Page 107 of Playing with Fire

"You're still counting on me following rules."

Felix staggered to his feet, gun wavering in his unsteady grip, determination burning in his eyes despite his weakened state.

I didn't hesitate. One fluid motion and my gun was level and steady in my hand. I pulled the trigger.

The shot echoed through the burning office, clean and final. The bullet struck him directly between the eyes, his expression frozen in momentary surprise before his body crumpled to the floor.

There was no satisfaction in the kill, just cold necessity. And perhaps a certain justice in denying him the death he'd planned. Felix had wanted the baptism of fire, the purifying transformation of his body through flame. Instead, he'd die like any ordinary person—from a bullet, common and mundane. No poetry. No symmetry. No fire-born transcendence. Just the cold finality of lead and gunpowder.

I turned immediately back to Algerone.

"I need to get you out of this chair," I said, examining the zip ties again. "Once I free you, I'll have to carry you."

Algerone nodded tersely, understanding the reality of our situation. His damaged spine and the injuries he'd sustained at the warehouse meant there was no chance of him walking out on his own.

As I worked on the restraints, the ceiling above groaned ominously. More debris rained down around us, a prelude to the imminent collapse. I managed to snap one of the zip ties on his wrist, but the rest were proving stubborn without proper tools.

"Xavier!" a voice called from beyond the doorway, barely audible over the roaring flames.

I froze, certain I was hallucinating. It couldn't be.

"XAVIER!" The voice came again, stronger this time, and unmistakable.

"Leo?" I shouted back, disbelief warring with a surge of desperate hope. "Leo, we're in here!"

Through the flames that now partially blocked the doorway came a figure in full tactical gear, face covered by a smoke mask. Leo’s eyes widened behind his mask as he took in the scene: Felix's body, Algerone still partially restrained, and me working frantically to free him.

"I told you to stay back," I growled, anger and relief warring within me.

"You're welcome," Leo replied, immediately moving to help with the restraints. He pulled a knife from his belt and began sawing through the remaining zip ties. "The whole east wing is about to come down. We have maybe two minutes."

"His spine's damaged," I explained as we worked together. "We need to be extremely careful moving him."

Leo nodded, his face grim but determined. "I had basic spinal injury training in the Army. We need to minimize the movement of his spine at all costs."

With the final restraint cut, Algerone sagged forward, unable to support himself. Leo quickly removed his tactical jacket and rolled it into a makeshift cervical collar, placing it carefully around Algerone's neck.

"We need something flat." Leo scanned the room. His eyes landed on a large section of drywall that had fallen from the ceiling, relatively intact. "That'll work."

Together, we gently eased Algerone onto his side, maintaining the alignment of his head and spine. The heat was growing unbearable now, the air so thick with smoke it was like breathing liquid fire. My lungs burned with each breath, eyes watering constantly despite my efforts to clear them.

"This is going to hurt," I warned Algerone as we positioned the flat piece of debris beneath him.

"Just get me out of here," Algerone replied through gritted teeth, his usual composure fracturing under the pain.

We rolled him onto the improvised backboard. Leo quickly removed his belt and mine, using them to secure Algerone's torso and legs to the makeshift transport.

"On three," Leo said, positioning himself at Algerone's head. "You take the feet. We lift together, keeping it absolutely level. One, two, three!"

We lifted in unison, the weight distributed between us. The makeshift stretcher wasn't ideal, but it was far better than dragging him or attempting to carry him between us. Algerone's face was tight with pain, but he remained silent as we began our careful journey toward the door.

The path Leo had come through was already deteriorating, flames eating away at the edges of a narrow corridor. Heat blasted against us as we navigated through, struggling to keep the makeshift stretcher level despite the unstable footing and falling debris. Each step was an act of will, muscles screaming with the strain, lungs fighting for oxygen in the toxic air.

The fire around us took on a strange, almost sentient quality. It wasn't just consuming; it was hunting, reaching for us with hungry tendrils, testing barriers, seeking weaknesses. I'd always seen fire as an extension of my will, a tool to be directed. Now, I felt its true nature—chaotic, indifferent, neither ally nor enemy, but simply a force of transformation.

"Almost there," Leo encouraged, his voice strained from the effort and the thinning air. "Just a little further."

A support beam crashed down behind us, cutting off our retreat. There was only forward now, through the gauntlet of fire and collapsing structure. The building itself seemed to be fighting us, creaking and shifting with malevolent intent.

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