world! The flyers talk about how cool it would be to vacation anywhere in the world, zip to work or school, or have fun soaring like an eagle. The invisibility types talk about sneaking into stores and taking clothes or music they like, eavesdropping on conversations, and playing tricks on family members and friends. What is even more interesting about these particular answers is how they divide into pure hedonism — flying — and pure vice — invisibility. With invisibility you can take risks at no cost, except for the cost that soon becomes apparent to many of these newly donned superheroes: even if they don’t get caught, they still did something bad, morally bad. This ratchets up their guilt. With this realization, and a dip into the dark side, comes an about face, with some picking flying instead of invisibility. Rarely do people stick with invisibility, but see how they might deploy their power for virtuous purposes. Rarely do these superheroes realize that they can be real heroes, using their invisibility to gain covert information about terrorist organizations, elicit drug traders, pedophilic priests, or abusive parents — minus the risks. In real life, there are risks associated with every decision, some clear from the start and others only clear in hindsight. As with self-control, a growing body of evidence shows that there are individual differences in risk-taking: some are risk-averse, some risk-prone, and some seemingly risk-blind, unaware that they are taking risks at all. Some of these differences are evident early in life. Some of these differences are strongly associated with crime later in life. Some of these differences provide insights into the invisible risks that individuals and societies confront, risks that can cause great harms. Research on clinical populations with antisocial disorders, most notably those with a clinical diagnosis of psychopathy, reveals a major cause of their high risk, costly, and violent behavior: a failure to experience fe