As Phoenix rises into the air, a searing wave of heat washes over the crowd. The police cheif's already wet brow suddenly becomesa torrent of sweat. The drops roll down his pudgy cheeks and soak into his mustache. Gravity does not give up on them so quickly and the drops of sweat roll down to form almost a spout at the drooping ends of the cheif's pride and joy.
The police captain isn't the only one who is taken aback by such displays of power. The media's attention flies from the starlet and to the scene behind them. Producers yell to 'get a shot' as reporters begin to spout on into their microphones.
"One of the attackers, a young man that is engulfed in fire, seemingly much like Nova has come out of the building to attack the policemen. Apparently, he has some specific hate for the Guardian's stunning leader, Longhorn. Perhaps he has always been enfulfed in flames and the lack of real, human contact has driven him to terrorism. If he can't be happy himself, then he will not let any one else be. Or maybe he is a racist using his mutation to stir up a hot bed of trouble. Stay here with Channel 6 news for all of the breaking action."
"No, no, no. He is a Guardian! He is just preparing to head into the building. Longhorn and Phoenix get along just fine." Karma's voice has lost the authoritative strength it so recently naturally intoned. Instead her words come out in the whine of a bratty little girl.
ELSEWHERE:
Breathe.
His chest rose and fell in quick, short bursts. His heart was racing, the pounding in his ears seemed to fill all of the space around him.
Relax, you're fine. Just get in and get out.
One, Two, Three steps closer; His feet slide across the floor in a soft music-less dance. He was barely ten feet from his goal. A large door stood closed in from of him. The metal glinted foreboding metallic in the harsh institution lights.
His hand is stopped inches from the door handle by a sharp pain arcing through his shoulder. His feathered compainion, a dark death bird, clenched a piece of leather in its sharp beak. a small bead of his blood could be seem soaking into his uniform where the raven has attacked.
Right, use the code, idiot. Act like you've been on the job before.
Six numbers and six beeps later the light above the door shifts from a harsh red to a welcoming green. The metallic door slides open less then a foot under his soft touch and then he is through with barely a whisper to tell of his passing.
The door bumps to a close leaving only an empty hallway to ponder the seemingly ghostly entrance into the Advanced Electronics Lab.
