It’s a silent night, the moon hidden behind the dark clothes strewn across the dark sky. There is no hustle and bustle on the streets, the street lights are lonely and there are several lone souls walking on the sides. These souls are brave, for everyone else in the city is ridden with fear, afraid of what would happen to them lest they came out under the black blanket. There’s a car that appears on the roads later, turning into the police post just seconds later.

Two figures exit the vehicle, the vest of the police is prominent and the elder of the two breaks the unwavering silence with a sharp laugh. The other turns to look at him, as if he were crazy before shaking his head and pushing the glass doors of the post open. Their footsteps are not heard, the police post is the only hustle in the dark city.

“We missed them again,” the elder states as he settles into his seat in the office. The head officer shakes his head, slamming his clenched fist onto the whiteboard and the slam resonates loud. There’s a sudden silence over the office as a frown creeps onto the officer’s face.

“Damn, it’s not the first time,” the officer mumbles under his breath. He looks up, eyes hidden in his bangs and traces the portrait photograph of a man, that was on the board.

He swore, with all he had, he’d catch him.

Nam Woohyun.

∞

Nam Woohyun grits his teeth, boring his eyes into the flame set up in front of him. He is the lone figure in the empty and massive warehouse. He closes his eyes, the flame growing bigger before it is extinguished completely. He stands up, brushing off invisible dust from his clothes before his feet start to move faster than his mind, walking away from the warehouse.

There’s a vibration and Woohyun fishes his hand into his jacket pocket, grabbing his phone. It’s a call, Woohyun presses on his phone before placing it by his ear. “What’s up?”

“You’re needed back at headquarters. In five.” The voice is heavily computerized and hangs up after the information is passed on. Woohyun dumps his phone back into his pocket before his hands and punching the nearby metal surface. There’s a profanity that escapes his lips before he starts to walk away.

He knows how the fire behind him starts to ignite itself again but he heeds no care.

Pyrokinesis.