![canstockphoto12626159.jpg](https://files.peakd.com/file/peakd-hive/internutter/QnZOeieD-canstockphoto12626159.jpg)

> An underground facility made as comfortable as possible. However, this is an unusual place, part state-of-the-art hospital, part apartment building. The walls are soft, there are no sharp corners, the floors are soft, anything hard that can be covered with soft, is covered. There is nothing sharp here. There are dozens upon dozens of apartments in this place, and all of them the same. Soft. But there is a reason for this.
> This is the facility that houses and cares for Bad Luckers. Those unfortunate souls born with the genetic condition that brings them bad luck no matter how hard they try to avoid it. They have good jobs, albeit, telecommuting, and have friends amongst their own community. Their families can visit at any time. But for them to leave, they must wear the warning badge that shows they are a bad lucker. Not so much for others' sake, but to allow others to know these poor individuals need to be looked out for, lest they end up in harm's way. -- Anon Guest

Of all the strange mutations in the Human Genome, the Luck Gene has to be the most incredible. Science has attempted to understand those rare souls who can alter the course of probability, but of course, luck was never on science's side.

Only those with the worst luck wound up in the laboratory, and you never want anyone like _that_ in an environment full of hazardous materials and equipment. The collected forces of Humanity managed to learn after the first five asteroid strikes[1]. Now, they just have a means to test for its presence, and treatment for those who came out with the worst possible luck.

In everything, there is balance. For every Lucker with good fortune, there is one who has bad luck land on them. Some give luck to others, only to have terrible luck for themselves. Some have the best luck for their own, only to cause catastrophes for others. Some are loved for their luck. Some are revered. Some... are sheltered.

It's known as the Facility, and everything there is padded. The systems are generally passive, every precaution has been taken, but nobody there ever dares to say that nothing could go wrong. That would be tempting an already unstable fate.

Thoughtful Engineers have done everything to make certain that there is minimum possible harm in this environment. The planet has been carefully terraformed to be a Havenworld, in that there is very little that could cause harm. The weather is mild, the vegetation friendly, the wildlife is mostly docile...

Because the most dangerous creatures here are the Luckers who spend their lives in the Facility. They're carefully spaced, but no more than a very fast trip away from a ludicrously-overequipped hospital with Good Luckers on staff. Balance is vital, since it's not a Bad Lucker's fault that they were born with horrendous genes.

In everything, there must be balance.

Some research continues in attempting to reduce the impact of the Luck Gene to, at minimum, an ignorable murmur. The Good Luckers know that this will do the same for their own genetic lottery, but they're _doctors_ it's their goal to reduce suffering.

Case in point. Mep Thandir just entered the hospital feet first again. They looked pretty busted up. One arm was bent in a peculiar way and the swelling and bruising just began. Medik Ray ran the security feeds, as was protocol, and- yes this _was_ a genuine accident[2].

"Hi Mep," Ray chirped, administering the unique set of painkilling chemicals that Mep was _not_ allergic to. "Trying to decorate the ceiling again?"

"I know, I know. Ask for help... but then some other poor asshole has to suffer falling off the stable-stool[3] when I'm around. And you _know_ how I react to the pollen this time of year, so..."

"When it's you or someone else, you'd rather it be you," sighed Ray. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you do these things so you can check me out again."

It was a good joke, as Mep had no interest in Ray at all. Mep just knew Ray as Ray's work[4] and that was that. Mep finished wincing after chuckling and went for another one, "Will I be able to play the piano again, Doc?"

It was the weirdest thing, with Bad Luckers. They always had the best senses of humour.

[1] This, for Humans thinking that _this_ time they have it done _properly_, is relatively fast learning when it comes to Humans versus irresistible forces of nature.

[2] Humanity is entirely too familiar with the non-genuine accident in which the victim "ran into a doorknob" or other such excuse. Eradicating that sort of thing requires constant vigilance.

[3] When an environment is padded, things like climbable surfaces become very interesting indeed. The stable-stool is one such invention that cannot be tipped or toppled if a weight is on top of it. Unfortunately, that weight can still fall off of it.

[4] In any other setting the proper phrase would be, "_at_ Ray's work".

[Image <a href="https://www.canstockphoto.com">(c) Can Stock Photo / 2nix</a>]

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