Kyungsoo burst into the motel room to find Chanyeol sitting at the edge of the bed, fully dressed and castless, arranging his wig. The arsonist sprang to his feet as Kyungsoo staggered to a confused halt.

“Did you find a car?” Chanyeol asked.

Kyungsoo’s mouth dropped open as he stared at Chanyeol, apparently whole and healthy though he’d been apparently bedridden only hours before.

“How?” he managed.

Chanyeol jerked a thumb towards the little pile of scorched plaster chunks near the foot of the bed. “I burned out the lining, and the rest was easy.”

That didn’t answer Kyungsoo’s question at all, but his followup was forestalled when the power in the entire motel snapped off. The windowless room was plunged into complete darkness, the appliances dying with a groan, and Kyungsoo belatedly remembered the reason he’d been running in the first place.

“They found us.”

A radio squealed into the new quiet as the muffled thunder of tactical boots gathered into position outside their door.

“Do you trust me?” Chanyeol whispered.

“I did before you asked me that,” Kyungsoo retorted, his teeth beginning to chatter with nerves. He’d never imagined himself on the receiving end of a SWAT team’s forcible entry. He might know some of them. He wondered if it would hurt.

“Get in the tub and fill it with as much cold water as you can.”

“What?” Kyungsoo couldn’t imagine how that would help.

Something began glowing faintly red, intensifying bit by bit until Kyungsoo realized they were Chanyeol’s eyes, looking right at him.

“Get in the tub, Kyungsoo.”

Kyungsoo stood frozen for a moment as heat blossomed in the middle of Chanyeol’s chest spreading fingerlike through his veins, illuminating his body from within. The furnace blast rolled over him in the next second and Kyungsoo stumbled backwards, scrambling into the bathroom. He frantically cranked the knobs, throwing hasty looks over his shoulder as water thundered into the basin. The air shimmered with heat as the wallpaper wrinkled and charred off of the walls. Tiny flames flickered over the surface of the towels, tendrils of smoke rising dark and sooty into the air. Kyungsoo began coughing immediately, his skin tingling in remembrance of the barely-healed burns from the prison fire. He splashed himself with water to stop his clothes from igniting, only to have the water steam away as fast as he could apply it.

Gunfire splintered the flimsy wooden door between one breath and the next. Fresh air, thick with oxygen, into the room like an inhale, and the whole world erupted in fire. The backdraft shoved Kyungsoo face first into the tub, drowning him in the liquid coolness, the screams of the SWAT team dim against the greedy roar of the fire that consumed them.

Then Chanyeol was dragging him out of the water and into the black-gold inferno. Kyungsoo barely had time to feel the sting of the water boiling off of his body as he stumbled behind Chanyeol, their interlocked hands a lifeline as they careened through the molten chaos. The surge of fleeing humanity, deranged by terror, clawed and fought in the claustrophobic halls to escape the blaze, the fallen writhing as they were trampled underfoot. Flaming curtains raced along the walls and ceiling, chasing the survivors. They slammed through a narrow stairwell door and Kyungsoo lost his footing, tumbling down a flight of stairs, flailing as he was battered against the wall by the sea of knees and uncaring feet. Then Chanyeol was there again, hauling him upright, almost carrying him as they sprinted out of the exit into the evening air, shouldering their way through the small crowd of horrified onlookers that had gathered to watch the tragedy unfold.

A quartet of unmarked vans barricaded the road, the group of black-garbed guards out of position, their attention fixed on the motel. Kyungsoo bulldozed through the distracted guards, disarming one of them with a panel-denting bodyslam into the side of their truck. He snatched the man’s pistol and turned to the others, only to find them already a half-block away, running for their lives. For the first time since the lights went out, he got a good look at his partner. Chanyeol was fire incarnate, glowing incandescent beneath the thick streaks of black sooty grime and smoke, his hair white and standing on end, clothes burnt to tatters, the tar around his bare feet beginning to bubble. Kyungsoo ran away from him without a second thought.

It took several blocks for Chanyeol to catch up with him, and he grabbed Kyungsoo’s hand from behind, wrenching him to a stop. Kyungsoo whipped out the pistol he’d stolen, aiming at Chanyeol’s forehead as pedestrians scattered from the confrontation. The arsonist wasn’t glowing anymore— he looked more like a snow-haired beggar than a wrathful god—but Kyungsoo could still smell the smoke wafting off of their clothes. Sirens wailed in the distance.

“What are you?” he demanded, jaw gritted, finger tight on the trigger.

Chanyeol sighed gustily, his hands resting on his hips as he tried to catch his breath. “We don’t have time for this, Kyungsoo.”

Kyungsoo’s knuckles whitened as the trigger inched backwards. “There was never any bomb, was there? It was just you.”

“Every time,” Chanyeol muttered to himself. As he ruffled his hair with his fingers, little flakes of char rained down. “I thought you understood.”

Kyungsoo scoffed. “Don’t play the victim. How many innocent people are dying right now because of you!?”

“They weren’t cops.” Chanyeol tried to explain, pointing back the way they’d come. “It was the-”

“Forget the militia!” Kyungsoo raged. “It was you! You! You just murdered people!”

“They shot first,” Chanyeol corrected, dusting off his hands. “Everything that happened afterward was just…karma.”

Kyungsoo just gaped at him, the muzzle of the gun dipping as his arms went watery.

Had Chanyeol always been this heartless? Kyungsoo tried to remember every conversation they’d ever had, racking his brain for details as the gun grew heavy in his hands. Chanyeol never talked about his victims. He never mentioned the body count or asked about the survivors. He’d never expressed guilt. In the two years since they’d met, in all the conversations they’d had, Chanyeol had never once apologized.

Their conversation in the hospital room, only a few days ago, came back to him in a rush. Tell Jongdae I’m sorry. Kyungsoo’s own words, parroted back at him, had been the start of this whole thing. He’d been blinded by those four little words, ered into believing Chanyeol had a real, beating heart inside his chest.

“Kyungsoo-yah.” Kyungsoo snapped the gun back into position from where it had sagged, and one side of Chanyeol’s mouth quirked. “Do you remember the last time we were like this?”

“I arrested you,” Kyungsoo said. The arsonist took a step forward, and Kyungsoo took one back, maintaining the distance between them.

“You weren’t supposed to,” Chanyeol reminded him, his eyes intense. “Everyone followed orders, except you.”

Kyungsoo swallowed hard, the memory of that night still vivid in his mind’s eye. Fresh out of training, he’d been drafted into the massive AntiVirus campaign. Law enforcement from all over Korea blanketed Seoul, news and police helicopters capturing every moment for the citizens huddled inside their homes. Separated from his team during a rooftop chase, Kyungsoo had somehow ended up in a narrow, deserted back alley, face to face with the Virus. The arsonist been completely disheveled, caked with filth and soot, his ragged clothes still steaming from the firebomb he’d set off in another team’s faces just a few minutes before. Kyungsoo had leveled his gun at him on instinct, his radio blaring swear-filled cries of his comrades as they struggled to extinguish the flames. Everything he’d been told about the Virus’ ruthlessness and utter disregard for human life had flashed through his mind, punctuated by his captain’s impassioned command to “Shoot the bastard on sight.” His finger had tightened on the trigger, but he never pulled it. Instead, his voice cracking with fear, gun shaking wildly, Kyungsoo had told the infamous Virus, the Plague of Asia, unrepentant murderer of hundreds, that he was under arrest. And then watched in complete disbelief as the ostensibly psychopathic arsonist had simply handcuffed himself and settled into a comfortable sitting position as they waited for the rest of Kyungsoo’s team to find them. As the media salivated over the rookie cop that ended the “Reign of Fire” and captured its nameless, angel-faced perpetrator, Kyungsoo had been asked countless times why he didn’t shoot, and his answer had always been the same.

“You were unarmed, and you didn’t threaten me.”

Chanyeol took another step forward, and this time Kyungsoo didn’t step back. “I wasn’t unarmed.”

Kyungsoo snorted a laugh, despite himself. “At the time, I was unaware you could start fires with your mind.”

“You know now.” Chanyeol took another step forward, his chest grazing the muzzle of the gun. “And here we are again.”

Kyungsoo set his jaw mulishly, pressing the gun into Chanyeol’s chest so hard it would leave a mark.

“If you’d like to arrest me, I’ll even handcuff myself again,” Chanyeol suggested, his tone cheerful.

Kyungsoo looked up at him, ready to spit out an angry reply, but the bitter retort died in his mouth. Chanyeol’s eyes were fixed on something behind him, resignation in his eyes. Kyungsoo risked a glance over his shoulder. The SWAT team had caught up on them. Uniformed cops were silently waving pedestrians away from the danger zone as the tactical team spread out all over the street, weapons drawn. A bitter taste filled his mouth as he noted that their combat gear was dark blue. Our SWAT team doesn’t wear black. How could I have missed that? Kyungsoo’s shoulders slumped as he turned back, and dozens of red laser sights clustered over Chanyeol’s heart. He looked down slowly at his own chest to find another target blooming there.

“Everyone thinks I burn things for no reason,” Chanyeol said absently, brushing at his new chest ornament as the air around him began to shimmer. “I don’t.”

Kyungsoo released his grip on the rapidly warming gun, letting the weapon dangle harmlessly from one finger as he held up his hands.

“Surrender,” he hissed between his teeth.

“Tried that before.” Chanyeol grinned crookedly. “Didn’t work out so well in the end.”

“I’ll testify for you. I’ll tell them everything I know, everything I’ve seen. I’ll make sure the militia never comes after you again. Just end it here. No more fires. No more death. Just stop.”

Chanyeol’s eyes glowed, lit from within. “You first.” When Kyungsoo’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion, Chanyeol laughed tiredly. “I’ve only gotten this far because of you.” Kyungsoo shook his head in vehement rejection, but Chanyeol kept talking. “The night we first met. The prison. The hospital. Today. I really should be dead by now. But you keep helping.”

The SWAT team leader began shouting something, but it was just nonsense noise. Kyungsoo could only see the motel, its hallway full of people dying horribly. Because of him. He could still smell their ashes on his clothes.

“Walk away, Kyungsoo,” Chanyeol said softly. The air was still shimmering around him, but there was no furnace-blast of heat this time. The glow in his eyes died out slowly, replace with gray exhaustion. “Just end it here. No more fires. No more death. Just stop.”

Kyungsoo turned stiffly to face the SWAT team. Slowly, bit by bit, their commands coalesced in his mind, their meaning and intentions clear. Get out of the way.

Kyungsoo walked away, his legs heavy and wooden. One step. Two. Three. The targeting sights disappeared from his chest. He looked back at Chanyeol, alone in the middle of the street, painted red with laser light. He hadn’t moved an inch, he was just staring at the spot where Kyungsoo had been. Kyungsoo knew that the second Chanyeol moved— if he looked up, if he balled a fist, if he took a deep breath—they were going to shoot him. He knew. The SWAT team , the police holding back the crowd, the citizens filming every moment on their phones, were rapt with anticipation and silent as the grave. Everyone focused on the still figure in the street, waiting for him to realize he was a dead man.

Kyungoo’s steps stopped at the police line, beside an empty van. One more step and he would outside the circle. This would all be over. One more step. His knees turned to jelly and he leaned heavily on the van, rocking it back and forth. The slight noise pulled the attention of the closest cop, and the young woman stared at him strangely. He knew her. They’d been on the same team once during training. She’d been nice. Her eyes widened as he raised his pistol with one hand, pointing it at her forehead. The fingers of his other hand found the bumper of the van, wedging onto the grooves and openings for a good grip. He waved the pistol at his former colleague. Get out of the way.

Then Kyungsoo lifted the van.