It's days like today when I really regret the whole supervillain thing. Well, I always regret becoming a supervillain, but the point still stands. Nothing quite brings the biggest mistakes of your life into focus like being trapped a burning building that's starting to collapse on you.

The fire really isn't the problem, though. I've never been afraid of fire, not since I was a little girl. Fire has never hurt me before-I've never even had a sunburn. I can thank my grandmother for that. I inherited the oh-so-lovely ability to start fires with nothing from her. My first fire, in fact, was when I was five. I was crying because my mother wanted me to get a haircut, and then suddenly, there was a jet of fire coming out of my right hand.

As for this fire that is going to get me killed, I'm the one that set it. The same set of superpowers that help me start fires keeps me from burning to a crisp when they are blazing. Fire, to me, feels like a gust of wind. A strong wind, when it's a fire this large, a wind that threatens to push me over, but wind nonetheless. It doesn't do any lasting damage. Falling beams? Those will get me in trouble. As will my presence here when the fire department finally shows up.

There's something large and wood ahead of me-a desk, maybe? Summoning a little extra fire power, I attempt to burn it down, but once I do so, I see that I was facing a dead end. There's not even a window on that wall, which means I've wasted precious time and energy on fifteen seconds of nothing.

My radio is not in great shape-most of my gear isn't fireproof, ironically-but I try it anyway. "Control, this is Katni-I mean, Agent Twelve Golf calling for backup. Control? Can you hear me?" Hypothetically, my mentor, Haymitch, should be on the other end of the line. Hypothetically, my radio is working. Hypothetically, Haymitch isn't drunk while I'm on assignment. Again.

Okay. Deep breath. (That's another benefit of fire powers. Carbon monoxide and the like aren't able to kill me, so I can still breathe even in heavily smoking areas.) When I turn my head, my braid whacks me in the face. Great. I try to remember which way I came in, but I was moving so quickly that I can't retrace my steps. The terrain has changed drastically since I entered. I go left, hoping that's an option.

The smoke is really picking up. If I don't get out of here fast, when the fire department arrives, they're going to be very shocked to find out that I'm alive, let alone moving around. When the fire department arrives... that's the real danger here, I remind myself. All kinds of nasty questions will come up if they get here. Who am I? Why am I here? Why am I wearing a ridiculous black jacket and pants and combat boots?

The cops are why, even if Control heard my pleas, I probably won't warrant back up. Too risky. There have to be plenty of strong men (my own private term for the meatheads with super-strength) on call, but the first rule of working for Snow Industries is to never get caught. It's why I know the names of three, maybe four, people involved with the whole operation. If you're running a super-powered crime syndicate in a world that doesn't believe in superpowers, you're going to make extra sure that no one blows your cover.

Thankfully, there seems to be a set of stairs. Wooden stairs, but, hey, I'll take what I can get. With a deep breath, I start to run down them. Some part of me must still be on fire because I can hear the steps behind me starting to crackle. I run faster. But it's not working, and by the time I hit the middle of the stairs, I can't go back, and the steps are collapsing under my weight. There's a fleeting moment of panic-what will Prim say if I die this way? I have to keep moving forward, so I take a huge leap to bypass the bottom three stairs altogether.

And I collide into something most definitely animate.

It chuckles. "I don't know why you radioed for backup, 12G. It looks like you were handling this pretty well on your own." Okay, it is a he. And an obvious strong man, since we're both not on the floor right now from my former momentum. I seriously did not know a human torso could be that hard.

I don't look up, though. I just try to brush him off. "Let's just get out of here, okay, and then exchange pleasantries." I also take a step back. This was my mission, after all. "How do you think we should go out?" I scan the room for possible exits.

"How about the door?" He pulls me back to him, and whispers in my ear, "the fire department is right on my heels. They'll be here any second now." I'm slightly uncomfortable with him in my personal space; it feels like there's an electric current between us. But he then unceremoniously heaves me over his shoulder-a fireman's carry. From his small chuckle, the irony isn't lost on him, either. He whispers again, this time a little bit louder so that I can still hear, "pretend you've passed out, okay? I'll do all the talking." He readjusts my weight, shuffling me about two inches with a small heave. My waist ends up over his shoulder, and his arm is cradling my knees in. It's like I'm a sack of flour. I'm by no means heavy, but I'm still significantly north of 100 pounds. He's definitely a strong man, and a cocky one at that. Before I can stop him, he's out the door, and I have no choice but to follow his plan. I try to flop over his shoulder like a rag.

I can hear the sirens, but they seem to becoming from the other side of the building. We must be exiting either through the side or the back. There's a woman crying, and another woman consoling her. If I can hear them, they must be able to see us. Are they alarmed? Scared? Me and Mystery Boy are lucky to have escaped the entire fire department, but if these two say something, we'll be in just as much trouble. Mystery Boy stops suddenly.

Oh shit. This is it. If he tries to fight, I'm going to have to help him, but I don't want to hurt civilians. I don't like injury anyone, but I will do what it takes to survive. Necessary evil, comes with the territory, whatever phrase you want to use to dehumanize it, hurting innocents sucks.

"Ladies," he says, his tone unusually... seductive. It's not just charm; there's confidence and suggestion in there, too. It's probably just the adrenaline and the fatigue, but parts of me feel like they're melting, just a bit. Maybe I didn't end up with a brainless strong man as back up. "You didn't see anything back here, so you decided to go around to the front to seek medical attention. There was absolutely nothing to be seen back here."

I can hear them moving, and then Mystery Boy pats my thigh, obviously trying to reassure me. How did that work? Did he intimidate them? Did he charm their panties off? Or is there more to this super than his physique would suggest? It's not the time to ask because we're not out of the clear yet.

He's walks, maybe ten, maybe fifteen blocks, before he ducks into an alley-Strawberry Way?-and puts me down. "Well, that went down reasonably well, didn't it?" It's written all over his face as he sits down on a doorstep. He's oh-so pleased with himself.

I use the moment to catch my breath, and then take my first good look at him. It's dark in the alley, naturally, but I'm no longer fighting for my life (even though my heart refuses to get that message). He's built like a strong man, obviously, but more like a wrestler than a football player. Broad shoulders, maybe 5'11" when standing, and big arms. Enough that I can't help but wonder if he was a wrestler before, maybe in high school, possibly even college. His eyes are maybe the bluest that I've ever seen; they're definitely brighter than Prim's. I think his hair is blond, but it's covered in soot, so I can't be quite sure. His uniform matches mine. He catches me looking, and he smiles.

Wait, what was the question? I'm scrambling on the inside, but I'm not going to let him know that. "I was doing fine before you showed up. I would have gotten out of there."

"Yeah, maybe, with a broken ankle, judging by that fall you almost took. And then you would have had to explain yourself to the fire department. And, judging from our limited interaction, 12G, tact doesn't seem to be your strong suit."

I should be furious, but honestly, I'm a bit too exhausted to fight him. "What exactly did you do to those two women? They're still alive, right?" As I'm speaking, I pull off my fireproof jacket. It's stuffy and uncomfortable, unlike the tank I'm wearing underneath.

I think I spy a bit of drool at the corners of his mouth. I feel my face heating up. I didn't mean to seduce him. After a second, he's once again surprising me by answering my question despite the inadvertent distraction. "Trade secret." But then his face softens. "I'm a super, not a monster." I notice he doesn't use the word "supervillain," even though that's technically what we are. He's not saying anything novel, but for some reason, I believe it this time. Something about him... he's definitely not a typical strong man, or even a typical villain. He stands up, wiping his hands on his pants. "Come on, where's your car? Lemme walk you to it."

"Trade secret." There's a certain satisfaction in being able to throw his own words back at him. I start to walk away. I'll let him off the hook when it comes to pleasantries After all, it's not like I'll ever see him again.

He steps in front of me. "Ah, but if I don't walk you to your car, how am I going to ask you for a cup of coffee?"

Is he asking me on a date? I'm not sure how I feel about that. I have a strict rule against dating coworkers-really, against dating anyone-but he did just save my life. Maybe not literally-after I got down those stairs, I would have been fine. But figuratively... I can't go to jail, and I can't lose this job. No one, save for drunk old Haymitch, knows I'm even involved in all of this, and it would kill Prim if she knew. Maybe I do owe him a cup of coffee. "You could just ask me now."

"Okay. Do you want to go get a cup of coffee? Now?"

Now now? When I smell like fire and am covered in soot? That's not what I meant at all. "I don't think this is the best time-"

"Tomorrow morning, then? After you debrief your mentor."

He looks hopeful. It's sweet. And it's just coffee, right? It's can't hurt. "How about before? Seven o'clock? Crazy Mocha?"

He raises an eyebrow. "Didn't take you for a morning person. Which one-Oakland?" I nod. It's close to school, and Haymitch's office. "Here, give me your burn phone." He's referring to the pre-paid phone provided by Snow Industries, not making a pun on my powers. I hand it over to him, and he puts a number in. "Text me if you decide to drop out, okay? That way I can roll over and go back to sleep."

I nod, amused more than anything else. But when our fingers brush as he gives me back the phone, I have to check to make sure I'm not burning him. It feels like a small flame has travelled up my arm and sent waves through my body. Now it's his turn to look amused. "'Til tomorrow, 12G." He waltzes off, and I'm too distracted to notice which way he goes.

It also takes me a second to realize I never gave him my name. Curious, I look to see what he put in my phone. 12B. Really? Another Twelve? Twelves are assigned to people with compound powers, multiple skills, and we all have the same mentor-Haymitch Abernathy. Strong men are usually tens or elevens, depending on the type. And a B. That means he signed on earlier than me...

He's definitely not just a strong man, but, instead of making me suspicious as it normally would, it just makes me curious. Who the hell is 12B?

Author's Notes:
tl;dr: There will be lots of updates in the next month, just not in the next week. Also, go Pittsburgh. Love, Lizzy.

But seriously, I don't know if you're familiar with the concept of NaNoWriMo (but you should be), but they run a summer version called "Camp NaNoWriMo." It's the same goal, though, so hopefully, by September 1st, this story will be 50,000 words. I have an inkling of what I'll write to celebrate the threshold, whenever it comes, but I'll bring that up later.

That being said... There was a major death in my family this weekend, and I'll be headed out of town for the viewings and then the funeral sometime in the next couple days. So my week is going to be crazy. I would apologize, but it's not my fault, and death happens.

Finally, a note on setting: this story will be set in Gotham-I mean, an alternative universe Pittsburgh. Because Pittsburgh is frankly awesome. Also, it's my hometown. This will become more obvious in later chapters, but I thought I'd bring it up now in case you were curious. Crazy Mocha is a coffee chain here. Either Katniss or Peeta will end up ordering my favorite drink. I haven't decided yet.

But anyway. I'd have called this a prologue, but it's somewhere between a prologue and a chapter in length. Reviews are ridiculously appreciated. I am not adverse to doing call outs as bribery. I also am ridiculously fond of questions because, quite frankly, I could ramble about a lot of things for a very long time. Seriously, you should see my Quora account. So, as always, love to my reviewers, past and future.

Lizzy