Age 19

Seattle, Washington

Another dead end. I'd spent all day chasing down a lead, but misinformation is a dime a dozen. I had limited resources as it was, and this one pretty much cleared me out. I had just enough money to get home to the apartment in Arizona that I'd moved into after Grandma died. My conscious tugged at me, reminding me that her death hadn't been the only reason I couldn't stay at the house, but I shoved it aside.

I sigh in frustration. A tip had led me all the way to Seattle, and now I was stuck in an unfamiliar city with nowhere to go and a chip on my shoulder. I should just go home. There was a bus leaving tonight according to the schedule. But I knew I'd get restless, sitting for that long, and being restless gave me less control over my abilities. So I decide to walk the streets, not looking for a fight, but knowing me, the fight would find me. The sun had already set, and sooner than later I find myself in a shady part of town, or I assume so. These places used to scare me. Then I got cornered in one. Then I learned that I was more than able to defend myself.

I don't like thinking about the hole in my memory, but my thoughts always stray there. Tonight though, they don't stay there. I am distracted by the girl coming out of the bar to my left, or more accurately, the one thrown out of the bar, followed by two guys whose intentions are anything but benevolent. I don't hear what they say to her; I'm too busy interrupting. I wonder where I learned to be so aggressive.

"Don't touch her." I don't yell it, I don't even say it angrily. But it's enough to make them stop and look at me in confusion.

"What?"

"I said don't touch her. Turn around, walk back into the bar, and forget about her." They stare at me in disbelief and try and figure out how I, a slender girl of average height, could do anything even remotely threatening.I don't blame them, I questioned it myself more than once. They do what I expect, which is ignore me and turn to enact whatever horrible intentions they have for the poor woman clutching an apparently broken arm. As soon as their backs are turned, I act, closing in on them.

I put myself in between the two, kicking one in the back of the knee as I approach and the other in the head. The first goes to his knees, and I elbow him in the face. The second stumbles back, but doesn't get off balance as much as I would've liked. I shoulder check him, catching him off guard and moving him a more acceptable distance away from the injured woman. I dart back to her while the others are still shocked, pulling her from the ground and ushering her down the alley.

"Hey," one yells after us, and I know they won't give up so easily, but I realize I'm not as eager for this fight as I have been for others. I'm more focused on protecting this woman instead of venting my frustration. But I have to end this, or they won't leave her alone. I turn to face them, mentally accessing the fire inside of me. I let the glow out, not very much, but enough to let them see the light in the dark alley. Enough for the light to shine out the cracks in my face and arms. Enough for fire to leak from my eyes and curl away like smoke.

But I'm the one struck by fear. The two thugs don't run away in fear, they barely even flinch. In the four months that I've been searching for answers, I've been in many fights just like this one. Except they all end when I do the impossible. I've been relying on it. And now I don't know what to do. I stand frozen, faintly smoldering still, watching them as they approach. Then instinct, strong and from an unfamiliar source, kicks in. My brain starts processing, taking in information, putting it together.

That is not a bar. It's an empty, logoless office. The two in front of me are not the only hostiles, they've been joined by six or seven more from the building. They aren't just perverts with muscles either, these men are trained professionals. I surprised them the first time, and I've lost that advantage. It's not a lot of information, but it's enough to act.

"Run," is all I tell the woman beside me. She moves down the alley, and I run… towards the scary men lurking in the shadows.

I glow brighter as I approach, and I'm not sure if I'm controlling it or losing control. My hands burst alight, fists full of flame. There's fear in their eyes now, but I can no longer back down. I'm tired of not getting answers. I'm tired of this world being the way that it is. I'm angry that I can change so little of it. I'm angry that this power threatens to consume me, and that I cannot let it as free as I would like. But none of that matters, because I'm am no longer in command. Instinct is steering this ship, and it's going to make them pay.

I reach the first two who I've already hit and grab the front of one's shirt, swinging him around and pushing him into the other. He catches fire and pins the other underneath him in a stunned panic, trying to put the fire out. There are actually eight more, I can see now that I'm close enough to light the street where they're standing. I had a head start before, they didn't expect me to attack so quickly. That's gone, and they begin to fight back.

I duck a punch, using that momentum to sweep my leg into the offender's knees and knock him over. I spring from the ground to bring my shoulder up against another's chin, kick another in the chest and another in the groin. I deal out punches and elbows to whatever gets close, and any fabric I get close to starts to burn. Two thoughts run through my head, repeating like mantra. Make every hit count. Don't let it go to ground, you'll lose all advantage. I realize it's not even my own thoughts, its a memory, advice I got somewhere from someone I no longer remember.

It doesn't matter. I keep hitting, taking down three, four, five. Halfway through. There's a lull in the fight, the remaining men have realized that this isn't as easy as they originally thought. But I'm getting tired, I've dodged as best I could and it's not enough. I've accumulated a full rack of bruised ribs, some sprained fingers, and one of them landed a solid hit to my head. Bodies burn around me with part of me horrified and part of me indifferent.

The lull lasted seconds. It's not enough to catch my breath or make a plan, but I attack anyway. I have never fought like this, not that I can remember. I have never fought opponents that don't run away when a girl literally sets everything she touches on fire. They don't back down, and I hold my own for a little while longer, taking out six and seven. I miss the shot to take down eight, creating an opening for nine to knock me straight into ten, who tries to restrain my arms behind my back, despite the fact that it must burn like hell. There isn't much left of my shirt, it's burned away. I've already broken my first guideline, so I throw the second away as well. I roll forward, breaking mostly free from his grip, and we land on the ground, both on our backs with me on top. I flip, straddling him, and deal a knockout punch. It's my last.

Eight picks me up by the waist and throws me through the window of the not bar. I gasp in pain at the impact, dazed. Eight and nine walk into the building, followed by two or three others that have had time to recover. My light sputters, then pulses. I was barely keeping a semblance of control before, now there's nothing I can do. My body explodes with light, setting everything ablaze. For one eternal moment, there is nothing but light.

Then there is nothing but darkness.