The Aetherway
Welcome to DreamLand
Fire stepped into the hallway.
Smooth, metallic walls hummed under his fingers, like liquid steel.
At first, it was subtle. A pulse trembled through the walls, slow and steady as a heartbeat.
Why does this feel… familiar?
The air grew heavy. With every step, the corridor seemed to narrow around him.
Then the pulse deepened.
The metallic surface rippled beneath his touch. Wherever his fingers brushed the walls, waves spread outward before folding back toward him.
With each movement, the resistance grew.
His breath caught.
The hum grew inside his skull, vibrating along bones and teeth. The walls flexed unpredictably, folding, curling, a living membrane.
I can’t… move.
Panic clawed at him, but he forced himself forward. One step. Then another.
The corridor responded.
Pressure wrapped around him from every side, pressing with each stride.
He stumbled, pressed his palms to the walls, fighting their pull.
Then, suddenly, his arm burst through the wall.
The surface tore open around it, stretching into a narrow slit.
His arm trembled violently as he fought for space.
His other arm followed.
His fingers clawed at the widening gap, forcing it farther apart.
Inch by inch, he dragged himself through.
His torso lurched forward.
The wall pressed against him.
Clung to him.
He pulled harder.
One final, desperate heave—
His legs broke free.
His whole body tumbled onto the floor beyond.
He lay there.
Chest heaving.
Limbs trembling.
His vision swam.
Slowly, shakily, he raised himself onto his elbows.
He stayed there, letting the world settle around him.
He looked back.
Nothing.
The hallway was gone.
Empty air stretched behind him.
Ahead, a man sat at a circular table.
He was hunched over something hovering an inch above its surface.
It rotated slowly.
Its edges glowed with a faint red light.
A soft hum filled the room.
Every so often, a sharp click came with a brief flash of light.
Fire squinted.
A lighter.
A red Bic lighter, floating in midair.
The man was thin.
His narrow face was framed by slightly unkempt brown hair.
Thick glasses sat low on his nose.
Behind them, his eyes looked as though they hadn’t known sleep in years.
A faded lab coat hung loosely over a plain T-shirt and jeans.
On his feet a pair of red Converse.
Fire glanced down and blinked.
Same shoes.
Fire lay on the floor, breathing hard.
Their eyes met.
“You weren’t supposed to find this place yet.”
At last, Fire pushed himself onto his hands and knees. His arms trembled with the effort.
Slowly, he rose to his feet, unsteady.
“You…” His voice came out hoarse, barely above a whisper.
“You’re Bob, right? Bob Lazar?”
The man didn’t answer.
He gestured to the empty chair across from him.
“Sit. I only have a few minutes before they realize you’re dreaming.”
Slowly, Fire approached the table.
Spread across it was a large blueprint.
The drawing was covered in measurements, cross-sections, and technical notes.
He recognized the shape immediately.
A Bic lighter.
Every chamber, valve, and component had been painstakingly mapped out. Dense schematics spilled into the margins.
Beside it, the actual lighter hovered silently above the tabletop.
Without warning, the lighter drifted toward him.
Fire flinched, but it settled gently into his hands.
It was warm to the touch.
A faint hum vibrated through the plastic casing.
Then came a pulse.
Another.
Perfectly synchronized with his heartbeat.
It’s alive.
It knows me.
Bob leaned closer.
“They told me not to tell anyone.”
“But the truth isn’t just out there.”
He tapped his temple.
“It’s in here.”
“You’ve already seen it. You just forgot.”
Then—
Alarms began to blare.
Like bells ringing from deep underwater.
The walls rippled.
The table trembled.
Fire looked around.
Everything’s breaking…
…or I am.
Bob rose, flickering.
“Remember this shape.”
Bob picked up the red lighter.
He clicked it.
A flame sprang to life.
Instead of rising straight upward, it curled into an impossible spiral.
As it twisted through the air, the walls emitted a sound Fire somehow recognized.
Faint.
Distant.
The boot sequence of a Sega Dreamcast.
The flame winked out.
Bob lowered the lighter and placed it into Fire’s hand.
His fingers closed around it automatically.
Warm.
“They’ll come looking when you do.”
The lighter cooled in his hand.
A pull gripped him from somewhere deep inside.
Upward.
Through skin.
Bones.
Mind.
Gravity lost its hold.
Everything’s slipping. I can’t… hold it.
“No. Wait.”
His voice fractured.
“I…” he gasped. “Have… questions.”
The words stretched thin.
Warped.
And disappeared.
Red Converse.
Ground.
Feet.
Still here. Still me?
The floor undulated beneath him, metallic and fluid. Stretched. Snapped back.
He clenched his fists.
His breathing echoed around him.
Hold it. Hold it. Hold it.
Time thinned. The hum fractured into overlapping tones, each one pulling him apart.
The lighter remained warm in his hand.
Barely.
The world shuddered.
Hiccuped.
Gravity tilted sideways. His vision doubled.
No.
I’m not leaving.
Not like this.
I’ve come too far.
This can’t be the cutoff.
He held on.
He pushed back.
He clawed.
For a heartbeat, or maybe a century, the universe hesitated with him.
Then, slowly, it remembered itself.
The room snapped straight.
The hum returned to a single, steady note.
He exhaled.
I actually did it.
I kept it together.
Yet a whisper remained at the edge of thought:
You only delayed it.
And Bob… still there.
Subtly older now.
Waiting.
Bob studied him over for a moment.
“You came back.” His eyebrows rose.
“Most don’t.”
A hint of satisfaction appeared at the corner of his mouth.
He turned and started walking.
“Let’s go.”
“Where?” Fire blinked.
Bob smiled faintly.
“You still have questions, don’t you?”
He slipped a hand into his pocket.
He pulled out a set of keys.
He pressed a button.
A sound to Fire’s left. Mechanical. He turns.
A garage door rose out of empty space.
It lifted slowly, revealing a car parked in the open Nevada desert.
The horizon glowed with deep oranges and purples. Above, the first stars pierced the twilight.
“This should buy us some time,” Bob said, striding toward the car, his lab coat flapping behind him.
“Let’s blow some things up.”
Fire stared.
A heavily modded 1979 Honda Civic hatchback, the paint job was impossible to ignore.
White, blue, and yellow racing stripes swept across it. A yellow-orange accent stretched over the hood.
Fire spots the license plate—JET-U-BET—and snorts.
He yanks the door.
Locked.
Again.
Locked.
Bob smirks, leans across, and flicks a latch.
Fire’s knee cracks into the glove box. Too small. He shifts, adjusts the seat, drags the belt across his chest.
Click.
Bob settles into the driver’s seat. The key slides into the ignition.
The engine turns over. He revs it once, feeling it out. His fingertips slide along the steering wheel, remembering its shape. Headlights cut through the growing dark. A mirror adjustment. A breath out.
He grips the wheel firmly.
“It’s been a while.”
Bob glances sideways.
“I knew you’d be back,” Bob says.
“Didn’t think it’d be you.”
He frowns, considering the statement.
“But it’s always you, isn’t it?”
His gaze stays fixed ahead.
“Let’s not waste time.”
The accelerator slams down under the red Converse.
Fire is thrown back into his seat, then slammed sideways. The seatbelt bites into his chest. The door digs into his shoulder.
Dust billows behind them.
The Civic shoots onto the highway.
“So,” Bob says, “you have questions. Ask.”
The highway hums beneath them as the Civic gathers speed. Bob shifts gears with precise timing.
Outside, the Nevada desert streams past. Burnt-orange earth. Low scrub. Patches of pale sand. Road markers flash by in a steady rhythm while distant ridgelines fade into the coming dark.
“What am I supposed to remember?” Fire asks. “Who’s after me?”
Bob exhales, eyes on the road.
“You were never just a passenger. You helped build this. You forgot, because remembering too soon would’ve cracked your reality.”
He studies Fire.
“You are the technology. The craft.”
Bob’s eyes flick to the rearview mirror.
Something hardens in his expression.
“As for who’s coming…”
Fire twists around in his seat and peers through the rear window.
At first, all he sees are lights.
Then he realizes they’re moving.
Dozens of headlights surge down the highway behind them, drawing closer with alarming speed.
“They’re not monsters,” Bob continues. “They’re mechanisms.”
The headlights continue to gain behind them.
“They notice awareness. Then they move to suppress it. To make you forget.”
Fire grips the edge of his seat.
“You mean like… Subroutines?”
“Yeah.” Bob leans in.
“The danger isn’t that they find you — it’s that you let them.”
Fire blinks, trying to count the headlights. He loses track almost immediately.
His mouth opens.
Closes.
Something inside him recoils at the sight.
An old reflex.
Buried deep.
He swallows.
The lights are closer now.
The image lingers too long.
He lets the silence stretch, forcing the feeling down.
His mind reaches for something else.
He looks away. Back to the dashboard. Back to Bob.
The question surfaces before the fear can take hold.
“The Spiral… why do I keep seeing it?”
Bob moves without warning.
The car veers left.
Fire slams into the door, breath knocked loose.
The red lighter slips from his pocket, skittering as he twists to the right.
A black, boxy classic sedan is there, too close.
Long hood. Wide body. Low to the ground.
Glossy jet-black paint. Chrome bumpers and trim catching the light.
Through the darkened windows, Fire sees two men inside.
Black suits. White shirts. Dark ties.
Middle-aged. Well-groomed. Precise haircuts.
Too still.
Expressionless.
Eyes fixed ahead.
They don’t look at him.
Then, at once, they do.
Their stare lingers. Unwavering and cold.
Fire’s mind goes blank.
The question dissolves, leaving only the weight of being seen.
For a moment, there is nothing else.
Bob shifts in his seat.
Not surprised.
Only aware.
“It’s a signature,” he says.
“A fingerprint of entanglement. A sign you’re near something.”
The words snap something back into place.
“…A breadcrumb?” Fire asks.
“Precisely. Sometimes it means you’re syncing. Other times, you’ve gone off-script, and it pulls you back.”
Impact.
Fire and Bob are thrown forward. Fire snaps his head back—headlights flood the rear window, blinding, impossibly close.
Another hit, harder, from Bob’s side.
A black, modern SUV slammed alongside them, dwarfing the Civic, carrying two men nearly identical to the ones before.
Bob’s jaw tightens. “Damn it! We’re surrounded!”
Fire folded in on himself, head down.
One hand shielded his face.
He didn’t answer.
Reality loosens.
Edges blur. Colors bleed. Solid shapes vibrate, as if the world has been overworked and smeared too many times. Everything slips slightly out of focus, like a memory failing to load.
“Fire—glove box!” Bob shouts. “There’s an UZI!”
Sound dulls. Bob’s voice stretches and warps, growing distant, as if pulled through water. Images collapse mid-motion, yanked upward too fast—
“…UZI?” Fire murmurs, barely there. “A gun…?!”
“The glove box! Fire—can you shoot?!”
No answer.
Black swallows everything —
a stutter of tv static —
— then only white.
Fire’s awareness rushes back in fragments. A ceiling. A lamp? Blurred. His feet—bare, touching something warm. Fabric. His toes curl instinctively.
No!
The word tears out of him.
His fists clench.
Go back.
White drains to black.
The blur sharpen. Colors thicken. The roar of engines returns. Tires scream. Reality snapping back into place like a bad signal locking in.
“Fire!!” Bob yells—clear now, urgent.
Fire gasped, hands clamped over his head.
For a second longer, he hesitated—
Then he thrusts his arm forward and yanks open the glove box.
He looks at his hand.
Fire leaned back, letting his head rest against the seat.
His skin was slick with sweat.
His breathing steadied—not fully, but enough.
His eyes remained wide, pupils drawn tight, scanning the room.
Then a shaky, disbelieving laugh slipped out.
A single string of his own hair lies across his palm, coiled into a tight, unmistakable spiral.
I did it again.
A shiver travels his spine. His eyes lock into a colder, steadier focus.
The chasing cars are gone.
In their place move tall, shadowed shapes—only partly solid, their eyes glowing.
Wolves?
No.
Thylacines.
Their spines ripple like whips with every stride.
Their hind legs coil beneath them like loaded pistons.
Then they explode backward.
All four feet leave the ground at once.
For a moment, they hang suspended.
Their front legs reach forward together, catching the road.
The back legs tuck tightly beneath them.
Then sling outward again.
Low.
Elastic.
Relentless.
As they run, the lower jaw hinges downward and backward.
Their mouths seem to split their faces in half.
Thin lips peel back, revealing long, evenly spaced reptilian teeth.
Fire let out a short, amused laugh.
Then he turned to Bob.
“Bob, I’m building something…” he murmured.
“Huh… a forge—of sorts—with a self-perpetuating fire.”
He paused.
“Something that outlasts my very existence.”
His eyes narrowed.
“A machine that could set off a chain reaction…”
He looked at Bob.
“Capable of altering the fabric of reality.”
Bob catches the gleam in Fire’s eyes as he gestures with sudden, almost manic enthusiasm.
“I’ve been calling it… the Passion Amplifier.”
Bob says nothing.
The red lighter hovers between them, pulsing.
Bob clicks it—an unfinished orange schematic ignites in midair.
“You don’t need fuel,” he says.
“You are the fuel. What you need is containment.”
He grips the wheel tight with both hands, leaning forward, eyes locked ahead.
“I can show you how to stabilize it… or you can find your own resonance."
“But once it starts—reality fights back.”
The creature at Fire’s side snapped its jaw backward.
Its skull unfolded like a drawbridge.
In a heartbeat, it shattered the side mirror.
Glass exploded across the car, scattering sunset-fire through the cabin.
Bob and Fire didn’t flinch.
They remained absorbed in their own thoughts.
The surrounding screens flicker — waveforms, emotional equations, symbols of neurons and dreams.
Bob studies Fire’s frequency.
His gaze shifted back to the floating lighter.
It hovered upright, slightly tilted.
A gentle push sent it spinning along its angled axis.
“You’re building a Passion Amplifier,” he murmurs.
“Then you’re not remembering… you’re activating.”
His tone turned solemn.
“Passion isn’t just emotion.”
“It’s will — energy that bends timelines, breaks probability.”
“That’s why the structure fears it.”
From Bob’s side, the massive creature slammed into the car.
The frame buckled.
The doors rattled.
The Civic skidded sideways.
The UZI slipped from the glove box.
It landed across Fire’s knees before bouncing to the floor.
Clang.
“Most use it just to survive.”
“But you…”
“You’re trying to weaponize it.”
“If you make it resonate with the right source, it’ll echo outward. People will wake up… or fall apart. Patterns will shift. Entanglements will surface.”
He looked at Fire.
Concern.
Not fear.
“So before you flip the switch, ask yourself: What frequency will you amplify?”
“Passion isn’t neutral. It’s contagious. It’s invasive.”
Fire doesn’t answer.
The question matters.
But another presses harder.
“Bob…” His eyes fixed on the distant sunset.
“What do you mean by stabilization?”
The flickering schematic of the Passion Amplifier hovered between them.
Coils, mirrors, bio-reactive cores.
At its center, a pulsing heart.
Bob met Fire’s gaze.
“Reality isn’t just space and time — it’s inertia. It resists change.”
“Your amplifier doesn’t just emit energy; it emits will. Push out that much drive, and you’ll awaken forces that push back.”
He clicked the lighter.
Once.
Again.
Schematics flickered past.
He clicked again.
Then stopped.
Containment Field.
“That’s stabilization. Without it, your creation burns out or implodes.”
His tone softened.
“This machine could change more than your life — it could alter your thread’s impact on others. That’s sacred. And dangerous.”
With a careful flick of his fingers, he pushed his glasses up.
“So build the part that protects you from yourself, too.”
Bob nodded once, eyes locked on Fire.
“Ready for this to change you, too?”
Fire stopped.
He tipped his head back, eyes tracking upward.
His thumb brushed over his lip.
A beat passed.
The corner of his mouth lifted.
“That’s the fun part, huh?”
A short laugh escaped Bob.
He shook his head, a faint grin tugging.
“Yeah… that is the fun part.”
“The moment the spark stops being an idea you’re building… and starts becoming something that’s building you back,” he said quietly.
“Once something like this is in motion, it feeds itself.”
“That’s where the real adventure begins.”
He leaned back, eyes lingering on the floating schematic.
The moment stretched.
Something shifted around them.
Their eyes darted left and right.
Bob exhaled, almost amused.
“Oh. We’ve got some unfinished business here, don’t we?”
The creatures have surrounded them, lining up on both sides, nearly keeping pace with the car.
Bob’s eyes flick to the speedometer, the needle pinned at the 85 mph limit.
The creatures had surrounded them.
They ran on both sides of the car, nearly keeping pace.
Bob’s eyes flicked to the speedometer.
The needle was pinned at the 85 mph limit.
“Hey, Fire… ever ridden a jet car before?”
Fire’s eyes lit up.
“I was hoping you’d say that!”
Bob clicked the floating lighter once more.
The projections winked out.
He handed it back.
Fire pocketed it without looking.
Bob pressed a button on the panel.
“Get ready.”
The rear plate began to slide upward.
Something metallic shifted beneath it.
Then the panel lifted clear.
A jet engine emerged from beneath it.
“3…"
“2…”
“1…”
He pressed a tiny button at the rim of the steering wheel.
Fire squinted, one eye squeezed shut.
He gripped the seat, bracing for a violent shove.
Nothing.
“Huh…?”
He peeked.
“Is it working?”
Bob rolled his eyes and exhaled, a hint of irritation slipping through.
“It’s a jet engine, Fire. Not a rocket.”
Then Fire felt it.
A sudden, steady pressure.
Like an invisible hand pushing against the car.
The Civic didn’t lurch.
It simply slid forward into speed.
A heartbeat later, Fire felt his body sink into the seat.
A ripping roar bloomed behind them.
The road ahead stretched unnaturally fast.
Reality smeared into long bands of motion.
Fire scanned the sides of the car.
The predators were falling behind.
Still sprinting.
Still snapping.
But losing ground.
The Civic pulled away, smooth and relentless, accelerating in a way that felt wrong for a car that was never meant to move like this.
Fire raised his fists.
“WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH!! It’s working, Bob!!”
Bob flicked a glance at him and smirked.
His hands tightened around the rattling wheel.
Sweat beaded at his temples.
His eyes stayed fixed on the road.
His grin widened.
“How fast does this go, Bob?!” Fire shouted over the roar.
“Nearly two hundred!”
“WOW!! Let’s turn some music on!”
Fire reached for the radio and switched it on.
Slowly, he turned the knob.
Static.
Snatches of voices.
Fragments of music.
They blurred past, never quite resolving.
His gaze drifted to the cassette deck.
He stared at it a moment too long.
Am I forgetting something?
The thought flickered, but before it could take shape, a station locked in.
Fire went still.
His eyes narrowed.
Something clicked.
He tilted his head, his gaze drifting past the windshield.
Above the road, the sky was crowded.
Saucers filled the sky.
Metallic. Smooth.
Their surfaces reflected the sunset.
They zipped and zigzagged through the air in impossible maneuvers.
They stopped dead.
Then snapped off again at sharp angles, defying momentum.
Fire’s grin spread.
“Bob,” he said, amused, pointing upward.
“Look! Flying saucers?!”
Bob’s eyes flicked up for a split second before returning to the road.
“Don’t worry about them,” he said flatly.
“As a matter of fact… they’re only here to watch you.”
Fire opened his mouth to ask what that meant—
The radio surged louder.
Static spiked.
[Electro-pop music fades out]
We baaaaaaaack on Aetherwaves Interdimensional Radio!
Signal wibbly-wobbly—YES-YES! Zing-zang BZZZT!
Me DJ MILLENNIUM WHOOOOP comin’ in HOT on frequency 9-∞-SNACK!!
[Air horn. BWAAAH BWAAAH BWAAAAAAHHH!]
WHOOP WHOOP!!
Me lick frequency.
Spicy signal.
Too many bars. Not enough bars. All blinking YES.
Me press button. Wrong button. BEST button.
Me overclock emotions to 9000%
WAIT— WAIT—
me feel it—
[Sudden ominous echo]
THE POWER—
[Thunder sound]
BIG COSMIC DJ HAND—
I SCRATCH THE GALAXY LIKE VINYL—
[Scratch sound. Wik-wik-skrrt-skrrrchkrrrsssh]
KNEEL, LITTLE PLANETS—
—CRASH—
Oh no. Oh no. Emotional RAM full.
Power spike! Me circuits overheating!!
Wibbly-wobbly heart waves.
Whoop… whoop… (tiny whoop)
[unwraps snack loudly]
BANANA TIME. Nebula banana. Very important.
Crunch restore +3 joy.
Me sit on couch cloud. Squish. Comfy-cozy mode engage.
Me hum tiny beat. Bmm-bmm-bmm. Laundry love song.
WHOOSH—REBOOT COMPLETE!!
Me jump! Me spin chair! Zippy zappy comeback arc!!
Me kiss da airwaves! MWAH
Me blast love thru static kissy noises!
ROMANCE IS A FREQUENCY!!
WHOOP WHOOP!!
Me ready-steady for requests!
Phone go ring ring RRRRRRING—Who’s ping-pang pop-pop ON DA LINE?!?!
Speak before eats you! Whoop whoop!
Bob groaned.
“Ugh. She’s so annoying.”
He reached for the dial.
“Wait!”
Fire snapped his hand up, blocking Bob’s.
The radio clicked, a soft hiss undercut by a new female voice.
Caller:
I—I’d like to request ‘Time of Your Life’ by Bob Moses
This is NOT dedicated to Fire. I’d rather not say my name.
DJ:
Aaawwww… heart-start stuff-fluff…
Me circuits go FULL-ON HEART RACING MODE!
Dropping-popping “Time of Your Life” to light-bright your day, Fire-flare!
Volume up, joy-deploy ACTIVATE! WHOOP WHOOP!
Caller:
Hey!
I said NOT dedicated to—!
[Music fades in]
Bob snorts. “Another Bob, huh?”
He glanced sideways at Fire.
“Seems like she’s rooting for you.”
Fire exhaled, dropping his face into his hands.
A resigned chuckle slipped through his fingers.
“Yeah…”
Bob glanced over, then back to the road.
“Fire. This boost won’t last much longer.”
The car rattles on.
“You’ve got a few tricks up your sleeve too… right?”
Fire gave him a steady look.
Then he nodded, a quiet confidence settling across his face.
He leaned forward and grabbed the Civic’s manual window crank.
He spun.
The glass dropped.
Wind exploded into the cabin, whipping his hair back and roaring in his ears.
Click.
He releases his seat belt.
Fire climbed through the passenger window, bracing himself against the wind.
He perched on the window frame, half his body outside, elbows hooked over the roof.
Then he pulled himself back inside without letting go.
“Bob—before I forget,” he called over the roar.
“I always wanted to tell you this.”
Bob didn’t look at him.
“Whether you actually reverse-engineered a UFO at Area 51 or not,” Fire continued, grinning despite the chaos, “I’ve always thought you were fascinating.”
Bob’s eyes stayed locked on the road, fixed on the stretch ahead.
“You’ve got some balls saying that to my face,” he snapped, visibly rattled.
Fire blinked.
“I’m not calling you a liar—”
“Fire,” Bob cut in, sharp now.
“Go.”
Fire resumed climbing, hauling himself the rest of the way through the window.
His arms locked as he pulled himself up, grunting softly with the effort.
His torso slid across the metal.
One knee found purchase.
Then the other.
Soon, he was crouched low against the screaming wind.
Carefully, he pushed himself upright.
Fire stood on the roof, facing the rear.
His red Converse pressed against the metal as the wind whipped around him.
Carefully, he pushes himself upright.
The air warped with heat.
A long, bright exhaust flame erupted from the jet engine.
Sparks and fire stretched several feet behind the car.
Yellow-orange at its base.
White-hot at the tip.
Roaring.
Wild.
Untamed.
Night had already swallowed the landscape.
Behind him, the last light of sunset stretched long shadows across the asphalt.
In the distance, glowing eyes flickered like car lights.
Something caught his attention.
Smoke.
It rose from one of the creatures in the distance.
At first, it climbed straight into the night.
Then the creature corrected its trajectory.
It turned.
And came racing toward him.
A trail of smoke streamed behind it.
The predator had become a black missile.
Its eyes glowed through the darkness.
He grabbed his white shirt and tore it apart.
The fabric shredded.
Then vanished into the air.
Something else stood in its place—
Red skin.
Sharp horns projected from his skull.
Long black hair lashed wildly in the wind.
A pair of batlike wings snapped open, slicing through the air to keep him balanced. They flexed instinctively with every twist and turn.
A pointed tail swung behind him, countering each movement.
Then Fire looked down.
A perfectly round hole pierced the center of his chest.
As wide as a CD.
It tunneled straight through him.
Inside it, the red lighter spun around a tilted axis.
Glowing.
Inside the car, Bob reached over and cranked the volume all the way up.
Fire drew in a massive breath.
His torso swelled.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
His chest and back expanded unnaturally, skin stretching tight like a pressurized bladder.
Then—
He expelled it.
BOOM!!
A dense, glowing ball of fire blasted from his mouth.
It shot backward like a cannon round—deafening, incandescent, tearing through the air as it streaked down the road.
The recoil hit instantly.
Fire was hurled forward by the force of his own shot.
He crashed onto the roof.
His back and hips struck first.
He skidded across the metal—
SCREEECH.
The roof buckled beneath him, caving inward under the impact.
The Civic shuddered.
Fire lay sprawled across the roof.
Smoke and heat rolled off his body.
Thick smoke streamed from his mouth as the fireball disappeared into the distance.
Behind them, the projectile screamed through the darkness.
A piercing whistle tore through the air.
Its light swept across the road, illuminating the darkness behind them.
A heartbeat later—
It collided with the pursuing missile—
KABOOM!!
A distant explosion bloomed.
The road flashed orange as several of the creatures were swallowed whole.
Bob caught it in the rearview mirror.
He laughed once.
Then slammed his palm against the horn.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
A ragged, celebratory blast.
The car groaned in protest, metal creaking and shuddering as if threatening to tear itself apart at the seams.
Fire twisted around, peering back through the rear window upside down.
For a moment, his eyes met Bob’s in the mirror.
Fire grinned.
He raised a thumb.
An exaggerated thumbs-up.
Then the music shifted.
Fire freezes.
Wait—
ONE OK ROCK?
Kanzen Kankaku Dreamer?!
The volume dipped suddenly.
The song muffled.
Something else bled through the speakers.
A voice-over cut in.
His voice.
Caller:
Fire,
It said calmly, unmistakably his.
This one’s for you. Go get ’em, big boy.
Bob hauled himself halfway out the driver’s window, the car wobbling dangerously beneath him.
His words were nearly swallowed by the roar.
“Hey, Fire!” Bob shouted, twisting his thumb and pinky into a phone gesture.
“It’s you on the line!”
Fire looked back at him, stunned.
“Yeah!”
He nodded, a half-smile betraying his disbelief.
“I know!”
He faced the predators again.
Every one of them launched upward.
They transformed into missiles with the same precise motion as before.
Fire descended to the rear of the car and knelt atop the hatchback’s rear glass.
His black, pointed nails dug into the edges.
The metal bent beneath his grip.
The tips of his hair slowly rose.
They smoldered like embers.
Fire lifted his head.
The missiles raced toward him.
A confident grin crossed his face.
“Watch me glow.”
He exhales—
WHOOOSH.
Fires—
THAK.
Again.
WHOOOSH.
THAK.
Faster now—
WHOOOSH-THAK.
WHOOOSH-THAK.
WHOOOSH-THAK.
Each blast comes faster than the last, destabilizing the car, popping its rear end upward with every hit.
Then he rapid-fired—
THAKTHAKTHAKTHAKTHAKTHAKTHAKTHAKTHAKTHAKTHAKTHAKTHAKTHAKTHAKTHAKTHAKTHAKTHAKTHAKTHAKTHAKTHAKTHAKTHAKTHAKTHAKTHAKTHAKTHAKTHAKTHAKTHAKTHAKTHAKTHAKTHAKTHAKTHAKTHAKTHAKTHAKTHAKTHAKTHAKTHAKTHAKTHAKTHAKTHAKTHAKTHAKTHAKTHAKTHAKTHAKTHAKTHAK!!!
Smaller shots spit from his mouth like machine-gun fire, intercepting each missile in midair—
WHHHHHHUUUUUMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPP!!!
KRAAAAAAAAAKABOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMM!!
POW! POW! POW! POW! POW! POW! POW! POW! POW! POW! POW!
Precise detonations popped across the sky, each blast flashing light across the darkness.
One last missile slipped through.
Fire noticed it at the last second.
Too close.
Too fast for a shot.
No time.
He locked eyes with the missile’s glowing eyes as it hurtled toward him.
He spun into the attack.
Every fiber in his body screamed.
Veins bulged beneath his skin.
Inside the hollow of his chest, the red lighter accelerated.
It roared like an engine at full throttle.
Fire poured everything into a single, devastating strike.
Flames erupted along his right arm.
They raced from shoulder to fist until the entire limb was engulfed.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!”
His roar tore through the air as his fist slammed forward.
His wings ignited, unfurling behind him in a blazing halo.
Sparks and embers whirled through the air.
KLINK!!
The missile’s nose caved in like a crushed soda can.
Metal buckled and twisted beneath the force, fragments of armor bursting outward.
The impact knocked it off course.
It spun violently away—
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!!!
It detonated near them instead.
The shockwave tore through the ground, hurling the car farther across the debris-strewn road.
For a moment, Fire could only gasp for breath.
Violent wind whipped his hair across his face.
Blood spattered through the air.
It dripped onto the shattered asphalt below.
His ears rang.
The world seemed muffled.
He tried to move.
Nothing.
His gaze dropped.
His arm was gone.
Torn apart by the blast.
Inside the car, the radio sparked and burned.
Bob sat back, laughing in amazement.
Outside, Fire laughed louder.
A nosebleed cut through it as he dragged his remaining hand across his face, smearing the blood away.
Behind them, the chasers lay in ruins, swallowed by a towering cloud of smoke and fire.
All at once, the Civic gave way.
The entire car collapsed in on itself.
Metal twisted.
Glass shattered.
The wreckage tumbled forward, carried by its own momentum.
Then ground to a halt.
Dust swirled around them, thick and choking.
When the wreck finally settles, Fire lies among the debris—back in his human form, white T-shirt restored, his arm whole again.
Bob lies nearby.
Silence hangs over the wreckage.
Slowly, Fire sits up, brushing grit from his clothes.
Bob follows.
They glance at each other.
And burst into laughter all over again.
Fire rises to his feet and offers Bob his hand.
Bob takes it.
Fire pulls him up.
Behind them, the sun burns low on the horizon.
“That… was fun,” Bob said, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes.
Fire patted down his pockets.
He dug deeper into his jeans and pulled out a crushed pack of cigarettes.
He flipped it open.
Two left.
He offered one to Bob.
Bob hesitated for a second.
“Sure. Why not?”
He slipped a slightly bent cigarette between his lips.
Fire took one for himself, then pulled out the red Bic lighter.
He rolled the thumb wheel.
A spark caught.
Bob leaned in as Fire lit his cigarette first, cupping the flame from the breeze with his other hand. Its warm light briefly washed over them.
Fire lit his own.
“Oh, and Fire,” Bob said, exhaling smoke, “remember: the loop ends—”
“…where the Spiral begins,” Fire interrupted, a small grin touching his face.
“Yeah. I know. Thanks, Bob.”
Bob nodded, a quiet smile lingering.
“Keep glowing, Fire.”
