Footsteps and the sloshing of gasoline echoed through the abandoned building as a woman made her way across the cement floor and up a pair of molding wooden stairs, damp and permanently damaged by moist salt air of the dock. Picking her way across the second floor, she finally stopped at the back wall and turned to survey it all. Finding nothing of interest or importance, only a forgotten few boxes and other knick-knacks illuminated by a massive hole in the concave ceiling, she smiled in a relieved way and started emptying the contents of the three-gallon can on onto the wooden floor, thoroughly enjoying the smell of gasoline as it sank into the boards and dripped into the lower level.

Satisfied with her work, she hurried down the stairs two at a time and picked up a second can she'd left at the bottom, repeating her earlier actions. Once finished, she reached into the pockets of her protective jacket, pulling out a much-loved zippo lighter and a few pages from the April 19th Gotham Times, one of which declared "Serial Arsonist Still at Large" in bold, black letters. Rolling up the newspaper, she doubled checked her helmet one last time before clicking open the lighter and holding it to the pages. Waiting until they were properly lit, she admired the flames for a moment before tossing them away from her and watching as they hit the gasoline, greedily devouring as they spread throughout the warehouse.

For several minutes she stood there as the flames surrounded her, marveling at the power of the fire and the way it consumed everything, turning the world into an inferno. Eventually however, she had to shake herself out of her reverie and head to the door, knowing someone had surely called the 911 by now and she only had a ten minute window to be clear from the sight. Striding through the flames, she stepped out onto the empty street and calmly walked to her four door Honda, pulling off her helmet and letting her long braid fall onto her shoulder. Starting up the car, she drove about three blocks before her phone began to ring.

"Jensen."
"Hey Alyssa, sorry to bug you, but we just got a call and Guthrie went home sick about an hour ago. Anyway you can come in? It's by the old fisherman's district so if you hurry we can wait."
"Sure, no problem. I'm actually in my car right now, just give me five."

It took nearly an hour and several hundred tax dollars to put out the flames, which had spread to three other buildings in the twenty-three minutes it had taken Engine 52 and the firefighters of Firehouse 396 to arrive on the scene, but since most of the warf had been abandoned for nearly twenty years and was primarily used by squaters, no one really cared. After all, it was only they were only three of the eighteen buildings that had been burnt down in the last fourteen weeks, as Vicky Vale was reminding viewers when the exhausted group returned to their firehouse.

"Police still have no leads as to the identity of the arsonist, who is also believed to be responsible for the deaths of two of Gotham socialites, Ezra Clarke and Tobias Kingston, as well as the deaths of four homeless men and women, all of whom burned to death," the blonde said with a look of false concern plastered on her Botoxed faced, "Commissioner Gordon has even reached out to the FBI Behavioral Analysis Unit in Quantico, hoping that a fresh pair of eyes will leads to a break in the case. In other news, the Riddler-" Whatever Vicki was going to say was cut off when Nathanael Diehl, a veteran firefighter of nearly thirty years, switched the channel as he flopped onto the used station couch.

"What the heck do they need the FBI for? Bat Family ain't big enough? I mean, they've got like eight members, don't they?" Christian Jones pointed out as he claimed the recliner.
"Five I think, new Batgirl. Six if you include Huntress or Zatanna," McKenzie Farr cut in.
Evan Jeffris shook his head, "Nah, there's another Robin now, wears a hood. Jones had a run in with him the other night, didn't you Jonesy?"
Jones grimaced, "I knew I never should have told you that."
"Uh oh, what happened?" Alyssa asked, pulled her braid of her shoulder with a grin.
"I accidentally set off my car alarm in the grocery store parking lot and the little punk came swinging out of nowhere waving a flippin' sword around like he thought he was Wonder Woman or somethin'." The others all snickered as Jones burrowed deeper into the recliner and retrieved the book he'd been reading before their call. There was relative quiet for a few minutes before Jeffries spoke up.

"Do you think they're right and our pyro was the one who killed those people?"
Farr shrugged, "Maybe. Most serial arsonists don't intend to kill though; our guy just burns down old buildings while the other one dousts people in gasoline before lighting 'em up."
"Think Firefly's at it again?" Jeffries suggested.
"He's still in Blackgate," Alyssa told him, "And it's probably two different people."
"Same methods though," Diehl pointed out, "I've seen plenty of arsonists working in Gotham, but most use something found on the scene. Using gas is actually pretty rare."
"Plus if it is the same person, he's probably exhausted," Jones pointed out from behond his book, "I mean, we're all pretty burnt out just from putting stuff out, never mind lighting everything up. And weren't the other fires lit sometime in the morning? He'd be exhausted."

"Well I'm definitely feeling it," Alyssa yawned as she stood and stretched, "See ya'll in six hours."
"Unless our new friend strikes again," Jeffries pointed out.
"Better not," Farr grumbled as she stood and followed Alyssa out of the living room.