Alfred leaned against the rusty oil drum resting on the roof of his dingy apartment building. Welcome to Pandora, yeah right. He dug his hands deeper into the pockets of his bomber jacket to keep out the late fall chill. It was the only thing he'd managed to take from home, before the fire swallowed up everything he'd ever known. But, hell, he was due for an adventure anyways. If only it wasn't so damn cold. These were the only pair of clothes he'd brought with him, even the jeans had scorch marks along the cuffs and his converses were practically crispy.
He could see his breath rising ghostlike towards the dark horizon, but the heater in his room was broken, and he wanted to get a look at the city. He huddled down against the oil drum; maybe a little fire won't hurt anything. It's just a little one. A dull glow illuminated around his body. Red sparks of light shone in his blue eyes. He snapped the fingers of his right hand, shading it from the wind with his left, and a tongue of flame danced across his fingertips. He pulled out a slightly flattened hamburger from his pocket with his left hand as the flame trickled like water over his right, and held it in his mouth as he peeled off the wrapper. He crumpled it into a ball and dropped it by his feet. He lowered his right hand down to the wrapper and the flame jumped obediently to the paper. He took a bite of the hamburger and pulled it out of his mouth. It was cold and the bun was stale, but he had to finish it.
Alfred chewed and watched the tongues of flame lick at the paper. It curled up like a black rose, giving off more light than heat, but even that was comforting. He leaned his arms on his knees and took another bite. It almost made him gag.
He had no plan, no more clothes, and only enough money for a few more hamburgers if he kept up this rate. The city was huge and he hardly spoke a word of Japanese. He hadn't even thought about that when he left, he just had to get away from the smell of smoke, from the ashes clinging to his hair and clothes and lungs. But even out here he couldn't get away. He licked his fingers when he was done, mostly to get off the drips of ketchup and pickle juice, and leaned his head back against the oil drum. What was he supposed to do now? The wrapper was just a few red cinders now, but he stamped his foot through them, grinding them into the rooftop. Fire, that's all he ever knew. He looked up at the salt-sprinkling of stars, outshining even the flashing lights of the city. His mother had always said there was a star out there just for him, back before the moon was lost. Oh, how right she was, but how could she ever understand what that really meant. His own star, always watching. But what had that ever done for him? What had that done for her as she lay writhing on the floor, wreathed in flames?
"What the Hell do you want me to do?" He shouted to the sky. "I thought you were supposed to look out for me? Just send me a sign. Tell me where to go." He waited while his voice echoed off the surrounding buildings which crouched drunkenly on each other for support. The heavens didn't seem likely to respond, and why did he think they ever would?
Alfred was just about head back inside when he noticed a flash of light across the sky. Another Contractor dead? He looked up at the stars, expecting to see a star diving down below the dark scar of Hell's Gate, but the light was far too bright. He pushed his glasses farther up his nose to get a good look. An angry red gash burned across the sky, getting bigger as it fell. That sure as hell wasn't another star. Alfred pushed off from the oil drum, scattering ashes to the wind, and scrambled down the fire-escape, almost tumbling off, before he took off running, looking up to the horizon.