Mark heard sounds of battle all around him. Gunshots went off, fire burned, people screamed for help but receiving no mercy.
Mark opened his eyes, his head rested against a rock. All around him were people fighting, some people soldiers and other obviously, from their dress, citizens of different Sectors, all rebelling against the military.
Mark stood. How had all of this happened while he slept? Mark felt fire in his hand. He was ready to fight, even if he didn't know why. He threw the fireball forwards, incinerating a soldier. He felt a hand grab him from behind. Mark elbowed the soldier, turned and connected his fist with the mask the soldier wore. The soldier threw a punch at Mark, who ducked. However, this gave the soldier time to swing his rifle around. Mark came back up, yanking the soldier's pistol from the soldier's holster at the same time. Mark didn't know why he did it; he didn't need a weapon, he had his fire. The soldier fired his rifle, but Mark jumped aside, feeling the heat of the laser as it passed by him. Mark brought the pistol up, leveling it with the soldier's face. Just as he pulled the trigger, though, the soldier ducked, the laser going straight over his head and connecting with another body that was not a soldier. Mark brought the pistol down and shot the soldier on the top of his head, running forward to see who he had accidentally shot, dropping the pistol and extinguishing the flame in his hand at will.
He turned the body over and stumbled back, feeling sick. The person he had just shot was Phoebe. Mark felt dizzy. He didn't know it was her; how could he? But it was still her. Mark had just killed Phoebe.
Mark's vision blurred and spun. He could feel the fire coming back to his hand again without him telling it to. He didn't care. All he could focus on was Phoebe's body. But, this time, the fire didn't stay limited to his hand. It traveled up his arm, across his chest, up his neck, until it had consumed his whole body. Mark felt nothing but heat, nothing but pain.
He was fire.
Mark screamed in pain as the fire traveled outward, out of his body. And then it was gone. The fire had left him.
And, now, all around him for miles and miles, was nothing but a charred, ashen wasteland.
Mark opened his eyes again. The sky was dark, dotted with little lights. The moon was full and huge, lighting up the field, making it almost as bright as day. Had what he just experienced been real? Or was it just another dream? Mark had a feeling that he wouldn't be able to sleep again that night. He sat up, looking around and the quiet landscape. His companions were asleep. For the first time, he saw Byron resting. Good. Mark wouldn't have to deal with him.
Phoebe wasn't asleep, though. She was sitting on a nearby rock, staring off into space. Mark stood silently, approaching her. "Hi," he said quietly, sitting on the rock with her. Phoebe jumped, alert all of a sudden, but settled down a little, when she saw who had addressed her. She still looked nervous, though.
"What's wrong?" said Mark, noting her anxiety.
"I feel something," she said, "I've not felt it before. It feels like it's a part of me, though. It's getting bigger, coming closer to me, almost as if I want it to."
Mark was quiet, trying to understand what Phoebe was saying. Wait…was she saying that-
Suddenly, Mark heard a loud, chopping sound above them. He saw a large, black shadow cover the bright moon and begin descending. Mark saw Byron sit up as the thing landed on the ground. People began pouring out of it, loading weapons, shouting.
It was a helicopter. Byron, Stephen, and Gabe stood, rubbing the sleep out of their eyes, preparing to fight. Phoebe turned, slid off the rock, and ran towards the helicopter.
"Phoebe, wait!" shouted Mark, running after her. Phoebe ignored him, going straight for one of the soldiers. She hit him on the back of the head, but another soldier ran up behind her and smacked her head with the butt of his rifle. Phoebe collapsed. Mark shouted, bringing out the lighter he had found in Sector Three. He struck it, calling the flame to his hand. Stephen teleported behind one of the soldiers, kicking his neck in mid-air, then teleporting away. Gabe punched one of the soldiers, cracking his helmet and grabbing his gun. The material of the metal ran up Gabe's arm and had soon consumed his whole body. Gabe turned and sent a soldier that was running at him flying. The soldiers opened fire on him, but the bullets did nothing more than make dents in his skin. Byron ducked under a soldier's punch and came back up, shoving his fingers into the gap in the armor in the soldier's armpit, rendering his arm useless and making the soldier cry out in pain. Byron kicked the man behind his knees, making him collapse, then drove his foot into his neck. Mark threw his fire forwards, consuming several soldiers. But, when Mark saw that two soldiers were dragging Phoebe into the helicopter, which looked as if it were getting ready to take off, Mark stopped and ran for them. Stephen looked up from taking care of a soldier and was hit. The soldiers began dragging him off, also. Mark jumped into the helicopter, looking around for Phoebe. He ducked as a soldier swept his rifle at his head. Mark came back up, grabbing the soldier's mask and yanking it around so that he fell off of the helicopter, which began to rise slowly. Mark ducked around another soldier and heard shouts from outside. He kicked the soldier in the back of the knees, sending him sprawling outside. Mark looked over the edge and saw Byron clinging to the edge of the helicopter. "Help!" he shouted. Mark almost ignored him and went back to fighting. He had no love for Byron. He had just threatened to kill him! But Mark's conscience got the better of him as he reached down and grabbed Byron's elbow, yanking him up and over Mark, colliding with a soldier, who went down. Mark grabbed his ankle and flung him out of the vehicle. Mark stood next to Byron, his back to the exit, facing a squadron of soldiers. "Don't use your fire," Byron said, "we're in too close of a-"
"I know!" exclaimed Mark as he lept forward. He hit a soldier, who went down. However, the soldier behind him let off a few bullets, forcing Mark to leave his main target alone for now. He ran at the soldier with the gun, yanking the weapon out of his hands and throwing it aside. Mark went to work, punching and smacking at pressure points that he didn't even know had existed before this encounter. A hand grabbed his shoulder. Mark grabbed the wrist and flung it over him, making the soldier that had grabbed him collide with the one he had been fighting. Mark kicked behind him, pushing a soldier out of the helicopter, which was several hundred feet in the air now, screaming.
Byron wasn't having any difficulty at all with his enemies. He saw their movements before they made them and was able to parry and counterattack more times than he could count. Soon, the helicopter was empty of all but one soldier, who dove aside from Byron's attacks, whipping out his pistol, which he used to shoot in a seemingly random direction towards the front of the ship. Byron kicked the man, sending him flying. Byron stood up straight, heading towards where Phoebe and Stephen were being held up to the wall by metal bars, unconscious. The helicopter rocked, telling Byron what the soldier had been shooting at. He had shot the pilot in the neck so that the copter would crash. "Hurry!" he shouted to Mark, although he knew Mark didn't need any encouragement. Mark ripped the restraints off of Stephen and Phoebe. Byron picked up two backpacks and threw one to Mark. "What's this?" he shouted over the wind.
"A parachute!" Byron said, "Hurry, put it on and grab Phoebe. I'll get Stephen. We'll have to jump!"
Mark nodded, gently bringing Phoebe away from the wall. Stephen wasn't lucky enough to experience the same fate; the helicopter rocked and Stephen fell onto the cabin floor face first. Byron ran over as fast as he could and picked him up.
"Don't open your parachute until about 500 feet!" Byron shouted.
"Isn't that kind of low?"
"Do you want to get sucked up into a helicopter blade?!" Mark looked at him, nodding. Byron knew this wouldn't end well, but they had no other choice. "I'll go first!" Byron said. He looked out, at the quickly upcoming ground. He took a deep breath and jumped, suddenly feeling weightless.
It took Mark a little longer to summon enough courage to leap from the cabin. He looked down at Phoebe's peaceful sleeping face and found motivation to jump. He might survive an explosion, but Phoebe most definitely would not.
When Mark jumped, he was much too close to the ground to open up his parachute, but he did anyways. Immediately, he felt himself being sucked up. He flew straight past the helicopter, dodging the blades. His parachute did not, however. One of the strings that held it together snapped, and, suddenly, Mark was without a parachute. He hovered just above the copter for just a second, then plummeted. The ground approached him quickly. He cocooned himself around Phoebe's body. Maybe he could save her from the impact. Mark could feel an explosion just below him rock his body, and, somehow, he slowed. He still hit the ground with a crash, but not hard enough to kill them. It was, however, enough to make him go unconscious.
Mark awoke in a grey, dimly lit room. He stood up, wondering where he was. The room he was in was octagonal. Was he just dreaming again? Mark couldn't tell; the room seemed real enough. A door slid open across from him and in walked three familiar figures. Byron, Stephen, and Gabe.
"Byron," Mark said, "Where am I?"
"There's been a slight change in plans," Byron said, "I was wrong. We won't be able to flee the country; we'll always be trapped here. So we're going to fight back. We're going to destroy the government and take it over and remake this Nation for good. We want you to join us, but there's something you must do." Stephen stepped forward and handed Mark a pistol. Another panel in the wall opened up behind Mark. Mark didn't have to turn around; he already knew what was there.
Tied to a chair, her nose bleeding and face bruised, a gag in her mouth, was Phoebe. She looked up at Mark, eyes pleading.
"She refused to join us," Byron continued, "She believed we could reason with the government. We've already determined that this is impossible. If you want to join us, if you want to live, you will kill this traitor."
Mark looked into Phoebe's eyes. She was helpless, captive. Mark wouldn't kill someone like that; especially not someone he loved.
"No," Mark said steadily.
Byron sighed in disappointment, "I was afraid this was going to happen. Gabriel."
Gabe stepped forward, grabbing the wall, the material running up his arm. Mark looked back at Byron. Mark brought the pistol up, putting the barrel against his head. Mark felt the cool metal against the skin of his forehead. "What are you doing?" Byron said.
"Dreaming," Mark said.
Mark pulled the trigger.