Citron City was burning.
An entire section of the skyline had been swallowed by fire.
The Sherman Apartments stood at the center of the disaster, a towering structure of brick and steel disappearing behind waves of orange flames.
Thick black smoke rolled into the sky like a storm cloud, blotting out the morning sun.
People watched from behind emergency barriers.
Some prayed.
Some cried.
Others simply stared.
The heat alone was enough to make breathing uncomfortable.
Firefighters rushed back and forth across the street, dragging hoses and shouting over the roar of the blaze.
Their suppressant cannons unleashed streams of silver-white fire-retardant powder.
It did nothing.
The flames devoured every attempt to stop them.
“THE AGENT ISN’T WORKING!” One firefighter nearly lost his footing as another blast disappeared into the inferno.
“TURN UP THE PRESSURE!” “It’s already maxed out!” The answer came immediately.
The first firefighter cursed.
That wasn’t supposed to happen.
Nothing burned this hot.
And it shouldn’t have been able to consume the suppressant that quickly.
Something was wrong.
Nearby, a man struggled against the emergency barricade.
“My dad and baby are still in there!” His voice cracked from desperation.
“LET ME THROUGH!” Two firefighters grabbed him before he could rush toward the building.
“You’ll die!” “I DON’T CARE!” The crowd fell silent.
Nobody knew what to say.
And everyone had no ideas how to help.
They could only watch.
Hoping that someone could actually aid the weeping mother’s desperate cries.
Then a third-floor window suddenly exploded inward.
A loud crack echoed across the street, causing the crowd to jump.
Embers spiraled upward into the smoke.
For a brief moment, the flames reflected in the polished helmets of the firefighters.
Then the reflection changed.
Orange became blue.
And red.
Heads tilted upward toward the smoky sky.
Someone pointed.
A child gasped.
An elderly woman clasped her hands together.
A whisper spread through the crowd.
“They’re here…” Two streaks tore through the clouds like falling stars.
One blue.
One red.
The Wheelers.
◇ ◇ ◇ The blue streak landed first.
Frost immediately spread across the pavement.
A hover-chair touched down softly amidst drifting ice crystals.
Zyla Reinhardt looked up at the burning tower.
Her expression never changed.
Cool.
Focused.
Collected.
The way a surgeon might look at a difficult operation.
A holographic screen flickered to life above her armrest.
The digital face of her Vent appeared.
Blizzard.
The AI’s glowing eyes scanned the building.
“Thermal readings acquired.” Streams of data raced across the display.
“Two survivors detected.” Zyla folded her arms.
“Location?” “Third floor.” A holographic map materialized.
“Estimated rescue probability: ninety-seven point four percent.” “Recommended approach—” The ground shook.
A second impact interrupted Blizzard.
The red streak had arrived.
Jarrick Reinhardt landed hard enough to crack the pavement beneath him.
His wheelchair’s thrusters hissed as heat radiated from glowing vents along the chassis.
Digital flames danced across the armor plating.
His Vent appeared moments later.
Blaze.
A living embodiment of chaos.
“Enough calculations!” Blaze shouted.
“Let’s save somebody already!” Jarrick grinned.
“Finally.” Someone who understood him.
“Yeah.” He pointed toward the burning apartment building.
“Let’s go.” Zyla pinched the bridge of her nose.
Sometimes she wondered if her brother’s brain functioned entirely on instinct.
Then again…
It usually worked.
Most of the time.
Unfortunately.
◇ ◇ ◇ “Focus.” Zyla raised one hand.
Blizzard immediately understood.
The freeze cannon mounted beneath her armrest began charging.
Blue light gathered.
The air temperature dropped.
Frost spread across nearby concrete.
Then— BOOM.
A beam of sapphire energy erupted forward.
The blast struck the apartment building.
Instantly, flames vanished beneath a rapidly expanding layer of ice.
Steam exploded outward.
Firefighters shielded their faces.
The crowd gasped.
Ice spread up the walls like crystal vines.
The inferno hissed, slowly beginning to shrink.
A path opened through the fire.
Blizzard’s voice remained perfectly calm.
“Route established.” Zyla nodded.
“As soon as the flames weaken, go rescue the civilians.” Jarrick was already moving.
“Way ahead of you.” Before she could finish speaking, he launched into the smoke.
“Of course he did,” Zyla muttered.
The third floor looked like hell.
Smoke filled every inch of the hallway.
The walls had turned black.
Pieces of the ceiling continued falling around them.
An elderly man sat against a wall.
A small child clung to him.
Both were coughing violently.
And both were just as terrified.
The old man held the child tighter.
“It’ll be okay.” He didn’t believe that.
Not anymore.
Then a window exploded.
Glass flew everywhere.
The child screamed.
The old man looked up.
A silhouette emerged from the smoke.
The figure floated.
Hovered.
Approached.
And smiled.
“What’s up?” The old man blinked.
What?
The newcomer pointed at himself.
“I’m Jarrick.” Then toward the floating digital face beside him.
“And this is Blaze.” Blaze waved.
“Sup.” Jarrick smiled.
“We’ll be your heroes today.” The old man stared.
For a moment, his exhausted brain struggled to process what was happening.
Then his eyes widened.
“The Wheelers?” “That’s us.” The child suddenly pointed.
“You’re on TV!” Jarrick laughed.
“See?” He pointed at the old man.
“Kid gets it.” The rear section of his chair unfolded.
A passenger platform extended outward.
“Hop on.” The old man hesitated.
Blaze rolled his eyes.
“Trust me.” “If we wanted to kill you, we’d be doing a really bad job.” The old man decided not to question that logic.
He carefully climbed aboard.
The child followed.
Jarrick checked that both were secure.
Then he grinned.
“Let’s get outta here.” Thrusters ignited.
And they shot through the shattered window.
◇ ◇ ◇ Outside, the crowd erupted.
Cheers echoed across the street.
People pointed upward.
The family who had been waiting below immediately recognized them.
The child’s mother burst into tears.
“Dad!” The elderly man laughed.
For the first time since the fire started.
Jarrick landed gently.
“Here’s your stop.” The old man grabbed his hand.
“Thank you.” The child wrapped both arms around him.
“You’re awesome!” Jarrick blinked.
Then awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck.
“Uh…” He looked away.
“Yeah.” “Well.” “Don’t mention it.” Blaze immediately laughed.
“Oh wow.” “He’s embarrassed.” “Shut up.” ◇ ◇ ◇ Above them, Zyla extinguished the final pockets of flame.
The last burning support beam froze solid.
The fire was over.
Firefighters stared in disbelief.
News cameras rolled.
Reporters scrambled forward.
The Sherman Apartments still stood.
The civilians were alive.
And once again…
The Wheelers had saved the day.
Blizzard projected a warning.
“It appears the media have arrived.” Jarrick groaned.
“Oh no.” “The vultures.” Zyla ignored him.
She straightened her posture.
Smiled.
And looked toward the cameras.
“Smile.” She glanced at her brother.
“That’s what heroes do.” Flash.
Flash.
Flash.
Camera lights exploded around them.
The crowd cheered.
The city celebrated.
And somewhere far away…
Someone else watched from a television screen.