John could lose himself sometimes when using his gift. Fall into black as coherent thought and reasoning shut down inside him. Emotions sparking through him; powerful currents of pleasure that throbbed inside him. At times like that mere physical satisfaction dimmed, becoming a twisted memory that wasn't anything compared to what he was feeling at that moment.
How he enjoyed it.
One thing about all the that was going on in the world, he had become more finely tuned, more aware of what he could do; the damage he could cause and the lives he could take. Sometimes his mutancy would whisper sweet words; calling him to let go, to release everything he felt into just one more blast. One more heated wave of destruction. When he was in that zone, there was no stopping him, no deterring him until it was over.
Like that moment. When he had his enemies before him, blocked. Totally at his mercy. He loved his powers, his obvious superiority and the hot flames that called him by name.
Pyro.
He had made it outside, blasting off the metal doors, knocking a couple people back, ones who probably didn't know what was hitting them until it was too late. John had meant to take off running, get what he had come for. But he didn't. Fire was still burning around the area, more than he expected, all of it surrounding him; John's awareness of the flames building; his world circling around him, stopping sharply several long seconds later, finding him with darkening eyes, mouth curved up sharply on one side; his flame thrower ready, warm hard metal that was pressed against his flesh, yet it was unneeded.
The area in front of him was a war zone, the smell of burnt rubber and blistering metal. Voices, that of people groaning, others giving orders. People backing away, running or coming forward. He took a long inhale of breath, filling himself to the brim. Walking slowly, the already present fire jumping off the ground, enclosing around those that were still standing, pushing them back, lining them like flies against the side wall of the building.
"Drop your weapons. Or die."
Was all he said. They might have laughed at him if it had been an earlier time in his life. Cackled at the naive boy who was trying so hard to be something more than he was, no matter what it took. But thanks to the people in front of him, and those like him, he was most definitely not a boy any more. He was a realist, one who had been molded and formed out of what had been done to him, what he had gone through and what the world had become. Maybe it was all an excuse, but the hard cold finality that had become second nature to him, it was who he was.
John wasn't surprised when they were tossed nearly immediately; faces looking at him, some in fear, some with hatred, determination or just plain impudence.
"You have nowhere to go. Mutant." One of the men said, his voice filled with boiling acid and an underlining threat. "We will find you eventually. All of you."
"Really?" John laughed, the flames building, hotter they became; he could feel the power; it was in his veins, coursing through his blood, the sensation building. He could just stop. Stop holding back. Let go. "Not if I kill you."
The fire wall went closer to the armed men, he let sparks shoot out, just enough that it made contact, caressing their uniforms, a threat of what he could do. What he wanted to do. He wanted to burn. Hard and hot and without mercy.
"You said you wouldn't kill us if we dropped our guns." One of his enemies said, a woman's voice, one that was marred with a spasm of coughing.
"That was before you threatened me."
John was enjoying it. They were squirming, sweating and so totally with out hope. Everything was in his hands. He could do anything, anything he wanted.
What you want!? What about the others! What about them?
That was when his conscious kicked in; the small, tiredly weak voice that was barely heard over everything else. He considered it, backing up a ways, staring in front of him. John had almost forgotten, forgotten that Glory was counting on him, waiting for him. Others were as well.
But the pleasure, the absolute freedom, he wanted that, craved it. Needed it.
Yet.
Blinking slowly several times, John's view transformed in front of him, the world aligning itself back into normality; the pleasure subsiding, a near painful thing that took it's time until he was left with nothing but one option.
To get out of there.
He took off in a run, a strange rather awkward thing since his feet didn't want to cooperate, his mind not quite wrapped up in the fact that he was actually going to leave, everything unresolved and totally unsatisfactory. John took away his control from the flame that had covered the people, it would die out on it's own in minutes, more than enough time for him to get away.
John reached the modified S.W.A.T van, making sure it was empty, still operational and working. It was. He went to the driver's side, opening the door. A noise pierced the air, a sharp pop that him scrambling to the side, anything to stop the true trajectory of the explosion of sound, that he was pretty sure had been his heart. A sharp stab followed that had his body flinging backwards, his left shoulder releasing warm fluid down his arm.
He had been shot.
Scanning the area as he positioned himself behind the opened door, John found the shooter, a person hiding behind the downed helicopter, barely seen but moving as if they had been injured. It hardly took a thought; his hand shooting up, a blast going forward, impacting with the gunner, sending them flying, their body landing a couple feet away, rolling and squirming as they tried to put the fire out.
John could have killed them, it would have been an easy task, maybe a little too easy. Jumping inside the vehicle, slamming the door shut, he pulled keys out of his pocket that he had gotten from one of the down men. It fit in perfectly, the engine starting immediately, saving him time from having to start it manually.
More bullets started at some point, but they themselves should have know what a pathetic waste it was. He was in their vehicle, and it was immune to such tiny projectile weapons. He shot forward, tires squealing loudly underneath him, the wheel turning roughly underneath his hands as he angled around the corner, pangs shooting through his shoulder until he straightened out, as fast as he could go until he reached the back of the skating rink.
Trash dumpsters, plenty of junk and litter, but the area was clear. He honked the horn, jumping out of the van, a thing his newly acquired wound regretted. Black spots flashed in front of him, a wave of nausea that he fought. He saw Glory staring out the back door, her face uncertain through the glass as she held back people who were trying to get out.
"Come on!"
The people came forth, taking a little too long for his taste. John kept his eyes on the area, making sure no more unwanted company came.
"Ok. We can go!" Glory shouted from the back of the van, slamming the back doors shut. "Everyone is secure."
"Finally."
Getting back in the van, he looked behind him, the people properly situated, actually looking hopeful. He applied pressure to his foot down onto the pedal, the vehicle taking off once more. Glory smiling up at him from where she sat beside him.
"You're hurt."
John ignored her, focused on the road before him. She placed her hand on his arm carefully, looking like she wanted to lift up his sleeve and tend to it, but to do that he would have to stop once more. He didn't want to; removing the tracking devices, destroying the radio and blackening the swat symbols and license plate just fifteen minutes earlier had been a necessity, but he wasn't going to stop driving again, especially not for something as inane as a bullet wound, one that probably wasn't as bad as it felt. He had dealt with worse, and he had already treated it on his own, adequately enough that the flow of blood already stopped, the dizziness more tolerable.
"John?"
He looked over at her, soft innocent eyes staring at him with, what he believed was misplaced affection.
"I'm fine. It's nothing." Of course it was then that a sharp spasm blazed through his arm, his hand slipping, causing the vehicle to move a little over to the right. He gained control, gritting his teeth.
"Do you want me to drive?"
"No." He grouched, knowing she was too young, although driving without a license was the least of his concerns at the moment. He gave her a pointed look that had her straightening up as she pushed herself further back in the seat she was in. "Why don't you look over the others, they could probably use it." John told her, wanting Glory to leave him alone, trying to be at least partway cordial about it. But his mind was racing, his brain was flashing back to what he had felt earlier when he had been manipulating the flames. What he always felt when he did, it was a wonder he could ever stop the burning.
"They are fine, I looked them over while you were." She paused, her face taking on a rather awed expression. "..busy. You.. You didn't kill anyone did you?"
"And if I say yes?" John didn't know if he did or didn't, at the very least most of them were probably going to be hogging up space in some hospital or another, for quite a while. That thought certainly cheered him up.
She swallowed loudly, looking away from him for a minute, staring hard out the window as her small hands played with the seat buckle, her thumb caressing the release button, over and over again. Her gaze drifting towards him once more.
"Then you did it protecting us. And I am sure you had no other choice."
"Do you always think the best of everyone?" His voice was accusatory, harsh and full of taunting.
"No." She frowned, her hand brushing against his hand, light and quick. "But I would like to of you."