The acrid smell of burning hair wakens me. I start. What time…? I look out the window. Sunlight. That narrows it down, some. It’s hot in here. Not sunlight.
(mmm… what smells like barbecue?)
The body in the corner gives me no advice. The fire menaces me with its all-consuming beauty. It mesmerizes me.
A poetic pattern retains inertia. I stare into the flames of oblivion for a while, transfixed by the colors and light, until I realize I probably ought to run.
Escape. The air feels cool and sweet. And it doesn’t smell like burning hair and that disturbingly appetizing undertone of cooking flesh. And hot metal.
Metal? Where am I anyway?
I look back, but I don’t turn into salt. Not yet anyway. That will come later. Salt and iron and water and carbon. But not yet. I’ve escaped the fire. For now. But I’m looking back. What am I seeing? Oh.
I’m the scientist (mad scientist?). It’s my lab.
It’s my fire.
(my fire. it’s all mine. see? i made it.)
I feel a sudden sense of glowing pride at my work, even though it’s currently consuming half a city block and smells like death and smoke.
The trucks are arriving; I can tell by the screeching wail that sounds like an orchestra of too many strings, all badly out of tune. But it clears my mind and I feel less like I’m wandering the desert of thought. The borderlands expire thanks to the hundred violins. But it’s not violins. It’s fire trucks. And… smaller fire trucks. With blue lights.
(wait, where am I again? oh. right.)
Not fire trucks. Police… cars.
I think I inhaled too much smoke when… it burned.
My creation. My… robot.
Only it wasn’t a robot. Why make a robot, when you can meld man and machine and reap the best of both worlds? Only the electronics overloaded and things went… bad. It was brilliant, only flawed. I look to my left. An alleyway.
The criminal disappears after the inventor.