30 Days of Demonfire

Smoke

Smoke curls under the door. The only thing between me and the fire is the piece-of-crap door that can't even block out the sound of my drunk dormmates coming home from parties at three in the morning when I have class at eight the next day. I shouldn't be in here, and in fact I wouldn't be able to explain how I got here to any sort of authority figure who would ask, but that's not a problem seeing as I don't plan on getting caught here.

It's a basic rule. I remember sitting in my Kindergarten class and hearing my teacher say, 'If there's ever a fire at your house, don't go back for any of your toys or clothes. You get out.' But I'm not coming back for any of that stuff. Yeah, I'll probably grab my laptop now that I'm here, or at least my external hard drive with the backup on it and cash in insurance money for a new laptop. But the rules don't apply to me, anyway.

The smoke is starting to billow out, and I can feel the heat of the fire as it licks its way over the walls in the hallway. I really have, like, no time. I wave the smoke away, but it won't hurt me. Not really.

I crouch in front of the dresser that holds basically all my crap except for the stuff I was able to fit in the tiny dorm closets they give us, and I pull the bottom drawer open. A black and white cat blinks at me, frightened by the noise of the fire and disoriented by the smells.

"Alfred," I coo, and he tilts his head at his name. We're not supposed to have cats in the dorms, but I found this little guy and I didn't know who to give him to. He was only supposed to live in my room for a while, especially since I feel really bad about leaving him in here while I'm at classes. It's too small, and it's dark, but Alfie has adjusted his sleep schedule to fit around my classes, which is sort of amazing except that he's up all night.

The room is really smoky now, and it's stinging my eyes a little but I know I won't suffocate. "Okay, Alfie, out you go." I'm on the first floor of my building, so all I do is open the window and he jumps out, and he runs into the shadows so fast I don't think I'll ever see him again. It's sad, but at least he lives.

I turn to my desk, just super quickly, and I rummage through the top drawer for my hard drive. It seems pretty risky, but like I said, I'm above the rules.

The ceiling above me falls open and I swear in Tamaranean, ducking but continuing to sift through my drawer.

The sound of muffled grunts and the unmistakable sound of punches being thrown halts me. This isn't good. I don't want to look, but there's no way I can stop myself from glancing over my shoulder.

Firefly, some crazy anarchist who isn't any more a villain than any other nut job with a match and a dorky suit, is fighting a vigilante. All I can tell is that it's not Nightwing, and I don't know if that's good or bad. Then I notice the cape and the hood that's attached to it. It's Robin, and that doesn't really mean much to me except that Nightwing will probably either be here or be on his way.

Firefly hits the wall back first, limbs sprawled, and I glance over my shoulder to see Robin glaring at me. Like that's anything new. He's wearing an oxygen mask and his hood is smoking.

"Why are you in the vicinity?" he shouts so I can hear him through the oxygen mask and over the sound of crackling wood. The fire's eating through the door and it's above us, now.

"I live here," I answer, and I spot my hard drive among the mess in this drawer and I grab it.

"Has no one told you the rules of fire safety? Surely the fact that rushing into a burning building for a mere object is the act of an imbecile is in even your limited realm of knowledge."

"Yeah, yeah," I say, and I pick the unconscious Firefly up by the scruff of his costume. "Try shorter insults. You dropped your garbage in my room."