Fire and Smoke

Brian Wane:

"Freeze," the police officers yell when they see me. They shine their flashlights in my eyes and reach for their weapons.

"Hey, hey, hey," I say, coming to a stop and putting up my hands. "Easy. I'm not armed."

"Who are you," one of the police officers asks as he approaches me. "What are you doing here?"

Before I could answer, the ceiling above us start to crumble. It cracks open and unleashes a wave of fire.

"Run," the police officer yells, grabbing my arm. He then drags me away. We regroup with the other officers and the five of us run out of the building as whole walls and ceilings break apart and fall down.

Thrill Rider:

"Oh, that's bad," I scream as a whole corner of the floor breaks off in the fire. It falls down, into an even greater, roaring fire. "So much for climbing down. Okay. Stay calm. Stay calm. Come on brain. Figure me a way out of this! Before I become barbeque. What would Batman do?"

As I ask myself the question, I picture Batman breaking a window and shooting a grappling hook before disappearing into the night.

"Yeah," I say, checking my belt. "Maybe one day, I'll be able to afford grappling hooks but today is not that day."

As I think about it so more, I look around and see a broken window facing toward the city. The fire hadn't reached it yet so I run over and look out.

"No water for me to jump into. No ladder for me to climb down. Nothing. There's nothing for me here. Shoot. Wait."

As I look closer at the window, I pull out my baton and break the window. Clearing away the glass, I stick my head out and look at all the windows. All the windows are the exact same, and since they're all the same, it means they have the same ledges.

"There's space," I say, looking at the bottom ledge of the window. "There's not a whole lot of space but there's still space. Fingers crossed."

I cross both my fingers before climbing out of the window. I breathe in and out as I look down. The next window down isn't too far down and luckily, it's also open.

"Here goes nothing," I say, letting go of the ledge and falling down. I scream as I fall but somehow, somehow, I manage to grab onto the ledge. I pull myself in but there, I see more flames.

"Oh yeah," I say. Taking in a few more breaths, I repeat the process of letting go and catching the window ledges until finally, I make it back to the ground level.

"Thanks, Batman," I say while bending over catch my breath. "For the whole window idea."

By the time my feet hit solid ground, most of the building had already caught on fire, and sirens could be heard approaching.

Finally catching the last of my breath, I look around for Brian.

"Brian," I whisper, "Brian! Where are you?"

I search around for him but I couldn't find him anywhere. Climbing over the fence, I see fire trucks pulling up the burning buildings. The firemen immediately get to work. Already wearing masks and their fire coats, they unroll the fire hoses before spraying water at the building. As I watch them for a while, I see Brian with some police officers. They have him inside their cars for some reason.

"Brian," I say, about to run over to him but stopping. "Ahh."

As much as I want to help Brian, I can't risk being in a fight against some fellow officers. I stay as close to the ground as I can. I try crawling my way over to the police car with Brian in it but before I can, he sees me first.

The second he sees me, he starts to shake his hands and head like crazy. He points to the side and mouths something, but unfortunately, lip-reading isn't one of my strengths.

"What," I ask with a shrug of my shoulder.

Once more, Brian shakes his hands and head and points to the side. Again, I shrug my shoulders.

"Still no clue what you're saying," I say with a shrug. I'm still crawling toward Brian. It looks like Brian sighs before breathing heavily against the window. He fogs it up before writing something on it.

"Go," he writes before pointing to the side.

"Go," I repeat, looking at Brian. I point to the side and Brian nods his head. He then points to the nearby officers.

"Are you sure," I ask.

Brian nods his head and shoots me a thumbs-up. I nod my head and give Brian a thumbs-up before sneaking over to my motorcycle and driving away. It takes almost an hour but I finally make it back home after leaving my bike at the base.

Micheal Peterson:

"I hope Brian is okay," I say, coughing a little as I climb into bed to rest.

The thought of Brian in a police car bother me the whole time I drove back. The whole time, I wanted to turn around and help my best friend, but he himself told me to go. Well, he wrote it, mouthed it, and gestured it

"Brian didn't want me to be caught," I think. "I guess as I owe him one. Well, Thrill Rider does."

As my mind clears about Brian, something else starts to fill it.

"Iron Fire. Who the heck is Iron Fire? I mean, he called himself, quote on quote, the greatest arsonist Los Angeles will ever know. If that is true, then it means this won't be Iron Fire's only fire. The question is, where's his next target? No. The bigger question is how to stop him. With that iron suit of his, he's practically bullet-proof, and--"

Before I could finish my thought, I hear footsteps coming up, and then without any warning, my bedroom door opens.

"Micheal," my mom says, sticking her head in. "Honey, are you okay? I can hear you coughing very badly. Are you sick?"

Only now realizing I'm still coughing, I clear my throat and cough into my fist.

"I'm okay, Mom," I say. "Just need a little water."

"Well, get up then. It's time for you to go to school."

"What," I say, shooting up at the speed of a rocket ship. I turn around and look out my window. Once more, I didn't realize the sun is already up. I check the time on my phone and see it's already 7. "Oh shoot! I'm late! I'm late!"

Throwing off my blanket, I run around my room and start to gather my clothes. About to run out to the bathroom, I come to a skidding stop.

"Mom," I shout, "Why are you still in my room?"

My mom ignores me at first. She looks around my room for a minute or two, smelling the place.

"Micheal," my mom says, looking at me. "Have you been smoking?"

"What," I yell, "No! Mom, I promise, I have not been smoking, nor will I ever. I remember all these lectures from elementary school."

My mom gives my room another sniff.

"If you haven't been smoking," my mom says, "Then why does it smell like smoke in here?"

"Oh," I say, looking down at my dirty laundry basket. I remember that after sneaking in through the window, I was too tired to shower. Not to mention I didn't want to risk waking anyone up. So instead I just took off my uniform and buried it under some dirty shirts and pants. I then changed into some normal clothes before hopping into bed.

"Uhh, well you see, uhh," I go on, racking my brain for some sort of possible explanation that doesn't involve tobacco, Thrill Rider, or the fact that last night, I was in a burning building.

"Uhh, you see, the thing is, there's a story here to be told."

"Micheal," my mom says after a few more minutes of me just going on. "Tell me the truth. Why does your room smell like smoke? Especially right here."

My mom pinches her face as she smells the room again. She turns toward my laundry basket and takes a step toward it. As she does, I swear my heart skips a beat.

"Mom waits," I say, running past her and kicking my basket back. "Uhh, time to go. Alex and Henry need to go to school. And so do I."

My mom stares at me with crooked eyebrows for a few seconds before turning to leave. I let out a sigh and wipe some sweat from my forehead. Once I check to make sure she isn't hiding around the door, I grab my suit from the basket and throw it into my backpack. A little curious, I give it a quick sniff myself.

"Oh my god," I cry, the smell bringing tears. "I guess I don't need breakfast."