I would be able to wrestle their tools of chaos out of their hands as they struggled to comprehend seeing the world for the first time. The first time with Miasma, I was in the right place at the right time. He targeted the Capitol, across the street from the post office where I worked. The next few times, I wasn’t so lucky. I would only find out signs of trouble from news stories shared on Facebook. When Zygote rampaged across Wall Street unchecked, the six hours I spent driving to New York City cost hundreds of lives. Pretty soon, the authorities realized I was the common link in stopping all of these massacres. I started getting tips on potential threats, and I was able to get to villains before real damage was caused. I started getting police escorts and even helicopter rides when the situation called for it. I was saving countless lives with my gift. Eventually, I started running out of nemeses. I would completely eliminate villains, and they would be physically incapable of holding a grudge against me. As the supervillain threat began to diminish, the authorities started to use me against terrorists. Mob leaders. Insurgents. But I was still satisfied with stopping these people from causing harm, even if it was on a much smaller scale than before. One day, I got a call to handle a potential school shooter. After I wiped him, I got the urge to search his house. I was expecting to find an assault rifle with enough ammunition to massacre an entire school. I only found a small safe with what sounded like a single handgun in it. I began to get the creeping feeling that I was wiping people who didn’t deserve it. Were those Honduran rebels really evil? What about the Afghan militiamen, or the greasy fattie that I was told was a mafia don? How could I know for sure? The last straw came when I wiped that warmongering Chinese politician. The government wanted no signs of American intervention, so they sent me with a covert ops team to Shanghai. I don’t even remember traveling there. I only remember the soldiers covering his mouth and dragging him into a dark alley. He writhed as they held him down, and I could hear his muffled begging for his life. As tears started coming down his face, I had to look away. I couldn’t bring myself to look at him as I erased his memory, but I already knew how his face would look. After that day, I dropped off the grid. I couldn’t do it anymore. I have been unable to sleep, plagued with night terrors of the people I have wiped. I am an executioner, tortured with the souls I have taken. I asked myself how I could live with the things I have done and all the memories of the people I have hurt. But then, I got an idea that I didn’t have to. I touched my temple and tried willed myself to forget. Nothing happened. I tried again, trying to put every ounce of focus I had into it. I clenched my teeth, shoved my eyes closed, and pushed my two fingers against my head so hard that I thought my skull would shatter. And with all of that effort, still I could remember. But I felt something. I could imagine a small pool of untapped potential, in a back corner of my mind. If I was able to muster just a little bit more energy and focus, there was a chance I could tap into it. Maybe with enough practice, this idea could work. I must have had that idea a month ago. Now, I find myself surrounded by a hundred lifeless faces in an abandoned warehouse. I barely feel the days passing by, or how I got to so many practice subjects. Their memories may be gone, but hopefully not in vain. With each mind erased, I could feel a tiny increase in control. Today will be my second attempt to wipe myself. Maybe I can finally get a good night’s sleep afterwards. I look straight forward, attempt to ignore the empty faces, and touch my fingers to my temple for what I hope to be the very last time.