He rubbed his eyes, and felt his body give an instinctive shudder. Returning his focus onto the TV screen, he realized the reporter wasn't finished yet.

'Nonetheless, the Federal Institute of Ancient History...' Nathan's mind rang at those words. '...reports to have data on this queer phenomena. Based on an anonymous professor at the Institute, all of this is recorded in a classified file owned by the retired Professor Vladislav, a top alchemist from the institute, who's currently reported to be missing.'

A picture flashed onto the screen.

Nathan rocked back as if being hit by a sledgehammer. It was him! The evil professor that had laid the curse on him two years ago!

Wait. He's missing?

'Professor Vladislav seemed to have disappeared from the institute since this morning, exactly after the obliteration at Detroit. Anyway, his decrypted file stated that there are actually four other of these so-called Elements, which includes Fire, Water, Earth and Air. It is rumored that if these five elements are gathered, apocalypse shall occur! Meanwhile, the Federal Institute of Ancient History has already cooperated with the FBI in order to capture the other four individuals who possess the remaining Elements. The public is also advised to report people with symbolic tattoos of Fire, Water, Earth or Air to local authorities, who will investigate accordingly.'

Switching off the television, Nathan had the urge to vomit. Gulping down the nauseous feeling, he half-ran, half-stumbled over to a mirror. Swiping the hair that obscured most of his forehead, he gazed at his reflection, not sure whether to feel sick or scared.

Right at the middle of his forehead was the faint outline of the fire-shaped tattoo. It was merely a darkening of his skin, a shadow of what he had become.

A monster.

Almost instinctively, his hands curled into fists and he smashed the mirror into a million pieces. Dumbfounded, he stared at his bleeding knuckles. A tiny flame danced on his palm as he unclenched his fists. The flicker of fire grew, until a blaze engulfed his entire hand which morphed into a real life torch.

Smiling grimly to himself, he recalled the happenings throughout the past two years. How he had undergone the aftershocks of the branding of the Fire Element onto him. How he had gotten used to his new powers. How he had fought so hard to keep his powers under control. How he had lied to his aunt, his dear Aunt Patricia about his sudden change in behavior, all his weird actions when he went into another fit.

Nathan could still remember the anxious look on his aunt's face the day he got returned home. How he lied to his aunt that nothing had happened, that the burn marks on his body only a result of the mishap when he was playing with firecrackers. He even slammed the door in his aunt's face, when his aunt kept pestering him about his injuries.

Then came the first time he lost control of his powers. That day, he was walking back home from school. Intending to return home faster, he cut into a secluded alley, only to be confronted by several gangsters. His mind reeled as he recalled the incident.

"Hey, dickhead!" the lead gangster, a large hulking fella with tattoos inscribed onto his arm greeted him, shoved a big knife at his direction. Nathan retreated a little. One of the tattooed thugs screamed:

"Hand out all yer money at this instance, or we'll flay your skin off your buttocks and make you wish you've never had one." Sarcastic laughter rang out, as the gangsters forced him deeper into the alley.

"Let me go. You wouldn't want me to get angry." Nathan warned, not the least bit frightened at all. He could already feel the Fire raging inside him, threatening to erupt at any moment.

More laughter.

"Hah!" sneered another gangster. "And you'll what? Burn my pants? Ha-ha!" he leapt frantically into the sky as if his pants had caught fire. The other gangsters snickered, getting closer at the second.

Nathan's back hit something hard. The wall. He had been cornered, like a prey by its predator.

"I'm telling you the last time, you really wouldn't want me to get—"his threat went unfinished, because at that moment a very big knife screamed towards him.

Guided by pure instinct, he grabbed the knife before it hit, and at the same moment, his hand caught fire. The iron melted, as easy as butter melting in a frying pan. Then the fire engulfed his entire body.

The baddies were dumbfounded. They did what a normal human would do if you're confronted by a raging inferno-slash-monster. They ran, screaming manically.

Well, that didn't turn out too bad; it actually saved his life. However, every time he gets a little bit pissed...

Basketball.

Nathan was on the offensive. Dribbling the ball, he leaped up for a jump shot. The defender shoved him in the butt. Losing his balance, he tumbled to the ground, winded and a bit frustrated.

"Oh man, your butt's on fire, Nat!" the defender who knocked him over, James yelped. Damn.

Anyway, he caused a hell lot of confusion that time, and he had to explain profusely to James that it was only his imagination. Nevertheless, James still treated him like an alien from that day onwards.

Running a hand through his ruffled hair, Nathan stared at the broken glass. He was wanted badly by both the FBI and the Federal Institute of Ancient History. Now, everyone knows about the Elements of the Pentagon. Now that Spiky Hair (Lightning) is dead, there are still four Elements left, including himself, and the government wants them all caught. Or killed. They are all labelled as 'Highly Dangerous' and likely to leave disaster in their wake. Every greedy citizen in the city who was after the tantalizing bounty would report them to the police or kill the Elements themselves once they caught sight of their tattoos.

Also, there's still James to consider. He would have probably made the connection by now, if he watches CNN.

What should I do? He asked himself.

He would dearly love to go out and find the other three, the other Elements of the Pentagon. Four is always better than one, he reasoned. But how? He couldn't possibly send out a tweet saying, "Hey listen up, Elements! I'm Fire, and let's hang out this Friday! Let's save the world, guys! Love you all! XOXO."

No. No way. Even Twitter would be monitored by the government. The entire Internet is a trap, for they're all waiting to locate and terminate you if they find you tweeting something suspicious. Even if he had tweeted from his house and disappeared right away, the officials would still turn up and wreck the entire house. They might even kill Aunt Patricia.

Nooo. He moaned.

He would have to do it manually. But how? The same question presented itself once again in his mind.

­­***

'It's Friday, Friday,' the speakers blared.

Nathan motioned to the speaker, muttered "Do you mind?" and switched it off.

Aunt Patricia glanced up from the newspaper she held in her hands. "Well, I suppose I don't mind, it's always these Hard Metal songs." she muttered, mostly to herself.

"I'm going out, Pat. Housewarming at Middle Gates road." He told his aunt as he left.

"Take care, Nat. Come home early." She reminded him.

I'm probably not coming back. He thought, and for a moment, he felt sad. His Aunt Pat cared for him like her own son; she'd never scolded him, no matter what. She was the only person he cared for.

Nathan's eyes watered as he recalled the sweet memories he shared with Aunt Pat. Once, when he was in second grade, he was running back home, crying hysterically and tugging at his own hair. The bullies at school had struck again, and this time the target was him. They had jeered at him, stolen his lunch money, and torn up his shirt. Not to mention calling him names like 'Funny Hair', 'Shorty', 'Skinny monkey' and many more. Reaching home, he'd dived straight into Aunt Pat's arms, sobbing uncontrollably as he explained to her what had happened. Nathan's aunt was not disgusted at getting slobbered all over with Nathan's tears, phlegm and saliva. Instead, she stroked his hair patiently and calmed him down, telling him that he was right and they were wrong. Till now Nathan could still remember the exact words:

If they're the ones who'd sinned, why punish yourself with their sins by crying?

Then, Aunt Pat let Nathan settle down in her arms, cooing him to sleep with a soothing lullaby.

Recovering from his reverie, he realized that he'd overshot John's house. Retracing his steps, he counted off the houses in his mind.

One, two, three, four...

Though small, his friend's terrace house was well-furnished. Ribbons and balloons hung on the walls and the ceiling. Nathan smiled and pressed the doorbell.

'Ding, dong.'

"Welcome!" John's head poked out from the midst of balloons and ribbons at the front door. His friend was ecstatic. "Come on in!" he opened the gate for him. Walking into the porch, he noticed the barbeque pit, its fire blazing. He laid a hand above; the fire licked it happily.

"What the heck do you think you're doing?" a female voice shrieked. "You'll burn your hand!"

Nathan glanced up and saw a pretty brunette heading towards him, her hands waving frantically about. Behind her was the person he dreaded to meet most—James.

James was in a formal suit, with his shirt tucked in and a bowtie at his collar. He seemed to be headed to the prom, more than to this rather informal housewarming. He hovered behind the brunette like a bodyguard.

Nathan retrieved his hand from the fire.

"Nice to meet you!" The brunette held out a hand and flashed him a smile. Nathan took it and shook it, barely realizing the coldness of her hand. "My name's Rolanda, and he's my boyfriend, James." She introduced herself. James held out a hand out of courtesy; Nathan could sense that he was reluctant to shake his hand. Thus, he stared at it, unblinking. James let his hand fall.

"Um, let's go get something to eat." Rolanda suggested, noticing the situation turning awkward.

Proceeding towards the food table, Nathan grabbed two sausages and started grilling them. To his absolute discomfort, he felt a pair of eyes staring after him, observing his every move. Almost by instinct, he glanced back, and spotted James staring at him, his eyes clouded in hatred and fear. As their eyes made contact, James turned away, suddenly very interested in wiping his wristwatch.

A loud crash brought him back to reality. Reflexively, he crouched, sensing danger.

Whump, Whump, Whump. The rudders of the chopper could be heard as a Chinook came into view, its blasting searchlights bombarding the area. The barbeque pit burst into flames, sparks flying everywhere. Terrified shrieks could be heard as the guests ran for cover. "What the..." John was dumbfounded, and he could only gape at the gigantic aircraft that had invaded his home.

Black Helicopters were coming for him.

Nathan didn't gape. He was already in action, sensing something amiss. They knew! He didn't expect that his identity could be discovered so quickly by the authorities. And now he'd stepped right into the perfect trap they had prepared for him. He chided himself for his stupidity and carelessness.

But now wasn't the time to cry over spilt milk. Acting as casual as possible, he walked into the house, heading for the back door. Then a loud voice spoke.

"NATHAN!" he froze for a millionth of a second. How did they know my name? He continued moving, his pace getting faster.

"THIS IS THE FBI, AND WE KNOW YOU'RE IN THERE! COME OUT SLOWLY WITH YOUR HANDS UP, AND DO NOT ATTEMPT TO RESIST ARREST." The voice commanded.

As if he'll listen. Quickening his pace, he found the back door. Opening it, he crept out.

"Stop!" A voice commanded. He froze.

In front of him, wielding a Glock 17, was James, his face contorted in a mask of abhorrence. The pistol was aimed right at Nathan's head.

"What do you think you're doing?" Nathan demanded hoarsely, faintly remembering the words spoken by Rolanda.

"I know who you are. I mean, what you are. I saw the news." He said simply.

Nathan didn't bothered denying. "I was forced against my will." James just stared.

"Turn around. I wouldn't hesitate to shoot, y'know." James ordered, flicking the pistol to emphasize his point.

"Good luck with that, though." He replied, and set the pistol on fire.

James yelped, dropping the burning pistol. Distracted, he couldn't duck in time as Nathan's knee crashed into his stomach. The air went out of James with a 'whoosh' and he went down hard.

Leaping over James's fallen body, he rushed out of the back door. There were two couples making out in the dark secluded area, and they hastily pulled back when Nathan came bursting out of the back door. They stared wide-eyed at him.

Ughh, go on. Don't stop.

He ran over to the gate and was about to vault over it when he saw a helicopter appear above him. Apparently, during all the confusion, one helicopter had silently made its way back to the back porch. Now it had Nathan cornered.

Defiant, Nathan fired a burst of fire towards the helicopter's belly, only to receive a reply of bullets. Flinching, Nathan was faintly aware of the terrified shrieks that rang out behind him as he melted the flying lead.

Damn, Nathan froze. I may be able to fight my way out, but the others would probably be hurt by shrapnel and stray bullets. The two couples he had bumped into were cowering from the sudden assault. Gritting his teeth, Nathan made up his mind.

"STOP!" Nathan shouted. "Stop shooting. I'll go with you."

Turning around, he held his hands in the air and retreated towards the front porch, consternation churning along with the fire inside him.

"GOOD." The voice commented when he reached the front porch. Nathan was barely aware of the stares everyone was giving him. The porch was silent, except for the rhythmic whump, whump, whump of the Chinook.

"NOW, DON'T MOVE. OUR MEN WILL ESCORT YOU ONTO THE HELI. REMEMBER, DON'T MOVE." As if he needed more warning. He was cornered, like a rat in a trap. Whump, whump, whump.

G-men wielding their trademark M4 carbines leapt out of different places; some from the neighboring porch, some from the bushes opposite the house, and some even from the rooftops. Nathan glared at John, feeling betrayed. John was flustered; he shook his head feverishly and mouthed, NO, NOT ME.

The armed men shoved his hand roughly to the back and slapped a pair of handcuffs on them. Then another. And another. He rolled his eyes. They didn't seem to realize that he could melt the cuffs in a mere sec if he had wanted to. Whump, whump, whump.

The Chinook lowered a rope ladder that dangled all the way down to the porch. Nathan marched towards the ladder, his head held high, with the men following behind, their rifles aimed at his back.

When he passed Rolanda, she flashed a look of sympathy at him. She would probably change her mind when she finds her boyfriend lying unconscious at the back door.

At his captors' instructions, he stepped onto the ladder and it retracted, pulling Nathan with it. He entered the heli and the door slid shut behind him. There was a loud whoosh as the Chinook took off, its rotors spinning madly.

"Welcome, Nathan. My name's Henry Linden, Deputy Head of Criminal Prosecution, FBI." A man in black uniform, his eyes obscured by the sunglasses, introduced himself.

The man swiped away the hair that hid Nathan's forehead. And the symbol.

"Element of Fire, I should've guessed, hmm." He commented, ignoring the vicious glare Nathan gave him.

"Take your—"

"—filthy hands off me, yeah I know, I know. Listen, you better not do anything silly up here." The man who called himself Henry warned him, his voice stern.

"Why?" he couldn't help asking, smiling slightly. An escape plan was unravelling in his mind.

"Because we've men posted down there, right in your friend's house. One signal from this beacon, and they'll start shooting." He shook the beacon in his hands, voice as cold as the icy winter.

"You bastards!" He spat into Henry Linden's face, the saliva splattering onto his sunglasses.

Infuriated, Henry roared and slapped Nathan in his face. Simultaneously, fire sprouted from Nathan's cheeks and leapt onto the man's hand, burning them instantly.

"Arrgh!!" the man screamed, petrified as his hand was blackened by the burning fire. Laughing, Nathan lifted a hand and the fire stopped. The cuffs on his hands seemed to have vanished.

"Damn you! Do you have any idea of the consequences?" Henry Linden roared, fishing up the beacon in his other hand.

"It's too late." Nathan shrugged.

"What?!" Henry seemed to disbelieve what he'd heard.

"Go on, press the button." Nathan invited, smiling brightly. "I have never heard the government holding hostages anyway." He added, glaring at the man murderously.

Furious beyond means, Henry gave a roar and pressed the signal.

­­­***

"Move! Get inside the house!" ordered the armed men in John's front porch.

"What are you guys doing? Please let us go!" pleaded John.

Glancing around, he could almost faint. The front porch of his new house was a wreck, as if a giant had paid a visit and played Squash. The barbeque pit was overturned, the ashes and embers scattered on the grass; the garden lamps were all broken, some flickering dimly and some not lighting up at all. Popped balloons and torn ribbons were strewn everywhere, remembering John of a split open piñata. The front gates had collapsed, torn from its hinges. One of the walls was a wreck, as if hit by a wrecking ball. Everything was a mess.

Once the helicopter had left, six of the armed men started herding them, prodding them with their rifles and forcing them into the house. The frightened kids obeyed, and one by one they were gathered in the living room.

"What do you guys think you're doing?!" Rolanda shrieked furiously, asking the question that had been repeated many times this night.

"We're just protecting you if the monster suddenly decides to return here." One of the agents explained.

"He's not a monster!" John protested. He knew his friend; Nathan might be a jerk sometimes, but the word 'monster' certainly didn't suit his friend.

"Exactly!" Rolanda, too came to Nathan's defense. "Why are you arresting a normal eighteen-year-old guy who was just enjoying himself at a friend's housewarming party?"

"You wouldn't say that if you get kicked in the stomach by him." A voice rang out behind Rolanda. It was James. His face was deathly pale.

"Oh my God! What happened to you?" Rolanda spluttered, holding him in her arms. Word by word, James spat out his encounter with Nathan. Naturally, he left out the part that he was about to shoot Nathan with a gun.

The agent got irritated by the kids' bickering. "Just keep your mouths shuuUUAAARRRRRGGGHHHH!" What he wanted to say morphed into a horrified screech that was abruptly cut off. John glanced at the agent to find out what's wrong, and shuddered.

In the socket of his eyes was a burning fire, as deep and fiery as the pit of Hell itself. Another burst of fire erupted from his mouth, burning his voice box instantly and rendering him unable of anymore taunts and threats. Or even screaming in pain. He had become the eerie manifestation of Ghost Rider. A real life Ghost Rider.

Except that, in the next second, his torso erupted into flames, his uniform shriveling off like a leaf on fire. The poor man fell to his knees as his legs buckled, the bones melting right inside his skin. The assault rifle in his hands melted like an ice-cream. His figure convulsed and shrunk, with the skeleton disintegrating and the skin ablaze, like a human torch. At last, the fire stopped raging, and he collapsed onto the ground, what was left of his body was only a desiccated shell, smoking and charred.

Stunned silence enveloped everyone, including the other agents.

"Holy Mother of God!" gasped an agent.

Then, without warning, another agent burst into flames. One by one, the agents turned into blazing human torches, until what remained were six piles of ashes.

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