At First Lyght

“Put the gun down, Calvin. Ain’t nobody gotta die here!” Leo called to his brother who stood menacingly above a friend of his with a revolver pointed at her face. In the middle of their baseball game Calvin had charged onto the field holding the weapon—his face contorted in a wicked rage. Thick clouds began gathering around them threatening to burst at any moment.
“Calvin, nobody did nothin’ wrong! What’s gotten into you man?!” He shouted. He clenched his fists and stared; he didn’t want to, nor could he, believe what was going on. Fyra, his Israeli friend, stood motionless against the gate to the dugout. There were a few other people at the field with them, but they had all fled when they saw Calvin enter with the gun in his hand. Dusk loomed warily among them and a light mist coated the field. The air was tense and heavy—almost palpable. Fyra glanced over to Leo, and they exchanged a worried but knowing look.
Calvin was gone to them.

Fyra reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a small pen-like object with a glowing red tip. She quickly etched the Hi ( Fire ) symbol into the air. Calvin grimaced as he realized what she was doing. He pulled back on the trigger rapidly, but the end of the gun had melted together into a heated mass of metal. He raised it, preparing to strike out at her, but his body was quickly enveloped in flames.
His screams tore through the night.

Leo approached the pile of ash and bones, tears burning in his eyes, and fell to his knees beside it. Calvin was supposed to be the strong one, the reliable and faithful one, the all-knowing and respected one—how could he let himself be tricked? Fyra stared coldly at him, her blue eyes refusing to betray how she felt. She knelt next to him and rubbed his shoulder.
“Do not mourn the dead, Leo. He may have been your brother once, but no longer.” He looked furiously at her, the rage boiling in his eyes. But there was also sadness there.
“Easy for you to say. You ain’t got a clue about how close me and him were.” Fyra flinched as if she’d been struck, but quickly recovered her stoic expression.

“How many times must I tell you, Leo? The life of a Partisan is never an easy one. It takes its toll, mentally and physically, on everyone. This” she gestured towards Calvin. “is generally how they end up—consumed by their grief and sadness and hatred. Very, very few have had the willpower to resist the complete degradation of their minds. But irregardless we still had a job to do. I just didn’t expect it to be… him.” She slipped the pen back into her pocket and looked towards the exit gate.

“The plan worked, but it was a rather risky one. Where did you get those children from?” Leo half-smiled at her. He was trying not to think about the family member she’d just annihilated from this world. “I walked into the grocery store and said I’d give ‘em twenty bucks each if they’d toss around on the field with me.” He looked around. “Hope they made it home alright. I ain’t gonna spend a half hour looking for ‘em.” Fyra cringed slightly at the word “ain’t”. She detested it ever so.

Sometime later, after they’d cleaned up Calvin’s remains, they took to the streets and began their short trek to the New York Partisan HQ. Leo looked at all of the lights that flashed annoyingly above them, and at the many cars that zoomed past them in the night. New York did not get any less busy in the later parts of the day. Leo might even say it got busier the darker the day was. He glanced to his right at Fyra, who was whistling a tune with her hands in her pockets. She noticed him looking at her and turned towards him curiously.

“What? Is there something on my face?” She asked, staring blankly at him. He smiled in response. “No, of course not.” Then his face reddened. “I mean—it’s just a really nice night.” He fumbled over the right words and immediately looked away once he’d gotten them out. Fyra reached over and placed her hand on his forehead.

“Are you ill? You feel like you are burning up.” Her palm was cool against his face and he somewhat enjoyed her touch. But he calmly swatted at her hand and looked at the watch strapped around his wrist.
“We’re gonna be late if we don’t pick up the pace, Anna.” She looked irritated. “I told you not to call me that, meathead!” She punched him in the arm—none too lightly.
“Ow! That hurt!” He cried.
“It’s supposed to hurt, imbecile, it’s a punch!” Then she suddenly tensed and stopped where she was. The tattoo on her right arm began to glow a pale white and she seemed frantic about something. Leo was going to ask what was wrong, but she silenced him with a hand gesture. Because they were caught up in their conversation they failed to realize that there were no more cars driving past. The neon lamps had stopped flickering and were stuck in off form. “The chaos breeds, Leo.”
And then it jumped out at them.