"At least the mug shot isn't too bad…"

The officer took a quick glance at the kid, raising her eyebrow at the random comment, before returning her gaze to the clipboard in her hands. Truth be told, the mug shot really wasn't all that bad.

The kid seemed to have a perpetual smile on his face, and the mug shot was no exception. The photographer had done his best to wipe that big, toothy grin off the guy's face, as per regulations, but the effort proved fruitless. The kid's shaggy black hair, still windblown from the incident, exaggerated his height a bit, bringing him close to six feet tall. Otherwise, his dark jeans, converses, and flannel shirt were remarkably clean, at least when one considered what had just happened.

"So, how do you pronounce your name?" the officer wondered aloud.

"It's, Aang, ma'am. Like pang or hang or, uh, zang or…"

"Ok ok, I get it, Aang. Do you understand the charges levied against you?"

"Um, not really. All I did was crash into a fruit cart. I even offered to pay him back…"

"Which qualifies as the destruction of private property. You were also skateboarding…"

"Longboarding," Aang interrupted the woman's lecture.

"Either way, you're not allowed to operate a vehicle on the city sidewalk. It's illegal. Plus, you tried to evade arrest…"

"All I did was stand up!"

The woman opened her mouth to speak again, but a man in a suit walked up to her and pulled her aside. Aang took advantage of the break to take in his surroundings.

He was in one of New York City's smaller police stations, but it was still a massive operation. The room around him must have been the size of a small house, and it was chock full of desks, each with some poor office-bound cop pounding away at a keyboard or doing some other meaningless task. There was a mural of a cloud on the roof of the room. A storm cloud, Aang reasoned, as every person in this room seemed to be having a pretty shitty day. Himself included.

After another few minutes of rambling thoughts, the woman walked back over to Aang.

"The charges have been dropped. You are free to gather your things and leave. The retrieval desk is built into the wall to your right, with all of the lockers."

It was Aang's turn to raise an eyebrow at this sudden change of events. He thought that he would have to pull the whole 'fake parents' thing with Bumi and Li Ann again. Still, he certainly wasn't going to stick around and question it too much. He didn't want whatever powers at be to change their minds while he was still around.

Another woman was waiting for him at the desk. Aang nearly winced at her appearance, disgusted by the amount of fat and moles present on the woman's face.

"I'm here to get my things. Name's Aang Tyler."

"One moment," the woman wheezed in reply as she struggled out of her seat. She waddled over to a locker and pulled out a bag. She handed the bag to Aang.

"Um, where's my longboard?"

The woman nodded over to the trashcan, where a clearly broken longboard stuck out of the top.

"I don't remember it breaking during the crash…"

"I don't know, sir. Something happened to it though."

Aang grunted and walked away. Yeah, he thought, a certain officer with her own gravitational field happened to it. Nothing he could do about it now, though. He exited the building and pulled his backpack out of the bag. He threw it onto his back and began the long trek home.

After a very long walk, the apartment building that housed the tiny little room that Aang called home came into view. It was certainly a humble abode, but the owner was happy to accept his under the table, cash only payments with no questions asked, so he dealt with it.

As he entered his room, he sighed. He remembered life before this tiny little room, when he and his family happily filled out a cheerful little townhouse right outside of Columbia's campus. Hell, their legacy was the only reason he got accepted as Columbia's first ever underage 'undecided' major, and their old friends were the only reason why Aang wasn't some warden of the state right now.

Still though, Aang always tried to see the lighter side of things. He, at age 17, was starting his first year of college, while most kids would be starting their last year of high school. Despite his difficult year, beginning with the sudden death of his parents and ending with the brutal destruction of his longboard, he was still, well, him. Aang was still a creative prodigy, and he hadn't lost any of his optimism. Things might be rough now, but usually that means that they couldn't get any worse. Right?

He let loose another sigh and he plopped his backpack onto his bed and began taking out the stuff he needed to start his homework. Hopefully the U.S.S. Officer hadn't finished off his already rickety laptop. He chuckled at his own mental joke and got to work.

It didn't matter what was going on in the world around him. As soon as he sat down at his desk and put his headphones on, the outside world disappeared. Today, the audio choice was an NPR piece on the strange fire-breathing monks of the Eastern Philippines and the homework was a drawing. The topic of the drawing didn't matter, so he just let his mind, and pen, wander, allowing the product to come from his subconscious. It was something that he had been doing more and more of recently.

After a while, something broke him out of his rhythm. He took his headphones off and looked around. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. He wasn't even sure what had sparked this 'investigation'. Maybe it was a sound or a flash of movement. Or maybe it was his spidey senses. Either way, they were clearly wrong. Nothing was happening.

Satisfied that he could get back to work, he put his headphones on. As soon as he did, his world went black, and he collapsed back into his chair.

Aang woke up to a bag being pulled off of his head. The bag-puller quickly exited the room, and a garbled, deep voice came out of a speaker that was in the ceiling above him.

"HAVE YOU BEEN CONTACTED?! WHAT DID THEY TELL YOU?!"

Aang tried to get up out of the chair, but he was restrained. He had absolutely no idea what was going on, or what the mystery voice was talking about.

"What the hell are you talking about? Where am I? What happened?"

There was no reply, but Aang heard a few muffled voice talking outside of the room. He couldn't quite pick up what they were saying, but it was definitely something about China.

After a moment, the door opened, and Aang's jaw dropped. He recognized the face that came through the door. He had seen it a million times before, splayed across countless magazines and newspapers.

"Sorry about the trouble, kid. Clearly my friends here don't understand what a 'friendly chat' entails. Either that, or the previous guy in my seat was sarcastic. Not really sure. Anyway, could I get you some coffee or something?"

Aang's jaw was still hanging open. He was probably drooling, but he honestly couldn't tell for sure.

The President of the United States had just offered him coffee.

(A/N) So, here's the new first chapter! Yeah, this is a rewrite of the first chapter of A Burnt World. I'm sure about 2.33 of you recognized it. I didn't like the way the first try came out, and with some wonderful help from 3H, I like this version a lot better. Hopefully you guys noticed some improvement. Let me know whether you liked this version better than the other one. Or just let me know what you thought. Or just say hi. Please. (I'm a desperate review whore, I know). Really though, I hope you guys enjoyed, and stay tuned!