Carlos glanced at his watch and swore. He was supposed to be home by now with Elena and the kids. Movie night was a big deal and never in his unstable career has he missed it. Until now. He cursed his boss under his breath.

The light jumped from red to green and traffic snailed its way ahead like a dying centipede while Carlos forced himself not to honk at the car ahead. Once a path cleared, he touched the throttle and veered onto Highway 85. He swiped his phone screen to check his route again. Right, the warehouse. The place lingered in his memory, and he relaxed his hand on the wheel.

He wondered if Elena got his text. She'd be disappointed, but she'd understand. Despite his boss being an anonymous bastard, he forked out good money. In less than two years, he moved his family from their broke-ass dump of an apartment into a fine villa upstate-with air conditioning and a driveway! And Carlos' work was fairly easy: he was sent names and was required to send back a detailed bio on the individuals. It was good for this line of work that he wasn't overly curious. He did his job; he got paid, no sweat! Elena worried about this 'work' and voiced her concerns frequently, but her husband always assured her everything would be fine. He was a smart man and if anything went wrong, he comforted himself with the fact that he'd secured the family's finances back home.

His '96 Toyota Camry crept past the sagging fence of the abandoned warehouse covered in graffiti. Some youngsters sat about smoking and drinking, watching the car through hooded eyes and dull streetlight. Carlos parked round the back and checked his phone again. Upstairs, Fourth Floor, D5. He turned off the screen, put on his gloves and zipped up his jacket before stepping outside. His breath left white fog in the air, and he shoved his hands into his pockets before jogging across the parking lot. He climbed the stairs two at a time, cautioning himself about how slippery they were.

What the hell was even in D5? he thought as he turned the corner of the second floor and started the third flight of stairs. It wouldn't be more than he could handle, but if things blew to shit, Elena would be pissed. He could imagine her now, sitting near the phone biting her nails in case he called while the kids, oblivious to everything, squabbled over what movie to watch and threw popcorn at each other.

He paused outside D5 and looked around. The conversation of the youngsters below droned on, and distant traffic sprayed the silence of the night. The driveway remained abandoned except for a pair of strays sniffing out some boxes near the dumpster. He pulled a key from his pocket before squinting at the door's nameplate, blackened from mold and glistening from dew to decipher the number. D4, good. The lock turned easily, and he slipped inside and shut the door.

The air smelled of old cigar, and Carlos' trained nose deciphered Padrón 1926 Series #90. The 'Boss' was definitely here. Near the window, a massive high-back leather chair stood behind a rich oak desk where an impressive silver panther reflected the moon's glint. New plush carpet covered half the floor while sleek wood graced the other half. Maps of the city, newspaper clippings and photographs of individuals pasted the dark walls. He recognized some faces. He researched their backgrounds some time ago, but curiosity did not induce him to read anything, so he pulled out his phone and sent a text. In less than two minutes, the screen glowed with an incoming call.

"I'm inside. What am I supposed to do now?"

"That was quicker than I expected?"

Carlos scanned the dark corners of the room.

"Well?"

"Easy, man. You see the black filing cabinet next to the lampstand?"

"Yeah?"

"You're gonna open the lowest drawer and look for Dr. Levitsky."

"Doctor Nikolaj Levitsky?" His fingers expertly ran over file names. "He's a renowned physicist with a PhD in biology, radioactive science, and psychology. He shook the world of science as we knew it when he proved that with the right alteration to the human DNA, an individual can reform their bodies into lethal weapons from regenerating limbs to unnatural animalistic abilities like scaling walls, immunity to poisonous gases, breathing underwater, etc. In 2006, an explosion at his estate in London killed his wife and child-he'd been at a conference in France at the time-and after the funeral, the great man disappeared from the world. No one's heard from him in sixteen years."

"Shit, you memorized all that crap?"

Carlos pulled out the file he needed.

"I can also tell you he had high respect for Cabernet Sauvignon wine, liked tall, dark-eyed women, and considered the 1812 tale of Rumpelstiltskin Germany's greatest literary work for children. What can I say? I'm an avid reader. I found the file. Now what?"

"Scan pages 27-34 and send it to me."

"I'll have you know I'm missing something very important right now."

The man on the other line scoffed.

"Yeah, well, that makes two of us. I'm supposed to be taking my daughter to watch the Mets," he swore under his breath. Carlos smiled. Suddenly, his own misfortune didn't seem too bad.

"I'll send these to you in a few minutes, but let me ask you something... Why couldn't someone else do this?"

There was silence on the other side for a minute.

"Because, unlike everyone else in this business, you know how to keep your head down and mouth shut. Anyway, I'm outta here, man."

Carlos shook his head but didn't hold back his grin. His smirk dropped as he scanned the last page of the file. The flash on the camera illuminated one side of the room and he froze, straining his ears for anything beside the vibration of his colleague ending their call. A dull red glow bounced on his peripheral vision, and he strained his eye on the spot. Sweat beaded his head and his clammy fingers caused the file pages to stick to his skin. The galloping of his heart resounded in his ears and his knees stiffened like old hinges.

A burning blow to the head sent the ground spiraling to the ceiling as he crashed into the filing cabinet. His skull felt like a cracked egg and, for what seemed like an eternity, he lay there in a crumpled mess. He made out a pair of heavy boots as the intruder bent to pick up his phone. He groaned and shifted his arm before blacking out....

~

Carlos peeled his eyes open, only to have a wicked shock shoot across the right side of his head. His skin burned and for a minute, he wondered if someone put a flaming torch to his face. A grainy, sour taste lingered on his tongue, and everything was hazy, but he made out a reddish gleam across the room. The waft of cigarette smoke greeted his senses, and he wheezed as the smell scratched his throat.

"You're awake, that's good. For a minute there, I thought I'd killed you."

He peered at the dark silhouette. The voice, silky and husky, belonged to a woman and Carlos couldn't decide if this was a good thing or not. He watched another angry cloud of smoke spread through the air.

"I'll ask you straight out: who do you work for?"

The absurdity of his entire situation amused Carlos. He moved his wrists and was surprised to find himself untied. That was stupid of her, but then again, she probably had a gun or whatever she used to clobber his skull. To his amazement, he laughed.

And laughed.

The woman waited, smoking away in the shadows, and when he finally calmed himself, he said breathlessly,

"This is messed up. Who are you, anyway? FBI? CIA? Hitwoman? I ain't done nothin' against the law, or anyone for that matter. You got this place surrounded or something?"

The smoke clouds stopped and the red from the cigarette glared dangerously in the dark. Her voice was low when she spoke again.

"Who do you work for?"

"I don't know-"

Everything happened in a blur. And Carlos was held up by the collar as a nastily scarred woman burned through him with flaming eyes. Her cracked skin glowed like embers and the whole left side of her face looked hot as a kiln oven. He cried out and tried to shield himself from her as the heat radiating from her body seared his flesh.

"What the hell?!"

"Who's your boss? What's his name?"

"I swear to God I don't know! Nobody does-he's like a ghost, man! He never shows himself, just gives out orders or something. I swear I've never seen him in my life! ¡Nunca en mi vida!"

She threw him down and let out an agonized yell. He shivered in the corner and watched as she threw things over, her hands setting ablaze everything papers and anything flammable. He grabbed the Levitsky file from the desk and shoved it inside his jacket. The corner rug burst in flames and Carlos pounded the hem of his pants that had caught fire before crawling towards the exit. He barely heard the woman's swears until she was at his side yanking him to his feet. He didn't feel the pain of searing flesh when her hand burned through his sleeve.

"You gotta get out of here, go!" She shoved him outside and down the stairs and jumped over the banister.

He swore but kept running. If she was dead, he didn't care. In fact, his mind was far from her well-being. He sprinted across the driveway and unlocked his car.

"Shit!" a spray of glass from the passenger side flew at him as soon as he'd shoved himself inside. The woman put a hand in and unlocked the door.

"Drive." Carlos wasted no time in pulling off. He wiped his forehead several times as sweat threatened to blind him. The bright streetlights didn't help, and his head still swam from the blow. He knew he had a concussion, and the burning chill on the side of his head was a bold reminder of whatever shit he got himself into.

"Turn off here."

Almost mechanically, he took a left, and they drove on in silence. His sight became blurry and spotted and he slowed the car to a crawl. He pulled off to the side. Without a word, the woman opened her door and got out. Carlos contemplated pulling off. Maybe running her over, even. He could leave the body there for someone else to find or he could dump it in the lake. But would she be cool enough for him to touch? The thought reminded him of his seared arm, and he groaned internally. He could just shoot her in the head, too. His gun was just under his seat and he was an excellent shot, but it was risky considering his wounded arm. Could he make it, though? And would the shot kill her? He already knew she wasn't altogether human-she couldn't be! But then... what the hell was she?

"Move over. I'll drive."

"Maybe in another lifetime."

She tilted her head.

"I'm sure you want to get home to your kids tonight, Medinez. Movie night, was it?"

His chest tightened and the pain in his head grew stronger.

"That's what I thought."

~

"And you've never once been in contact with him directly? Never seen him on any occasion?"

The city buzzed in the distance across the water, and Carlos sat on his car nursing his arm. He blew on his palms and rubbed them together as he scowled at the woman standing closer to the lake.

"I already told you; I've never seen him. I only research people for him."

"What kind of people?"

"Many kinds-lawyers, doctors, secretaries of state, government officials, junkies, your average joe-you name it!"

"Does the name Tawny Burgess sound familiar to you?"

"No."

Try again."

He shook his head.

"Listen, I-I don't know, okay? I don't remember. I've done this so many times you can't possibly expect me to remember one random name."

Brett Underwood."

He looked up at her.

"Yeah... Yes! Officials found him and his three children turned over in the woods five years back. Said it was a traffic accident, but many believed it was an assassination. The media did their best to hush everything up and people got even more suspicious when accounts on Twitter were being canceled if anyone suggested anything relating to scandal. But the people weren't wrong-Tom Sherman, an ex-marine corp and a long-time friend of the deceased, turned out to be a prime suspect. Ian McKimble, one of the best attorneys in the country, represented the Underwood case. However, things were even more blown out of proportion when Mrs. Underwood died in a home fire two weeks before the trial. America went crazy after that..." He shook his head. "But this was before I started with the boss. What does it have to do with him?"

The woman had a faraway look in her eyes and shuddered before meeting his gaze. The shadow of her hoodie shielded the left side of her face.

"Everything. I was worried I'd have to kill you." She smirked, her eyes glowing. "But thankfully, you may prove to be an asset."

"What?"

"You're gonna be my eyes and ears, Carlos Medinez."

"No lo creo, Señora. I ain't planning on getting in anybody's shit, alright? I got a family to take care of, and ain't doing nothing that could jeopardize that. ¿Comprendes?"

"Believe me, Medinez, you're already in this shit, and there's no getting out of it now. Do you want to know what happened to Antonio Guillermo?"

The name was like a slap in the face and Carlos stared at the woman before his gears shifted in overdrive and he sprang to his feet.

"Who are you, and what the fuck do you know about him?"

"I'll help you learn everything you need to know, but first I need to know if I can trust you, Medinez. Do we have a deal?"

"¿Quién eres, mujer? And what do you want?"

"I'm Scarlet Firewood. And I want them all to feel the flames of my wrath."

Carlos stared at her, then signed the cross. "Dios nos ayude a todos."