John River stepped out of the office building in midtown Manhattan, adjusting his tie to breathe more freely in the cool night air. He glanced down at his watch :—7:25 p.m.—: and sighed.
'Ah man, it's hella late. I knew I shouldn't have covered for Brenden.'
He walked down the crowded streets toward his apartment building, the glow of digital billboards and holographic ads reflecting off the wet pavement. Cars were passing by, their lights streaking across the road, while pedestrians hurried past, wrapped in jackets against the evening chill.
A holographic poster on a nearby theater caught his eye Superman, the new James Gunn movie meant to revive the DCU.
He smiled with excitement. He had been planning to see it tomorrow. He wanted to catch it when it premiered, but reality often had other obligations.
John continued walking, grinning like he'd just found a dollar on the sidewalk. 'Even if it's not good I'd probably still like it just 'cause it's Superman.'
He rounded the corner and saw a man struggling with a stack of packages. Without thinking, John jogged over.
"Hey, you need a hand with that?"
"Ah, if it wouldn't be too much of a bother," the man said.
"It's no bother at all, sir," John said, grabbing a few of the boxes to lighten the load.
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John set down the last box and gave the man a thumbs-up. "There you go! You're officially less burdened by the universe today."
The man chuckled nervously. "Uh… thanks, I guess?"
John waved and continued walking, humming a superhero theme in his head. 'Yeah, I'm basically Superman right now… minus the cape… and the super strength… and the flying… okay, maybe just the good intentions.'
He rounded another corner, stepping over a puddle with the grace of a caffeinated squirrel. 'Yep. Hero work done for the night. Totally ready to collapse on the couch and watch Superman tomorrow.'
A shout rang out from down the street. "Fire! Somebody call the fire department!"
John glanced toward the sound. Smoke was rising from a building a few blocks away, orange and flickering in the night. He frowned, taking it in for a moment.
'Huh,' he thought. 'That sucks… but it's not my problem. Firefighters will handle it.'
He shook his head and started walking again, shrugging off the uneasy feeling in his chest. 'Yeah, focus on getting home. Movie's tomorrow. Don't get distracted.'
John continued down the street, his thoughts drifting to the movie, to dinner, to the couch that was just waiting for him. The smoke in the distance faded from his mind as he passed block after block, the city lights reflecting off the wet pavement.
Then, just as he rounded the last corner, he stopped dead in his tracks. His eyes widened, and his stomach dropped.
The building in front of him. His apartment building was on fire. Smoke curled from the windows, orange flames licking the sides of the structure, and the distant shouts were suddenly deafening.
'You got to be joking right now!'
John blinked, his mind racing. Then, in a moment of absurd clarity, he muttered to himself, 'Wait… does this mean that I don't have to pay rent for next month?'
John's stomach twisted. His apartment. On fire. All his stuff, all his things… gone? His mind refused to settle on the reality of the situation
'My stuff… my gramps old locket!'
John's stomach tightened, panic clawing at his chest. He couldn't just stand there. That locket… his grandfather's locket… it was irreplaceable. Inside it was an old picture of him, his grandpa, and his grandma, all smiling together before they passed away. It was the only thing he had left from them.
"I have to get it." he muttered, his voice barely audible over the distant shouts and crackling flames.
So he ran, ignoring the heat radiating from the building. Step by step, he moved closer to the entrance, smoke stinging his eyes and making him cough.
He pushed through the front door and immediately started climbing the stairs to the third floor, apartment 301. Each step felt heavier than the last, the smoke thickening with every step. His lungs burned, and his heart pounded in his chest, but he couldn't stop.
Finally, he reached his apartment door. He grabbed the metal handle, but the heat was unbearable. He grunted in pain as the skin on his hand burned, quickly pulling back.
"No, no, no!" he yelled, pressing his hand to his chest and staring at the door. Panic surged through him.
Desperate, he tried to kick it open, slamming his shoulder against it, pounding with his fists. The door didn't budge. Every attempt failed. Smoke was seeping into the hallway faster now, and the flames inside the apartment glowed brighter through the cracks.
'God, I'm so stupid,' he thought, coughing hard. 'Running into a burning building for a damn locket. What kind of idiot does that?' He slammed his shoulder into the door again, pain shooting down his arm. 'This is it, huh? No big heroic moment… and I'll die having achieved nothing worth remembering.'
His breaths came short and ragged, but he hit the door again anyway, ignoring the burning in his lungs and the ache in his body. "Come on… just open!"
Then he heard it, faint but desperate
"Help! Somebody, please! SOMEBODY SAAAVE ME!!"
The sound came from the apartment next door, 302.
John froze for a moment, his brain racing. The fire raged, and now someone else was in danger.
He coughed, glanced toward the cry, and tightened his fists. "Damn it…"
He turned toward 302, the heat pressing against his face. The door was half-blocked by fallen debris, flames crawling up the wall beside it.
"Hang on!" John shouted, coughing as smoke filled his lungs. He pushed the debris aside, his burned hand throbbing, and kicked at the door. Once. Twice.
"Please! I-I can't breathe!"
"Hold on!" he yelled again, slamming his shoulder into the door until it finally cracked open. A rush of smoke burst out, nearly knocking him back. Inside, he could barely make out a woman crouched low to the ground, covering her face.
"Come on!" he said, reaching for her.
She hesitated, eyes wide with terror, but he grabbed her hand and pulled her out into the hallway.
"Go! Down the stairs don't stop!"
She stumbled forward, coughing hard but moving. John looked back at his own door, flames licking around it now.
'The locket…'
He clenched his jaw. "Screw it, if I stay here I'll end up dead " he muttered, and turned to run after her.
She stumbled down the stairs, coughing violently, her strength fading fast. At the landing of the second floor, her legs wobbled and she almost collapsed.
"Hey! Stay with me!" John shouted, grabbing her under the arms and trying to hold her up. The smoke burned his lungs and made every step feel like climbing a mountain. His burned hand throbbed with every movement, and exhaustion clawed at him, but he gritted his teeth and kept moving.
"Come on… almost there," he muttered, his chest heaving. Every inhale was painful, every step a fight. He felt his knees weaken, but he couldn't let go. Not now.
Finally, they reached the first-floor landing. John's arms were shaking violently, sweat and soot streaking his face. He had to catch his breath, leaning against the wall for a moment as the woman slumped against him.
Then the wail of sirens cut through the smoke, growing louder by the second. The fire department had arrived. Through the haze, John could see firefighters charging toward the building, hoses unfurling, axes in hand.
A pedestrian nearby shouted, "Somebody ran inside! They've got a person in there!"
Relief surged through him. The immediate danger had passed. coughing and gasping, but a small, exhausted smile crept onto his face. The woman was safe, and for now, that was enough.
John's arms were shaking violently, sweat and soot streaking his face. He had to catch his breath, leaning against the wall for a moment as the woman slumped against him.
Then came the sound louder, more terrifying than the fire itself. A deep, groaning crack, the breaking of infrastructure. The stairwell above them shuddered violently.
"Get back!" he shouted instinctively, and before he could think, he hurled the woman out of the way. She rolled safely onto the landing just as debris rained down.
But he wasn't fast enough. A steel beam, rebar protruding like a jagged claw, slammed into his back. Pain exploded through him, hot and sharp, and he collapsed onto the stairs. Blood ran down his spine, his vision blurring.
The world became a haze of smoke, heat, and pain. He tried to move, to crawl, but his body refused. Every breath was agony, every heartbeat a hammer against his skull. His consciousness flickered in and out as the chaos of the fire swirled around him.
Hands grabbed him, shouting, but he could barely process anything. Someone lifted him, and the world tilted as he was carried through the smoke, the cries of firefighters and sirens fading in and out.
He felt the cold sting of a stretcher, the snap of straps, and the harsh jolt of the ambulance moving over uneven pavement. His head throbbed violently, and his vision kept cutting in and out. Every time he blinked, the world swam with fire, smoke, and shadows.
Then… the world went dark
But breaking through the darkness was a white light .
A blinding, pure white light that swallowed everything.
And then… he opened his eyes.