Chapter 1

I hate this part.

Nicholas Jackson leaned silently against the wall recounting all of the terrible life decisions that had led him to this point. Under his thick gloves, the burn-scarred palms of his hands were growing sweatier by the minute. Their movements rigid, rubbing against the welcome protection that the leather, Nomex, and Kevlar provided, even though he lost a bit of his dexterity to the thick protective coating.

Pulling back the slide of his Glock, Nicholas watched as the bullet leapt from the housing. Ejected into the air by the force of the slide. Sliding in a new magazine, he chambered a new round before clicking the safety back to on and holstering his weapon, hoping that it would not need to be drawn anytime soon.

Ah, who am I kidding? These things never end well.

No one was quite sure when and where these Talents had come from, but they were here now. The government did what was in its capacity to control the situation but stopping someone from manifesting their Talents was not exactly possible. It wasn’t the first time Nick had wondered what his true part and purpose in all of this was, yet at the end of the day, as long as he got paid, he would keep his questions to himself.

Talents had become quite commonplace. There was hardly a family in the States who didn’t know or have at least one Talent in their family. The restrictions and laws set upon the people had begun to affect everyone. In all honesty, Nick always thought they should.

It’s like walking around with a loaded weapon. That was the ongoing argument against Talents. If gun owners needed a license for a weapon, why shouldn’t Talents? But when you begin branding kids because of the way they were born, it’s only a short jump from card to patch on the shoulder.

Sigh. This is rough, Nick thought to himself. The distinctions were thin at best. Practically see through. I mean, not everyone with a Talent is dangerous. Most can barely control even a small amount of material, and the government had done a good thing in offering recruitment and training to all the Talented who required it. A certain degree of control would always be required before the dogs were sent to tend the flock though, so how was this any different?

So Nick had done what he thought was right and taken them up on their offer. Even though working for the Blackhawk Mercenary Group didn’t seem much different then his time in the military, the freedom and ability to help decide what jobs to take made a difference to Nick. He felt like he was treated more like family, rather than just a disposable commodity.

Chapter 2

Once he had joined the army, they had practically rushed him into this line of work. Nick had always known he was dangerous but was oblivious to his capabilities, especially when he was young and untrained. Pyrokinetics were particularly dangerous to those around them. Fire had a very real and dangerous manifestation on the work around them and when left unattended, it could be particularly destructive.

Nick’s mother had been a Pyro as well. Serving in the US Army during both the conflicts in Vietnam and Korea. Her job then was by and large the same that Nick had now: turn the enemy to ash. Still, his ability to manipulate the flames did not render him immune to them. Their heat still scorched and warped his skin like it would anyone else until it eventually consumed the user like a candle. Their lives just an insignificant flicker and then they were gone. Although rare, there were those who did have the skill and Talent to envelop themselves in flames in a way Nick or his mother could not. Taking even the distant element of heat and forcing it away from their skin.

Both he and his mother had been just good enough to catch the eyes of the government.

Practically forced into this line of work, their aptitude was noted and taken advantage of by the people in charge. If he had need for any more reasons to hate those in charge, he didn’t have far to look. All it would take was remember his mother’s burn-scarred hands, just the same as he now wore. Her life used up in a flicker. The sudden angst of the thought caught him off guard. He was bitter at his mother being taken from him prematurely, but it wasn’t like she had a choice.

As he breathed, his nostrils filled with the scent of smoke, reminding him of the ashy aroma that permeated his mother’s worn fatigues. They reminded him of how she used to make the flames dance over his head as he watched entranced by the motions. Mesmerized. He remembered her worn and scarred hands, the same ones that had bathed him and clothed him. That had fought to provide for him. Hands that had worked the flame skillfully. Hands of the woman who had passed the hereditary Talent down to her son who wore his own burn-scarred arms like a badge of honor. He had been drafted into this from before he was born, although he didn’t realize it until his mid-teens. In a quiet tender moment of pure passion, flammable items in his vicinity had begun to burn and combust. Apparently when candles and flames being to spread, it has a dampening effect on the overall mood. Still life and time continue regardless of personal circumstance.

Scared of the implications, Nick had tried to hide his Talent at first. Yet despite what his mother had told him, the TPA weren’t always complete idiots. When the same man kept finding himself amongst fire and flames, it had not been difficult to find the common denominator. Yet time passed and the world still spun, and although his mother had been gone for years he was still here. Involved in the same shitty work. Although he wore the same flame-retardant fatigues although fitted to him, they smelled familiar.

Chapter 3

Nick snapped back to the moment. The cold brick pushing up against his back as he could feel its temperature even through his thick gear. It had taken months for the Blackhawks to track this particular group. Which meant they either had some sort of psychic in the group muddling their trail, or someone particularly intimidating.

These men were the worst type of Talents. They were willing to do anything to hold on to their perceived freedom. Once again Nick wondered if people would even know that freedom would be built on mutual trust, not in a villainous gang that ravished the cities. This kind of mentality had already brought so much pain to American Talents. The days of segregation and contempt were supposed to be behind them. Looking at his boss, the famous former-Colonel Thurston, Nick was reminded once again about how much freedom he truly could call his own. It was a figment of his imagination, nothing solid or true but just like Thurston he knew his duty and what was required of him.

Thurston did a secondary check of his gear. Piece by piece. Expertly and meticulous from his gun and its incendiary rounds, to the ignition grenades, and even to the matchbooks he had stolen from the hotel that now sat in his pouch for quick access. All of his gear suited one of two purposes, either to keep him from getting hideously maimed, or to start a blaze. It was rare for a Pyro to have the spark. Human bodies were not built to ignite after all. Talents weren’t creatures of fantasy able to call upon the elements. Shooting fireballs and causing explosions around the room. Talents were strictly able to only control what was already manifested. Though that small bit of control was total and complete. If there was fire, it was his.

Fear bubbled in his stomach as it would any other sane man. He knew what was about to happen and he was not insane enough to disregard the danger, either way, preparations had to be made. Grabbing one of the small matchbooks from his unclasped pouch he lit it with a quick motion and dropped it in a garbage can. Immediately the flames took over and spread, lending him their power, heat and light. Reaching out with his will he wrestled with the fire, forcing it to spread into the corners it did not want to, forcing it by sheer force of will to fan itself into a blaze.

He stood quietly, entranced by the flame. A wild constant in his life. Smiling to himself he watched as it moved and shifted, elegantly and wild. Dangerous. His focus waning to the theoretical Talent book he had been working his way through slowly. It theorized that people that had gained some sort of supernatural ability had it happen when they were exceptionally good at a particular skill. Not for the first time, while staring at the wild and destructive power of the fire, he wondered what it said about him. Thurston snapped his fingers in front of his eyes, the sharp sound bringing him back to the moment.

“Focus kid.” He said, the short, thickly bearded man. “Your turn.”

Nick slowly went over Thurston’s gear, watching as he saw Manu and Zeke doing the same. Berating himself a bit for being stuck in this probable situation.

Are they a thing now? “I don’t know Mr. T. I much rather be checking pretty much anyone else’s gear in all honesty. You’re not exactly my type.” The words came out with a smile as he meticulously checked everything once, than a second time. A soldier’s gear were his tools in battle, and it would not do to have faulty equipment when needed. Thurston was outfitted much like Nick. His gear held a thick layer of flame retardant cloth as well as the usual armaments that they carried. In Thurston’s case, he had his knife and standard issue sidearm, as well as the matte black assault shotgun dangling from the strap at his neck. Strapped to his back, was a small fire extinguisher, painted to match the rest of the gear.

“What’s that for?” Nick asked pointing to it. “Don’t think I can keep it in under control?”

“You gotta ask after last time kid?” Thurston replied.

Can’t fault a man for being prepared I guess. Yet Nick couldn’t help but feel insulted.

As Nick listened, he heard multiple voices could be heard from inside of the bar. The raucous laughter was accented by smashing glass and the meaty sound of tendon, meat and skin slapping each other silly. Pretty much what you would expect at any other dive in the country.

Free people.

Free people enjoying themselves on a night off. His thoughts adrift again, brought back by snapping fingers and a frustrated groan.

“You up to this kid?” Mr T asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.

“Bills need payed T. I live very lavishly you know.” He said, letting out a quick quip. A small effort to comfort him despite him doing what he felt was morally wrong.

Orders were orders, this is what I signed up for.

Still he was haunted by his actions. He hated being the literal death of fun and at the end of the day, some of these people would definitely not make it home to their families. That’s just what happened. No one important gave a damn. Nicholas would try to minimize the casualties, but that was making a small good out of a mostly terrible situation.

Chapter 4

“Ok kid, how do you want to this?” Thurston hissed, growing increasingly impatient by the minute. Knowing that the longer they were out here the greater the chances of them loosing their element of surprise.

“Don’t suppose I could go in first? Or maybe I can just set the whole place on fire and you can pick them off as they come running out.” He pleaded to empty ears. The Blackhawks were first and foremost professional, they would not send a man in alone. They took no particular joy in this line of work, but a job’s a job.

“Not a chance, Nicky. You know how we operate.” He cracked a thin smile.

“Fine.” He said. “You can follow me in, but if I catch Zeke staring at my ass one more time. I’m calling HR.”

“Shut up, Nick. Let’s get this over with.” Zeke’s voice chastised him over his earpiece.

Nick turned towards where he lay positioned on the roof and gave him a big, sarcastic smile and a wing. “You better not be staring at my ass through that scope Ezekiel.”

A loud chuckle buzzed through the earpiece, “Not a chance, Nicky.”

Nicholas noted the similarities between Thurston and his former protégé. The way they spoke, the way they acted. Thurston really did a lot of good for people, in his own violent way that is.

Deep in the shadows of the short alley, the small flicker of a lighter caught Nick’s attention. The chemical lights and flames playing off each other in a way that hurt his eyes, yet still he was able to see that someone was obviously there. Thurston opened his mouth to scold him as the dumpster came flying down the enclosed space towards the older man. A fiery, loud projectile ranging through the air, covers flapping in the wind as it sailed through the air, catching Thurston completely flat-footed.

“No!” Manu screamed as the dumpster flew back the way it came, pushed by her sheer control over the winds. It flew in a slow, twisting ark towards the figure that charged towards them.

With every step he took, more of the concrete on the ground seemed to slide into the rest of his body. Much like the way molasses flows downhill, or the water ripples away from it’s origin when trickling out of a fountain. It moved slowly up his chest, covering him more completely than he had been before.

Golem.

He took two steps and quickly gained ground, moving towards Nick with furious, super-strength fueled speed. Nicholas watched as his life flashed before his eyes, everything moving far too quick for him to react to in any practical way. The golem pulled back his fist, the word “FEAR” clearly spelled across his wooden mallet of a fist. Only to be sent sprawling through the alley wall and into the bar. Completely out of sight.

“Thanks.” Nick muttered to the Aeromancer as he rushed over to Thurston’s limp form.

While distracted he did not see the dark, grey fingers gripping the side of the hole. The dust that fell from under the tips as he gripped the solid stone under his oddly textured digits. Cigarette still hanging from his lips, he stepped out of the hole and moved towards Nick, all in one surprisingly quick, trained motioned.

The blow came out of nowhere. Snapping Nick’s head around slamming his head into the side of Thurston’s helmet, shattering his visor. Feeling like there might be a distinct possibility that the word FEAR would never escape his vision ever again. Nick knew that if he survived, the headache would be epic, not to mention the whiplash. Not to mention that within seconds of the confrontation, a quarter of the team was down and he was dazed.

In that sheer moment of panic, all the survival skills that had been ingrained in him through the years kicked into high gear. Gritting his teeth he knew the truth of the situation, fight or die. Still his brain continued to feed him unnecessary information and he fought to regain focus.

God that hurt. The door burst open, and the fist came down a second time. It was thwarted at the last minute by what he thought was a bullet. Putting as much distance between himself and the large stony hands out of instinct, Nick drew his gun and emptied the clip into the Golem’s chest to no avail. Wrong rounds.

Manu screamed while an invisible force ripped Nick free while launching the Golem back through the hole in the wall and into the bar. Nick stood slowly, his head still spinning. Lost in all the confusion and chaos. A man kept muttering something in his ear that he could hardly understand over the loud whine of something broken, hopefully electrical.

While struggling to regain his footing, the door erupted.

Pieces of wood and metal flew outwards like shrapnel and Nick lifted his arm to cover his face, the thick cloth apparently being enough to protect his orifices. Manu pushed Nick to the floor as the bolt of lightning flew out of the gaping bar’s door. The first man out came with a shotgun at the ready. Barely a hiss of displaced ear caught Nick’s attention as the man was taken down with a brand new hole in his chest.

”Talent’s still inside.” Zeke buzzed in his ear. “On your feet Jackson.” An order to which Nick unwillingly obliged. The tired muscles of his arms barely having the strength to push him up. “Time to go to work.”

Nick sauntered over to the drum and dropped the lit matchbook. Immediately willing the flame to catch and spread then while leaving the fire to burn, he sauntered back over to Manu and the unconscious Colonel.

“Movement inside.” Zeke’s baritone buzzed again.

“What’s the plan?” Manu asked. Her voice solid but beginning to give in to the obvious panic. Things had gone to hell way too quick this time.

Nick shrugged. “Beats me.”

“Incoming.” The voice whispered through the buzz as quiet settled over the two Talents.