Chapter Six: A Grand Time in Silicon Valley

“The best winners are the worst losers.” ― Habeeb Akande

Chapter Six

If you tried to market Redwood City for tourism, you’d have to rely on their weekly summer event: Music in the Square. On Fridays, they have these almost outdoor concerts in the square in front of the San Mateo County History Museum. Unlike smaller towns in the east, with their extensive history of the country and the Civil and Revolutionary Wars, Redwood City’s history begins and ends with Gold Rush. The only thing that stands out is that it homes one of California’s best elementary schools and its motto: Climate best by government test.

Debatable. It’s stuffy.

In the downtown area, where tons of people have gathered for the weekly Music in the Square― today must be Friday, that means there are also moviegoers, daters and eaters. Fortunately, it’s still early enough that it’s not Friday night― The sun is up, the air hot and sticky. The town isn’t small enough that you know everyone, but it’s not big enough that you see new people every time you go somewhere. This town made me think that, with preteens and early teens acting mature and cool by sitting and looking bored while talking. They aren’t the most fashionable, trendsetting town, although they make up for it with diversity. There’re many races, ethnicities, heights and shapes with completely discrete wardrobes.

"So, where are we heading?" Mav asks.

"The library." I say.

"And that is where, exactly?" He asks.

"Downtown. ‘You can’t miss it.’" I unintentionally quote Cody, who decided to skip fighting lessons to memorize the location of every library in California, Texas and New York. He planned on memorizing Florida and Illinois next, and he would have, had he not been forced to participate in the following lesson. He got his butt kicked by Andrew, and Kelli felt the need to practically nurse him back to health. She literally dove to him after he got knocked out and bridal carried him to the compound hospital.

We were fourteen then, and on that second Tuesday in September, Ty, Andrew and I shipped Kelli and Cody for the first time. We created the name Kellodi and will stand by it as long as we live.

We find parking around the corner of the library to avoid having to pay. I don’t intend on staying too long, not in a place that’s extremely flammable. Especially not when I have to borrow Ardo’s shoes, and I seriously doubt they’ll last half an hour on my feet.

We walk right on in, and I go straight to the front desk without a single thought being formed in my head. There’s a woman whose age probably ranges somewhere in her thirties and looks like the kind of woman who would call the police if you threw a ball into her prized, precious petunia garden. "Excuse me?" I ask. She hazily looks up from her computer and squints her eyes at me. Her looks don’t betray her. "I’m looking for the archives or books of recent history."  She squints until her eyes are barely open, not even glancing at Mav. I resist the temptation to ask if she’s won the blue ribbon for her garden yet, and how many children she’s reprimanded for mocking her million, conventional garden gnomes.

"Recent history is online; there are numerous computers throughout the library. Archives are across the street at city hall." She says. Her voice sounds like that of a sixty-year-old smoker.

City hall? That’ll actually work out better than expected. "Thank you." I say and push away from the desk.

"Wait, Miss?" She asks, reaching towards me and leaning forward. I stay out of her grip, not safe from her squinted eyes. Is she trying to fart or something? I seriously feel I need to call the paramedics or at least a pharmacy. Perhaps she shoots lasers at the people who only come here to use the computers and free Wi-Fi. "Never mind." She reclines back in her chair and picks up the phone as we leave the library.

After waiting forever for a break in the cars instead of walking to the crosswalk with lights and walking a little ways to our left, we make it to City Hall. Mav points out a large tree with dozens of branches. What he specifically points out is the thin pole keeping the leaning tree up. "That thing’s smaller than my arm," He says. "And it holds up that whole tree."

I could break that pole in almost any state of strength, and Andrew, across the country, would have a heart attack.

I wonder if Andrew’s trying to convince the president to be more liberal. With his persuasive ways, I seriously think Andrew could get the president to outlaw English and only allow pig Latin.

As for the others, Ty’s making a bet with someone. He used to make good bets, until he got hooked and now bets just to get his fix. Kelli and Cody are either reading or denying the very obvious fact that they like each other. Andrew, Ty and I have a three-way bet that as to when they’ll admit it. Ty says the next time they’re absolutely alone, Andrew says at least a year, I say during the missions.

The doors are broad and made of glass, plenty of windows throughout the building. There’re two stories, the second one open and available to the eye from the first. Near the staircase, there’s a small model in a glass case of a bird’s eye view of the city. "You can look at that," I tell Mav, "If you want. You might get bored; I’ll just be asking questions about history. Or you can explore downtown. We can meet up at the truck in an hour. You wouldn’t hurt my feelings."

He thinks about it for a moment. "You’re trying to get me out of the way, huh?" He asks.

I exhale. "Out of danger." I correct.

"Sure. If there’s a problem, go to the truck." He digs the keys out of his pocket and prepares to throw them.

I hold up my open hand like the red crosswalk light gesture. "You saw what I can survive. I’ve never lost a fight thus far."

"Try not to get shot. Or hit by a car."

Normally, I’d make a sarcastic joke about how those are my favorite hobbies. But I can tell he’s not in the mood. "If the situation can be avoided, it will be." I’m not making promises.

"All right." He puts his hands back in his pockets. "I’ll see you later." I nod once as he turns and walks away.

Yet for some reason, I kind of hoped he would refuse to leave my side. No, no, I don’t. That’s stupid and clingy. Ew, Amber, stop thinking about that stuff. He’s human, intellectually advanced but otherwise weak. How quickly could I kill him? How bad would the burns me if he tried to touch me? If I care about his health and wellbeing at all, I know that I need to keep my distance.

I realize that I’m staring and stop before he notices. He can’t get close to me and vice versa. Besides, this is a business trip. I’m on a mission that puts millions of lives at stake. Time to be professional.

I trek up the stairs and make my way to the archives, after asking several people and walking all around the building. I finally find my way to the town’s history with the help of a hefty old man, probably around fifty-five. He shows me to a booth that looks lonelier He goes behind the counter into a closet and return with a large bin of carefully filed folders, stuffed with stamped papers. They look too important to burn, too professional to rearrange, too compact to remove without ripping. "These show the town’s history in the last ten years." He says, patting the side of the plastic box. He turns around and retreats back towards the closest.

"Do you mind if I ask a few questions?" I ask.

He turns around, seemingly surprised that a youngin cares about the history of a little town. He rests against the counter, and I prepare myself for hour long lectures. "Not at all. What do you want to know?" He asks.

"Has anything very significant happened in the past decade or so?" I ask.

"Very few things. We’ve been in a drought for nearly ten years; a girl from here went to Harvard eight years ago on her intelligence alone. There was a large fire in a residential neighborhood six years ago; it required so much water to be put out that all the pools were drained. They haven’t been filled since. But five years ago, there was this town’s most famous incident."  He says.

"What was that?" I ask.

"Nineteen children went missing, all within roughly two weeks. Forty-six children from other Bay Area cities went missing as well. None were ever found. Related or not, fifteen adults disappeared at the end of the two week period. All well-educated family members. Mothers, fathers, even a grandmother." He says. That’s eight people. How is that possible? Why on earth would anyone do that? Perhaps being human is worse than being a monster. "Three years ago, the schools in this city became the first in the state to teach children duck and cover drills. Last year, high school seniors were given the opportunity to drop out and train to become soldiers. And, of course, we recently hit zero minutes to midnight four months ago."

"Correct me if I’m wrong: the threat of nuclear war began several years―"

I’m cut off by a loud, thundering boom from outside the building. It shakes the earth and the shockwave is strong, there must have been an explosion. These kinds of things aren’t coincidences around me.

"What was that?" The man asks, trying to look past me and through the glass panels. I can barely see past the tree, all I can see is the intersection with stopped cars. I stand at attention, strength and speed still low. It’s enough for me to be superior than humans, I don’t know how human I am. Will bullets hurt me?

I hear screaming and catch people abandoning their cars and running away. Gunfire opens as I see members of the group I saw at Alcatraz and Sacramento gunning down civilians. My heart pounds, sending me into hyper drive.

I throw myself over the ledge, sprinting the second I touch the ground. I kick the door open, kicking the shoes off at the same time. The glass doors shatter, flying open and nearly snapping the hinges. I could run up and punch them, or I could scream and get their attention. If I punch them, I’ll end up getting their attention anyways. I take long, quick strides to reach one of the main gunmen in a second. By the time one can notice and scream, "It’s her!" In his language, I’m at my destination. I hurdle into him, throwing my forearms in front of my face right before impact. I skid to a stop as he’s launched twenty feet back into the concrete sidewalk. Before I’m shot, I rush at two gunmen, standing side by side. They start firing at my head, and the bullets are almost faster than me. I throw my right foot forward and bend my left, leaning back to slide underneath their fire. I hold my arms out to their full extent, aiming to hit them in their shins. The force is enough to send them both flipping onto their heads, but not enough to keep me moving. Now nearly lying on the ground, I push my hand backwards on the ground and throw my feet up in the air, flipping backwards. I pull my feet through the air in an arch to land one hundred and eighty degrees from where they started. Now on my feet, I hold my arms in front of my chest and face. So the boxing lessons paid off. Go figure. I dash to the right to avoid their fire, then roll to the left. I keep my right palm pressed against the ground to spin me ninety degrees to face the group approaching. All my movements have to be pristine and sharp to avoid failure and succeed. One man runs at me, which I had anticipated. I dig my right hand into the ground, the force from the roll still active. I straighten my legs out and swing them towards him, my foot hitting his jaw. I have to twist and drop my guard for a moment to land on my feet, and I hear the bullets whiz by my head and neck. I duck immediately and turn around, facing seven more gunmen.

I can hear the sirens of cop cars. Good! I could use the help! I would try to blast them with a ray of fire, if I had the energy! If I used even one ray, I’d be as weak as a human! I need to eliminate the group in San Jose tonight, I need my power!

Another gunman rushes at me, and I see an easy victory in short, squatting posture. I wait for him to be practically at me before I jump. I twist my body sideways to cover the height, turning to the left and putting my back to the rest. As I land, I slam my foot into the man’s back, kicking him into the asphalt. As I turn left, I have my arm out and swinging. I clip a man in the face, getting a shot to the right bicep at the same time. The impact leaves me spinning.

It hurts. Actual pain. It’s like the nerves in my body are being ripped and twisted in ways they aren’t supposed to.  The pain forces me to stagger backwards, my bicep seeming to weigh a thousand pounds. I avoid looking at the wound, mostly in fear of how human I seem, of how unlike myself I am. A groan escapes my clenched teeth, barely harnessing me into a spinning world. My God, it hurts. I keep cringing and waiting for it to turn into discomfort, the only pain bullets have ever paused me. Lungs, heart, calm down. We’re fine. Bullets can’t kill me, not the girl of fire. Not someone with even a heart of flames. Right?

I catch a glimpse of the cop cars pulling up. The officers get out, all armed with guns as big as the gunmen…

They had men on the inside. They knew I was coming, and they got the upper hand. I have to fight. I have to take them all out now, or the corruption in the police could lead to civilian and political leader casualties. I have to fight. I have to win. I have to ignore the pain and ignore the restraints.

I have to fight.

I sprint at the nearest man, right arm limp and trembling at my side. I struggle to focus, the world is blurry. Is this shock? It feels like I’m going into shock. I feel like I’m shuffling forward, standing still compared to my fastest speeds.

As a man approaches, I slam through him, throwing my left elbow in his face to make sure he stays down. I stop and face my left at the nearest man. I swing my right foot in a roundhouse kick, successfully sending him through the air backwards. I continue to swing until I’m facing my right, where I grab for a man’s head. My left hand like a whip, I snap his head down and bring my knee up, nailing him in the face. I duck and move to the side to avoid being shot again, my right arm feeling numb and limp.

I face the next man, hearing more police sirens. I throw my left hand upwards, clipping his jaw and snapping his head back. I pull my knee towards my chin to put my left foot on the man’s chest and force him backwards, into the man next to him.  A person on my left, seemingly a woman, moves her gun towards my head. I throw my head down towards the ground, my right leg locked in place. I allow my left leg to go into the air, a mirror image of the motion my head makes. I kick the gun out of her hands and pull my foot down to the earth, getting a bit of a laugh when she tries to sweep my feet. I may be more human than I like to admit, but I’m not that human. She burns her hand trying to kick me. If I kick her hard enough, I can kill her. I turn to face her as she throws a punch. I step to the side, letting her fist pass me. I grab her wrist and pull her forward, far to my right. I let go and don’t waste time. She’s trying to regain her balance and get over the burns on her arm as I jump in the air, spinning like a corkscrew. I hold my right foot out, as my left foot lands, facing the same direction I started in; only this time, I have force in my kick. My foot nails her right in the head, knocking her into severe brain trauma as I bring my right foot onto the ground, regain my posture and straighten up.

There are five gunmen left, not including the ones approaching in the cop cars, probably two in each. I’ve got a full plate.

I hear one reloading their gun. I rush at the man and throw my fist into his stomach, which he’s able to block with his gun. All right. That makes my job easier. I grab hold of the gun and swing him over my head, into the man behind me. Three more. A man on my left fires a bullet that scrapes the skin on my forehead, officially getting a spot on my death list. I face him, feeling my eyebrows pulled down in a look of hatred. How dare he.

I sprint at him and do the move I used to beat Ty with. I had to stop because it caused too much damage. I kick between his legs with strength that triples that of any human, sending him into the air. I jump up with him, reaching a taller height than he does. I bring my left fist down on his head as we both land, smashing him deep into the ground. Two more.

I’m looking to take them both out at once. One man and one woman, they rush at me with guns ready, one on the left and one on the right. I have an idea. I charge at the man simply because he’s closer and jump, pressing my right foot into his chest. I use him as a Launchpad to fly right, towards the woman. My left leg swings around and hits her point blank. She drops to the ground immediately, completely unconscious.

I don’t have a second to celebrate my victory. A gun is fired; a bullet pierces my left shoulder, followed by another one, not too far from my heart. I’m forced onto my back, where four armed gunners can surround me and point guns at me. "Don’t move." One says in English. "You are coming with us." His accent is thick, his voice is young.

"Like hell I’m going with you." I snarl. I aim my right arm at the pole holding up the tree and throw all my power into a ball of fire that launches through the enemy. I nail the pole, burning enough of it for the metal to give. The tree overtakes the scrawny pole, falling towards the gunners. They abandon me, sprinting for cover.

I do a backwards somersault to get out of the trunk’s way. I hold my hands over the nape of my neck and head in case I misinterpreted. The tree slams onto the ground, leaves and miniscule twigs grazing my skin. Sorry, Andrew. I had to do it.

Those twigs and leaves catch fire, quickly spreading all around the tree. Relatively quickly, I’m in a ring of flames, and I pick my head up as fire caresses my face. I stand, fire tickling my skin and don’t hesitate to walk through. In my head, I blare my favorite training song and try to emerge from the fire in the most dramatic way. I can feel the flames healing my injuries, fueling my heart and adding length to my limbs. I’d imagine my eyes became orange again. The pain from the bullets contorts into the feeling of an itch, a small annoyance. They can’t hurt me now.

I could go on forever about how right it feels to be tall and nearly invincible. How good it feels for my heart to be whole again and beat with the speed and power I was meant to use. I look forward at the five police cars parking near me, four in each car, all emerging with guns. Should I use restraints? Only because I have to go to San Jose tonight.

I walk towards them slowly and with ease. They open fire, thinking I can be stopped! Not now. They had their chance, now they get to see what I’m really capable of. My footsteps crack the asphalt as I walk, and when I bend down to jump, it breaks. I jump high into the air, destroying the broken asphalt. I let the flames that’ve been multiplying and growing pass my skin, covering my human form with fire that threatens to turn me into a fireball. I slam into the ground between the gunmen, narrowly missing some. The earth shakes and trembles, the force knocks them off their feet.

My plan? Simple.

Destroy them. Now.

I keep the flames present on my skin and let two fireballs grow in my hands. I hold my hands out and begin to spin in a circle, releasing the fire like an angled blade. It pierces the gunners closest to me, eliminating about seven of them. There should be thirteen more. Lucky me, a lucky number.

I’m getting too frivolous with my energy. I pull the flames back in, storing them for when they’re needed. How can I easily eliminate many of these men in a flash? Some are starting to get up. I could always sprint over, faster than their bullets and punch them into outer space. They deserve it. Opening fire on civilians.

I lunge forward and hook a punch to the side a man’s temples, launching him into several others. A bullet snags me from behind, and I fight the urge to laugh. Instead, I just spin around and sprint at the woman responsible. I duck down, swing my right leg across my body to sweep hers and kick her in the side while she’s still in midair. She rockets into the air and I wait for her to fall before slamming a punch into her gut, knocking her into her teammates.

That’s… seven down. Six left. No, five. There’s an irregular heart fading into the distance. The heart of this person beats around forty per minute, skipping instead of pounding.  

I’m shot in the head before I can put more thought into it, enough power in the gun to make me stumble sideways and feel a little disoriented. Getting shot through a fire brain kind of feels like you have none for a second. Fortunately, getting shot in the heart is different. It reminds you that you’re still alive, and it really hurts to be such a thing. I turn to face the gun that did it, hold my hand over the barrel and smile when they try firing. I feel the metal melting and pull it out of their grip. I hold the gun with my left arm, trapping it against my body. I hold my right hand out to stop the gunner from taking it back. "Can you believe this thing does so much damage?" I ask her. "Look, it’s melting in my arms." I snap it in half before dropping the melted mess on the ground. I punch the gunner, watching at they fly backwards and onto the hood of an abandoned car.

"She can’t be killed!" Someone shouts. I can hear the desperation and panic in this young man’s voice.

"Hey," I say calmly. I walk over to him slowly. "I’m not God." Far from it.

The man opens his jacket, revealing a series of wires and cartridges the size of his forearm strapped to his chest. The chemical reaction is quick and immediate. I don’t have time to say a word or stop him from following through on his action. In beats of a firefly’s wings, the world is bursting at the seams.

The explosion is loud and strong. My ears, trained for worse, still ring and burn. The man is killed instantly, the earth and people around him either being thrown like they weigh nothing or blasted into nothing. The shockwave passes through, not worth noting in comparison to its predecessor. I continue to launch back, propelled by the clouds of extreme heat. I feel some of the explosion being absorbed into me, in a maniacal way, charging me like a battery. I have to land well. At this rate, I’ll land on my back and I’ll end up dozens of feet in the ground. I might fracture a pipe and end up dead. I’m not resorting to puns. I’m not saying I could end up six feet under.

I twist my legs and mess with my balance until my feet are rushing at the ground; I bend my knees to absorb the power, skidding against the asphalt with bare feet. I hold my hand in front of me to increase the drag and friction. The remnants of the explosion, the heat and the fire have gone right to my heart, doing more good than harm.

As the cloud and smoke clears, the nearby cars have been tossed around like nothing. That bomb had the explosive power thrice that of a land mine and could have caused a lot of damage. They should have opened with that, when there were people around.

There’s a clear circle around me in which I can point out the diameter of the blast. The majority of the tree is gone; little of the trunk remaining with the ends burnt an ashy black. It seems like everyone was eradicated. No, wait. I think there’s someone moving their legs underneath one of the cop cars.

I rush over and push the car on its side, revealing a woman with third degree burns covering her arms, legs and stomach, a broken left leg and a severely bleeding head. Her head injuries should take her life within the minute. She looks at me, trying not to cry. I think she was beautiful, before the injuries and before she decided to become a murderer of innocence. "When is the game?" I ask. I use my robotic military voice.

She shakes her head, and I form a fireball in my left hand. Her eyes widen and she shakes her head again and again.

"I really don’t want to hurt you. I will, if I must." I’m probably not half as intimidating as I feel.

She only says two words. "Right… now." She struggles to say them, but they’re spoken. Right now? Of course! They were distracting me! They tried to get me out of the way so they could succeed!

I turn around, charging power in my legs to rocket off to San Jose. I don’t have time to spare. I press into the ground, ready to shatter it when I burst into the air. I let the power exit through my feet, hurdling me into the air with power.

Before I’m flying to San Jose like an enraged dragon on steroids, I hear the girl mutter the name of the country she comes from, and, "I’m sorry."

Mav will think I’m dead. A crowd will gather to see the remains, Mav will see that it occurred outside of City Hall, and I’m gone. He’d be a fool to think otherwise. Frankly, I don’t care. There are matters that take priority, like how there’s going to be a horrible massacre any second now.

I fly quickly. I don’t care who sees me or whatever, I just struggle to find a balance between going too fast and too slow. As I soar merely a hundred feet over highways, houses and people, my only thoughts are about a plan. There are over seventeen thousand people there, I don’t know how many more are watching. I can’t just barge in through the roof, that’s going to get everyone killed. I need to find the people in charge, tell them to stop airing the game and evacuate everybody by telling them there’s an emergency in the parking lot or some sort of malfunction with the technology, I don’t care. The citizens just need to vacate the premises immediately. If that plan doesn’t work, I do whatever it takes to keep the citizens safe. Whatever it takes.

I can see the pavilion. My gosh, I’ve never seen so many cars in one parking lot. There are a lot of souls in that building, a lot of them who don’t deserve to die. There’s got to be children in there, youth with their throats at the knives of terrorists.

I stop flying when I’m directly above my landing point and let myself fall easily one hundred and ten feet to the ground. The emergency could be an earthquake. I hit the ground hard, my feet striking first. The entrance to the pavilion is now two feet in the ground, a beautiful piece of modern art. Andrew would agree, broken rock totally counts as art.

I push both doors open, nearly throwing them off their hinges. I’m not waiting. There are lives on the line. Between the entrance and the actual stadium is an inside ring of little stores that either sell overpriced food or overpriced merchandise. I can hear the announcers and crowd from out here, thousands of heartbeats. I walk around the stadium, studying each door for maintenance. There’s nothing, nothing! Of course it wouldn’t be available to the public! I need to at least find the announcers. If I can tell the stadium to evacuate, that’d work as well as any other plan.

I need to come up with something. I keep hearing loud outbursts from the crowd, a sick reminder that if I fail, they all die. I try to stop thinking, but my mind elaborates. I force the thoughts and images out of my mind to focus on the mission at hand. Save the people, stop the terrorists; contort some sort of lie to feed Mav.

As I move around the ring, I see two guards emerge from around the corner. They have uniforms on and seem unarmed. Perhaps they are tall. To me, they’re short. I stand at nearly six feet and eight inches, a shadow of the power that should be. "Excuse me, Miss." One calls out to me. They don’t have to jog over, I hurry to them.

Before they can talk, I’m spitting words at them. "Listen to me, this is an emergency. You need to evacuate everyone right now. There are terrorists with the intention of killing everyone here." I warn, and believe me when I say I sound as desperate and panicked as I feel.

"Excuse me?" The other guard asks.

"There’s no time!" My heart starts racing every time I hear the crowd and an announcer’s intensity rises as someone almost scores. I need them to just trust me! "Please, I’m trying to save everyone here!"

The two guards look at each other, then at me. "Miss," The first one says, "Come, take a seat." He tries to put his arm around my shoulder, and I step backwards, barely manageable with shaky legs.

"I’m not drunk!" I protest. That’s it! I’m going into the stadium and I’m going to stand with my chest puffed out if I have to! The terrorists’ plan is in motion, for God’s sake! I whip around and run for the nearest entrance to the stadium, sprinting too quickly for the guards’ eyes to catch me. I burst through the doors and dash down the staircase, trying not to touch the crowded aisles of people. I wonder if they look at me and wonder what’s happening. I don’t stop running until I’m a thin wall away from the ice. I bet it’s already melting. Hopefully the terrorists see that I’m here and focus on trying to destroy me instead of the people.

The lights go off in an instant. The stadium falls silent. The hockey teams go still. The big screen starts showing static, drawing everyone’s eyes except mine. Why are the hockey players just standing there? "Get off the ice!" I shout. They all turn in my direction, and start stumbling towards the edge in complete darkness if you exclude my glow.

The image of a man appears on a screen, a suit on and a clean shaven face; he’s the epitome of rich, lazy, CEO boss. His hair is short, dark and gelled. His eyes are hazel, his skin darker than fair. He’s about fifty, I suppose. He sits behind a desk with a blank surrounding. I find it’s a video before the man begins speaking. "Hello, California." He says, his accent thick and tone serious yet smug. "A war is in the wakes." What’s their plan? Blow up the stadium? I could break through the ceiling and― God help me, what if they have terrorists planted in the audience with bombs? "We will not be pushed around." Pushed around! Pushed around! They’re the ones pushing us! They’ve been pushing me, and I’ve been struggling to push back!

"Liar!" I scream. I want this to be live. I want him to hear me.

It could be live, but he doesn’t hear me. If he does, he has absolutely no response. "Your destiny has been decided by your government. Blame them!" He orders.

"Our destiny is being decided by you!" I counteract before he spreads lies to these people. I pray everyone watching the game can hear me. "Stop acting like the victim!"

"Think of what they condemned you to in your final moments." He growls before the screen fades black.

I hear a gasp behind me. I whip around, the stadium in complete silence. There’s a man holding a gun larger than his arms to a young child’s temples. There are many gunmen in this row alone. The lights turn on one by one, showing me all the gunmen in the audience. The people all either gasp, scream or sob. Some do all three.

"Silence!" One of the gunners shouts. There’s a slight whimper, and a gun is fired. My heart drops, I take in a sharp breath as the audience screams. "I said silence!" Three words and everyone obeys. "Anyone moves and they get shot!" My breaths turn into hyperventilating I struggle to keep quiet. The world is blurry. Why is it blurry? Fight, Ashler! They can’t get away with what they just did! Are you a coward? Why can’t I move? I have to do something!

"I swear to God," I snarl through grit teeth at the gunman who did it. I don’t feel I portray half the anger the demon inside me has, but the snarl suffices. "If you kill another person I will gut you."

"The alleged fire girl!" The gunner close behind me says. I snap around to face the woman. She’s short and looks more muscular than I do. "They say we can’t kill you."

"They didn’t say the same about you." I wish I could spit. I’d spit on her, and I’d break her neck before she could move.

"You cannot die," She repeats, putting her gun on a man’s head. "They can. And you seem to care more for them than for yourself. One move, they die. You hurt one of us, we kill all of them."

The only way I can take them all out at once is to explode, and that’d kill all the citizens at the same time. Perhaps I could send blasts of fire up the aisles of staircases and avoid the seats. How fast would the fire reach the people on the other side of the stadium? Would they have time to avoid it and murder these people? Think, Ashler, think! There’s always a way out of these situations! I could reach all the gunners in this aisle in less than a second, blast through them with no restraints. I can go faster than the bullets the other gunners fire, oh what good would that do? They’d all fire at once; I wouldn’t be able to stop all of them. There’d be heavy casualties, and they’d all be on my hands for having a dumb plan.

"What do you want me to do?" I ask. I should at least try to get their guard down a little. I need to surprise them somehow. I need to use those wildcards I’m told not to.

"We’re going to broadcast this instead of the hockey game." She explains. "We want to show how weak this country’s champion is."

"Caring for the citizens isn’t weak!" I fire back at her. Unintentionally, fire erupts from my skin as I finish the sentence. I’m too mad to care, too furious to do a thing. The flames flash, then retreat back into my body. I can hear the audience react. Be quiet, be quiet! I can’t have you dying!

The woman smiles sadistically. "They don’t seem to know what you are. Why don’t you show them?" She asks.

"Why don’t you go screw yourself?" I hiss. If I had blood, it would be boiling. If I had my team with me, this would be an easy fight. Ty would create a force field around the citizens, Kelli could manipulate the gunners into shooting themselves, Andrew, Cody and I could make sure all the gunners are eliminated.

The woman laughs a little. "They told us you had a mouth!" She says, and she’s grinning. Grinning. I could rip her head off and stuff it up her― never mind, and she’s smiling? Laughing? This woman is insane!

I smile right back and tilt my head to the side. "Yes," I say calmly, then drop the smile, readjust my head and go back to growling through clenched teeth. "Everyone does."

She starts laughing again. I could kill her. If we fought without weapons, they’d stand no chance. They’re cheating, trying to make big people out of cowards. That’s all they are! Cowering murderers. All of them. They’re strong until they’re unarmed.

What I would give for the human race to have skin as strong as Andrews or a body like mine. If they all possessed the power that even merely Cody has, we’d be able to overpower them. "What’s so funny about this?" I nearly scream at the girl.

"You," She pauses to catch her breath. During her laughter, she eases up on the gun. It’s still inches from the man’s head, but it goes up. She’d fire at the walls and miss the people. Weakness found. Time to exploit it. "Are so predictable. You’re exactly what they told us to prepare for. Now, we’re going to get the cameras working. And you are going to show your country that you have been defeated."

"Never." I growl. "You aren’t stronger than me."

"Perhaps. But who holds the power here?" She asks. If she takes a step near me, I’m breaking her neck. "Unless you want these people to die, I suggest you go to center ice. Where everyone can see you."

I’ll die if I go there. I’ll melt the ice, and I don’t know if it’ll evaporate in time. Going to center ice is suicide. However, on center ice, I have more options. I could try to hover, no; they’d figure out that water kills me.

If I can get to the very center, I think I know a way I can incinerate all the gunners at once. It’ll use all of my power, literally every ounce of it; however, it’ll guarantee everyone’s safety. I’m obligated to do it. I could die on the ice, and they could see that I’m weak. What would they do? Talk to me about it seconds before I destroy them? I have to try.

"I said go!" She shouts, and doesn’t wait a second to pull the trigger on the man. The loudest shriek is my own. I can’t― why? Why would she? There was no purpose of that! She didn’t give me a chance to react or do anything! I was about to go!

"What the hell is wrong with you?" I scream. I’ve never been tested like this. I would absolutely destroy her if I could. I can’t wait until I do. If I can wait. I swear, I’m thinking of horrible things right now. "I was following your orders! Why should I listen if you just kill everyone anyways?"

"Get on center ice. Now." She barks.

I climb over the rail and try to walk as close as I can to the ice. I keep the fire blasting from my feet minimal, I need that energy for later. I stop right in the middle, right where the puck was minutes ago. I stare at the woman, trying to control my anger by imagining her dying slowly and terribly.

I start storing up energy. I take deep breaths to get in all the oxygen I can, I have to be silent and still. I try to slowly pull the flames from my hair in, strand at a time. I hear the gunners talking in the distance, and I blur them out. I can practically see the flames making me taller being pulled, turning me into a scrawny little teenage girl made of skin and bones. It’s like there’s a black hole in my body, pulling power from my extremities. No, closer to a secretary filing papers on what can be removed and used as energy, "I need that, we can use that, I don’t need this."

I need to go faster. They always have surprises for me. I need to find out where the next group is and flee the scene. I forget the secretary, deciding to use everything inside me as fuel. I’m going to the place I went in Sacramento. The agony shall be revisited, and I shall cope with it… somehow.

There’s nothing inside me for energy. The world sounds blurry, the gunners sounding distant and behind a wall. I try to think, only for my words to get drowned out by my rapidly beating heart.

That’s my last source of power. There’s no other alternative. I give my body the go-ahead to turn to my heart for fuel, the way starving humans digest their own hearts.

I immediately regret it.

It feels like a hand reaches up through my chest into my heart, rips it free of the arteries and veins and squeezes it into power. The pulsating agony follows not a second afterwards, and suddenly, I’m gasping for air. As the energy and power prepares in the points of release, I slap a hand over my heart and dig my fingers into my skin, legs giving way. I can’t stop it. My body subconsciously retracts the flames in my feet, pulling them into my core. I fall down, unable to stop it.

My knees hit a dry ground, free of water. It must have evaporated. My knees are so weak and skin so tight, I can feel the impact in my bones. I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s hardly any skin there at all, covering strands of fiery tendons and bones.

The world collapses into smudges and smears, and I have to stand. I hear the people and gunners reacting, some must think I’m dying. My head is heavy, my chest feels ready to fall into itself and die. The agony hits me every second, stabbing razor blades into each individual nerve. There’s a second of unbearable, life shattering agony, and a second of peace. I need to ignore that and get up. Come on, Ashler. The move won’t work if you don’t stand up!

I don’t know how I stand or where the strength comes from. All I know is that I’m standing, looking around and locking the coordinates in place. Each time the agony strikes, my vision either flashes blinding white or terrifying darkness. I have to endure. For these people. For the ones that didn’t make it.

I give myself a countdown so it feels less begrudging and more spontaneous and fun.

From three until one, I’m dreading the time I have to follow through. I reach one, the inevitable one you see coming the second the numbers start, and I do it.

I cut myself open.

I reach towards my stomach, rip a hole and let fire ravage up the aisles. It feels like I’m unleashing a dragon that lives inside me, a dragon that feeds me life. I sound like I’m dying, my throat is open and a scream/roar passes through the slits in my skin. I watch as the woman is hit with a bucket of me, forcing her into nothingness. My insides, my entire essence pours unconditionally into the aisles, traumatizing those nearby. I reach into the hole inside me and throw everything inside at the gunners, only focusing on their destruction. I don’t know if they scream. I wasn’t really listening. I could only hear the sounds of myself unraveling and ceasing to exist.

Metaphorically, that’s what happens.

What actually happens is that brilliant, large and powerful rays of flames burst out of me, firing up the aisles and incinerating the gunners. As I let out more fire than I knew I had in me, I either yell a wordless battle cry or scream in agony. The woman who killed mercilessly is burnt to molecules no one will ever again recognize as a person. I make sure the flames are strong enough, and they are. They nearly blind and burn the citizens nearby. I can’t listen; my ears haven’t recovered from when I stole their energy. My sight is terrible, the only one of my senses working is touch, and I feel my body deteriorating.

The rays die down, and I’m on the floor. I can only describe myself in metaphors. The pain, started in my heart, grows long, dark arms. It hugs me tightly, crushing my ribs and stealing my breath. The arms wrap around me, curling me into a tight ball, where it forms a circus tent over me. Trapped inside the pain, the tent gets smaller and smaller until it’s like a bodysuit, covering all of me.

I think the people cheer for me. I can’t tell. All I can tell myself is that I have to flee the scene. I can’t stay here. I need to find out where the next group is, and I need to be prepared for whatever else the terrorists could conjure up to ruin my life.

I’m full of surprises. I manage to pull myself onto my knees, and proceed to crawl for the door. The flames have evaporated almost all of the water, thank God. I couldn’t fly to save the life of me. I just need to get outside the stadium and somehow block any weapon they throw at us.

If you’re cheering, stop it. I haven’t won yet, I think to the people. I try to tell them to leave, to get far away from here, and I fail. I just gasp like an old man with nasal problems snores. I struggle to get over the wall and prop myself up against it to stand.

Could I die right now? No. I’m not done with San Jose yet. Would I like to? No. I’m not done with this mission yet. If I was done, I think I could schedule dying. I’d rather that than come up with an excuse for Mav.

I don’t want to face them. I don’t want to have to admit to lying to them, deceiving them and using them. I don’t want to be rejected by the rejects. I don’t want to get caught in my own web and get eaten by the ensnared flies.

I would speak if I could. If there was a single hair’s length of energy to spare.

Hell freezes over in the time it takes me to reach the top of the stairs, blurring out the people and burn marks around me. The warmth from the burns supplies no energy. Just comfort in the fact that I’m not hallucinating on the floor of an ice rink.

It happens so fast. It only takes a second for everything to change.  

Have I won? I can’t be further from victory than I am right now.

There’s a miniscule moment when we can hear it coming.  The whizzing of a very large bullet.  We don’t have the second to do anything, not blink, not pray, not even breathe.

The right side of the stadium is blasted apart in an explosion that seems to shake the earth, either killing you or sending you flying backwards.  Or both.  Even Dawson, K.B. and Ardo must have been able to hear the loud boom that shatters my ears.  The light forces my eyes shut and I can barely wrap my head around anything. I can feel my heart pounding furiously in my chest, pumping fast enough that I suspect it’s working to kill rather than save me.  

My feet are off the ground and I’m flying in either the outskirts of the explosion.

One second, I’m being celebrated for winning.  The next, I’m being blasted as roughly eight thousand people are killed instantly. Like a large gust of wind has thrown me towards the back of the mine, my feet pick off the ground.  I reach for anything to grab onto, anything to stop the explosion from forcing me onto something fatal.  My head snaps backwards before I fall onto the ground.

I don’t land gracefully.  My lower back hits the armrest of the chair, made of a horribly unforgiving material. If that wasn’t enough, the force pushes my neck down on another armrest, my head snapping backwards and banging into the side. I can hear the crack, even though my senses are jumbled and numbed. I also hear myself exhaling like I’m moaning, and I wouldn’t be surprised. The pain is worse than before, covering my back, neck and head. I want to move. I need to get up. Nothing else matters.

I force my head up to look around.  The world is still shaking.  I tilt my head to the right, and my eyes don’t shift from the left to the right until three seconds have passed.  My sight is echoed lazily.  Like someone is copying it and isn’t trying very hard.

To my right, I see the surviving side of the stadium. The wall looks ripped apart, the people thrown around and broken. The sight to my left is worthy of either a faint or vomit. The bleachers have been torn off, an ashy crater with surfaces stained charcoal in its place. There’re a few bits and pieces of what could be chairs thrown onto our side of the stadium, nothing else remaining.

It’s all gone. The chairs, the people, the other half of the rink… it’s all gone. I can see the sun outside, shining on the lack of existence that is the right side of the stadium. Some sun leaks in the corners of the remaining bleachers, almost mocking us.

All those people are dead. Just like that. Eradicated, nothing left behind except a wall of billowing smoke.

I tell myself that now is okay to cry. I can hear other people doing it through the incessant ringing. Instead of crying, I stare silently at the hole in the stadium. I don’t feel like I can do anything except that.

The very instant I can breathe, I try to get onto my feet.  I curl inward to get off the armrests and sit sideways in the chair, then twist ninety degrees to the right for my feet to touch the ground.  My legs feel weak.  I claw at the wall to get off of the ground.  I need to stand.  They won’t be done with a single missile.  

I try to stand again, pressing my palms into the armrests. My legs tremble and threaten to collapse, my knees already buckling under my weight. I put most of weight into my arms, the only way to keep myself standing.

I look down at my body.  No, I’ll take inventory of myself later.  All I need to know is that I have two legs, two arms and ten fingers.  

My legs are too weak to carry the heavy weight of my torso.  My abdominal region is heavier than usual.  Heavier than my legs.  I try to take a step forward, a terrible idea. My legs give, taking the whole thing with them.

Kneeling on the ground, my hearing clicks back into place.

People are sobbing. Screaming in agony. Trying to comfort others. I hear puking and hyperventilating, wailing and weeping. My eyesight, still subpar, helps me pick up on some of the people. I see a young woman, hugging herself as she both screams and cries. Two friends, one with a broken leg and another with a severe stomach gash trying to help each other out. A father lies unconscious next to his teenage daughter, desperately trying to shake him awake. She screams his name, tears streaking her makeup. She rolls her head back and sobs to God, sobs to heaven, where her father is now. Someone sees the injuries of a cadaver in front of him and leans to the side to barf. A man with the side of his head gushing blood holds a young child, not over the age of four, to his chest. He keeps saying that he loves him, that he’s the best thing to ever happen to him. The child is crying, face resting on his father’s shoulder. A young adult around my age leans against a wall, cellphone to her ear. Her free hand is over her rib cage, blood dousing her shirt. She greets her mother, tears streaming down her face. "I’m not going to make it home." She says solemnly.

I was supposed to stop this from happening. I failed. I failed everyone here. No one is okay. They’re either dead, dying, mentally or physically traumatized.

Sorrow? I definitely feel that. Remorse? It runs ramped in my head. Guilt? That’s what’s weighing me down. Anger?

Fury fuels my heart. I move my low hanging head to stare down at myself, my chest rapidly rising and falling. I hear my breathing, turning from panting to this growling sound that escapes through grit teeth.

Metaphorically, anger strikes my heart like lightning, the electricity carrying through every nerve in my body, bringing me to life the way Frankenstein was brought into existence. Literally, my heart pumps stronger and faster, the emotions giving me drive and thus energy.

I pick my head up, my heart fighting off the pain with energy. I’m going to destroy them. I’m going to rip the people at the computer apart and throw the pieces to rabid raccoons or opossums or squirrels or some animal low on the food chain. I find myself standing, my face locked in a grimace, eyebrows slanted heavily inward. My hands twist into fists, my jaw presses tight enough to cause discomfort.

The adrenalin hits me, and I can only think about destruction.

I rise, legs tingling with flames that seem to drip down from inside. I storm out of the stadium and search the remaining half of the building for heartbeats. I stomp into the ground, ignoring the sizzling of the material underneath my feet. I hear two normal paced beats coming from a room to my right. Anyone who didn’t see that coming would be in a panic.

I don’t waste time or energy. I walk through the metal door, melting the material easily. I see one man and one woman behind the same computer I’ve seen a thousand times. I reach for the closest person, the woman, and grab her collar with my right hand. I stare at her, eyes wide and full of terror. She struggles underneath the heat, squirming and kicking.

I don’t say a word. I throw her onto the ground, embedding her deep in the tile and press my foot to her chest. As I force her deeper in the foundation, I can hear the burning. She screams, and I think of everyone who died today. They died quickly. She will not. She will die when the fire burns her lungs. As for the man, he will have a similar fate.

When she stops screaming and her heart fades from my hearing, I walk to the man, cowering in the corner. "Not so brave without your toys." I growl. Before I destroy the computer, I steal a glance. Sacramento and San Francisco are now colored red, San Jose is green. It’ll be red after today is over. Between the City and San Jose, there are five blue dots marking the cities with the largest population. Redwood City has been circled in black ink. They must have tried to find me and stop me before I could reach San Jose.

The sickest part, the part that makes me want to claw my face off, is the fact that there’s no blue dot indicating Half Moon Bay.

I look at the yellow dot marking Santa Cruz. I catch the beachside address�" of course it’s near water�" noticing a blinking light headed towards San Jose. Of course. It’s never that easy. I grab the top of the screen and throw it against the ground, smashing the last bit of power they have over me. I turn back to the man, my gaze emotionless.  

"You’re lucky." I spit at him. "I don’t have time to waste on you." I take a step back and swing my left foot at him, smashing his head into the wall on his right. I hear the crack of the bones and the stop of his heart before he goes limp. I ignore the new red art on the damaged walls.

I burst through the room out to the parking lot, dropping about ten feet to the cement. New goal: destroy the missile. The only thing I have to worry about is what to do with it.

I don’t see any jets, helicopters or tanks to greet with a missile. I don’t know if I have enough strength to break it, nor the ability to catch it from here. How do humans block missiles?

They stop weapons with weapons. If a missile is coming, they blow it up with another missile midair. I can do that. I can crash into it with enough force and power that it explodes. I have to be far away from the ground and people to do it, hence why I didn’t in Sacramento.

I heard the first missile come in from north of the stadium. This missile can’t be coming from a different place. Flames blast from my heels and palms, rocketing me up into the air. I lean forward at a thirty degree angle to launch up and towards the missile.

When the missile enters my sight, I only have to adjust myself slightly to lock into a collision course. I force more power from my palms and heels, my eyes fastened on the approaching weapon of mass destruction. I’m not afraid to hit it and blow both of us up in the process. Explosions don’t kill me. The flames are thrown apart, only to regroup into the living being that I am.

Am I at a high enough altitude to avoid damaging everyone around me? I quickly look down at the ground before picking my eyes right back up. Yes, I should be. I’m at least three hundred feet up. In moments, the missile will start to arch down. That is, if I wasn’t in its way.

The missile comes close, close enough to kiss, and I only go faster. My head will be split open, and we will both, for a moment, be nothing. I have more in common with this thing than a human. We were both made to destroy and protect our country, only to be controlled by humans who point and say, "Eliminate." And we obey. The only difference between the two of us is that I resemble a human. Vaguely. At times.

The missile is all I see in my field of vision, and like looking into the pupils of a human, I see a reflection of what they see. I catch myself in the tip of the missile, bright lights emitting from my pores. My eyes are yellow, my face is not stern. I am unsure, and I am wide eyed. I get lost in my fiery face, and there is no beauty in it. I only see a demon, desperate to kill and to burn and to torment. I don’t see any good in me. So I don’t hesitate to destroy both of us.

There is no difference when we collide, and we both explode in a brilliant burst of flames. At least, it better be brilliant. My senses are turned off the second there’s impact. I think this is what it means to be unconscious.

I don’t know what happens next. All I know is that more people than ever died today.