Oscar loved Los Angeles.

The weather was perfect year-round, there were tons of beaches to visit, and plenty of people spoke Spanish. He fit right into the large Latino population in the city. It was the perfect place for him to hide.

There was only one downside.

Atlas was everywhere.

He supposed he should've seen that coming when he first arrived in the city. After all, Los Angeles was one of the major metropolitan areas that were directly impacted by Kismet's Primonium-filled missiles five years ago. The cities that were hit had larger Prime reports than any other area. Thus, Atlas and their agents were crawling all over the place like pesky insects.

They walked the streets at night in their bright, white uniforms.

Oscar's stomach churned just at the thought of them.

Still, even with their presence, he felt like he had finally found a place worth staying. Moving to a new city after everything that had happened allowed him to rebrand himself. He wasn't Oscar—the broken kid who had lost everything. He wasn't Fuego—the loveable jokester who held the team together.

He was someone—something—else entirely now.

His brown eyes flickered to the shiny metal plate of the air conditioning unit he was crouched behind. A slightly warped version of his reflections stared back at him. His sooty hair was longer than ever. The thick strands, which often smelled of grease and ash, reached his chin. He kept in a ponytail most days, but for tonight, it was tied in the red bandana wrapped around his forehead.

The bandana, albeit not the best color choice to use in this part of the city, was sort of his signature. Much like his lighter, he never went anywhere without it.

The community knew him as the weird guy who slept under bridges and ate tacos at Omar's truck. He didn't talk to anyone and no one talked to him. They may not have known who he was, but they knew not to mess with him.

Much to his relief, no one had figured out his identity. Not yet, at least.

Though, there was one person who he was suspicious of. Apart from Omar at the taco truck, the only person he met with on a regular basis was Sister Maria—an old nun who occasionally let him sleep in her church. In return, he protected her from the local gangs in the area.

It was a good little setup, but he couldn't let Sister Maria find out who he was.

That would only put her in danger if Atlas ever found him.

Since he left Atlas, the media had painted him as a fugitive. They picked up on his moniker, even opting to call him the Raging Inferno at times. In their defense, his actions didn't give them much of a choice.

He kind of liked the attention.

At least now they seemed to care about him—even if they were trying to throw him into The Vault until he decayed into a pile of ash.

That wouldn't happen, though. He had no plans of getting caught. Atlas weren't a match for him. Not his old friends, not the new recruits, and certainly not those stupid Jaegers. They may have been a problem for a new Prime, but they were nothing more than a nuisance to him. One fireball to their shiny suits of armor and they were done for.

A smile tugged at Oscar's lips.

He enjoyed fighting them. He enjoyed seeing the fear in their eyes as he bathed them with his angry flames.

After all, they deserved it.

They were supposed to be his family. That's what Director Shaw said. But when things got dicey, they cut him loose like a fish in a protected pond. They didn't protect him—nor did they protect his real family.

A snarl replaced his smile.

That had been the final push.

For the past three years, he had been on a mission. He was going to avenge his uncle and sister. Not only would he avenge their deaths, but he was also going to send Atlas a message.

He was coming for them. And nothing would save them from his wrath.

Oscar's mission currently had him crouched atop a rooftop of a one-story building bordering a backstreet in Los Angeles' warehouse district. He pulled his bandana from his forehead and over his mouth and nose. Warm snaked through his shaggy, slightly matted hair. His dark eyes narrowed, he clicked the top off of his silver lighter as he waited for his target to arrive. The tiny flame lit up his shadow-covered face momentarily before disappearing.

Earlier in the day, he overheard officers by Omar's taco truck discussing a caravan that would be moving through 5th Street and Crenshaw. Its destination was one of the 'relocation' centers in the city.

All major cities had what Atlas called a relocation center, which was where Primes were held until they were either transferred to The Vault or coerced into joining a treatment program.

This particular caravan was said to be transporting a rather powerful Prime. That meant a pretty hefty detail would be following. If he managed to ambush the caravan and free whoever was inside, all while defeating whoever was tasked with protecting it, he would be showing Atlas he meant business.

It would bring them to him.

And that's exactly what he wanted.

He wondered who he would be up against. Would it be Blur? Maybe Slugger? Or maybe they would send one of the new recruits, such as Paladin or Tattoo?

Whoever it ended up being was going to have a bad night.

The only one from the Prime Task Force he was wary about was Starchild—otherwise known as Stella.

A small frown pulled at his mouth.

The memory of their previous meeting crashed into his head like a freight train. Cringing, he tried to dispel it. Her words echoed through his head. They had been coated in a rehearsed, disgustingly-fake tone.

"We can help you, Oscar. Let us help you!"

He shook his head.

Even the blind homeless man who slept on 5th Avenue could've seen she was lying. It was all a ploy to get him captured and thrown into The Vault. He didn't fall for her tricks then, nor would he ever.

Besides, he wasn't the one who was going to be needing help.

The sound of multiple car engines cutting through the night air like a butcher's knife yanked Oscar out of his thoughts. He tensed as he shifted his gaze to the street.

Three vehicles were rolling along the cracked asphalt, all white and sporting the navy-blue insignia of Atlas on the sides. The front and rear vehicles were armored Jeeps with turrets on the top. The one in the middle was the transport unit—a long trailer fitted with Prime nullifying tech. Blue lights blinked alongside the vehicle, indicating that all systems were up and functional.

Oscar had seen one like it before. Transports moved through the city every couple of weeks. But today was the one time they were escorting someone of note. He didn't know who exactly, but if it was enough to send this kind of entourage, they had to have been worth it.

He grinned as he watched them approach his building.

With his eyes squinted, he watched as the convoy made its way down the street. The road had been closed off earlier in the day, LAPD-issued cones and wooden borders guarding both intersections. A few extra officers had also been deployed to the area. Their heads were on a constant swivel as they searched for any oncoming threat.

They were oblivious to his position.

But soon they would feel his fire. They all would burn by his hand. They would finally know the pain he felt inside whenever he closed his eyes.

After readjusting his bandana over his mouth, he nodded.

Showtime.

He burst out from his hiding spot and jumped from the roof of the building. Two blasts of fire rushed from his palms, softening his fall as he fell to the ground. He faced the convoy, which was barreling straight for him.

Oscar gulped.

Bullets cracked from the turrets. He dove to the side, narrowly avoiding them. Grunting, he summoned a wall of red-hot flames. From behind his fiery barrier, he could hear car doors slamming and boots crunching gravel.

The police officers ordered him to stand down. He knew the Atlas agents wouldn't be as nice.

He needed to get this done quickly before they had the chance to call for backup—that is, if they hadn't already. And if they did, he wanted to be gone before they showed up.

Peering through a gap in his wall of fire, he spotted a few Jaeger's running toward him. In a flash, he sprung to his feet and sprinted towards the nearest one. Before they could shoot, a fireball had already exploded across their chest. They cried out as they tried to swat the flames away.

However, Oscar had already moved onto his next targets.

Three Jaeger's had rushed him at once. Their rifles were slung across their backs as they opted for metal sticks charged with electricity. A low crackle emitted from the batons as the Atlas agents approached.

Oscar nimbly dodged a strike from one of the charged sticks. Another one was swung towards his head, causing him to jump backward. Scowling, he brought his hands together.

With a yell, he pushed his hands out. A burst of fire hurtled at the Jaeger's. They all dove to the ground, narrowly avoiding the attack. Oscar darted toward the nearest one on the ground. Before they could stand up, he delivered a crushing blow to their chest with a fist coated in fire.

The remaining agents scrambled to their feet, but they were too late.

Two fireballs slammed into their midsections. They both went crashing down to the ground. They didn't get up again.

There were only five more Atlas agents left to protect the convoy. The containment unit was trying to drive off but the two trucks in front and behind it were making it hard to maneuver.

Oscar grit his teeth and got to work.

A swift punch from one of the agents caught him in the jaw, sending his entire body to the side. He quickly steadied himself and delivered a kick to their knee, causing him to kneel and cry in pain. Jumping up, he coated his fist in fire and brought it down hard on the agent's head.

They were knocked out cold, a black print of Oscar's fist now printed into their helmet.

The other agents surrounded him. They circled him like sharks. Oscar spun around slowly, his upper lip curled in anger. He narrowed his eyes as he watched their fingers coiling around the triggers of their rifles.

He was running out of ideas.

"Last chance, inferno!" one of them barked.

Oscar swallowed the dread that had been pooling in the base of his throat. Nodding slowly, he dropped down to one knee.

The Jaeger's exchanged surprised looks before turning their attention back toward the pyrokinetic. They approached with their weapons still trained on him. Oscar dipped his head and drew a breath.

He had no idea if this was going to work, but he had to try something. If not, he'd be captured and thrown into The Vault. And he wasn't going to let that happen.

Exhaling, he pressed his hands on the asphalt.

"What are you doing?" one of the agents interrogated.

Ignoring their question, he moved his hands around himself while simultaneously dispelling red-hot flames from his fingertips.

"Stop him!"

He quickly rose to his feet. The flames rose with him.

Squeezing his eyes shut and holding his palms out in front of him, he willed the fire to rise in temperature. It changed hues, shifting from red to orange to green. Eventually, it reached its hottest color: blue.

The cage of azure flames separated him from the Jaegers. They yelled, jumping back before firing their weapons at him. The bullets evaporated upon contact like a spaceship re-entering Earth's upper atmosphere.

"My turn," Oscar muttered.

Sucking in a deep breath, inhaling the black smoke into his lungs during the process, he brought his hands in close to his body. He flung them outward, causing his firewall to travel away from him.

The agents quickly succumbed to the flames. Soon, all that could be heard on the street were the loud crackling of the blue fires dancing along the pavement. With sweat dripping down his face, Oscar formed a walkway through his inferno with a swipe of his hand. He passed through it and peered at the fallen soldiers.

No one was left to protect the Atlas convoy left stranded on the road.

He wondered who was inside this time.

If he was going to find out, then it would have to be fast. Atlas would surely be sending in backup soon. And he didn't want to be around when it arrived.

He glanced at the containment unit attached to the parked trailer. Part of him wanted to just leave it behind—after all, he had no obligation to save whoever was in it. That wasn't his job. He wasn't a superhero anymore. His only mission was to burn Atlas and everyone associated with them to the ground.

Then again, the Prime inside could've been powerful. He was willing to bet they were too. Why else would Atlas have sent a stronger security detail to transport them? If his hunch turned out to be true, he could use them on his mission.

Most of Atlas' captives hated them just as much as he did. They would've jumped at the chance to watch them erupt into flames had he offered it to them.

A smile crept along his lips as he nodded.

I guess I'll take a peak.

He jogged over to the trailer and pressed his hands against the cool metal. Closing his eyes, he willed his body temperature to rise. He concentrated the heat to his palms until he felt steam pouring from the place where his skin met the truck. Within seconds, he could feel his hands sinking into the metal.

Once it was soft enough, he began tearing chunks of the metal away. It was moments like these that he was grateful for his immunity to fire and extremely hot temperatures. After he created a makeshift entryway into the unit, he peered inside.

The interior was dark and shadowy, the only light coming from the bulb in the ceiling that blinked into view every few seconds. It looked empty at first glance. He scratched the top of his head and arched an eyebrow.

"What a waste of time."

Cursing under his breath, he turned on his heel and prepared to sprint away from the scene. Before he could, someone grabbed his hand. His entire body jolted as his eyes widened. He instinctively readied a fireball and lobbed it behind himself.

As he spun around, he peered into the containment unit with wide eyes. Orange light cut through the darkness as the ball of fire rolled around in the center of the floor. A pang of fear stabbed his heart as he saw a pair of bright eyes staring back at him. He froze, his hands trembling slightly at his side.

He could vaguely make out the shape of their face in the darkness.

Shaking his head, he straightened up and squinted at the person inside. "Hello?"

They didn't respond. Oscar cursed again and checked over his shoulder. He could hear sirens getting closer. Atlas and local law enforcement would be on the scene soon. He needed to get out of there. Fast.

He turned back to the captured Prime before him. "Look, Atlas will be here any second. If you wanna escape, you better do it now."

Again, no reply.

He scowled. "Whatever. Suit yourself."

Tightening his bandana, which had slipped off his face a bit, he turned in the direction of his nearest hideout—an abandoned building that used to be an art studio. He took one step and then immediately stopped, as a noise from behind caused him to freeze.

Standing in the walkway he created in the truck was a small, frail-looking girl with stringy, black hair and tan skin. Her big, brown eyes were filled to the brim with tears. Bulky metal cuffs with a blinking, red light built into the side held her hands together. She was dressed in a dark blue jumpsuit with an identification number printed down the front.

Oscar took a shaky step backward as his breath caught in his chest.

She looked like a slightly older version of Isabella—his dead sister.

"Por favor," she begged. "Ayuda."

Peeking over his shoulder, he watched as one of the fallen guards began crawling for their gun. A few of the others were beginning to come to as well. But he was still too stunned to act.

Memories of his sister surfaced in his mind. He angrily wiped his eyes.

His hunch about Atlas' captive had been wrong. It was just a young girl, no older than ten or eleven. She couldn't help him. And, quite frankly, he didn't want to help her. She would be a burden if he took her with him. For the past three years, he had been barely scraping by on his own. Bringing along a child would only make things harder.

He turned around.

But he couldn't walk away from her. His legs refused to listen to his brain, which was screaming for him to run. He grit his teeth as his hands curled into fists at his side.

Could he really just leave her there? She would be helpless against the Atlas agents if he did. He had a feeling her bright eyes would haunt him forever if he did. The fact that she looked like the spitting image of his late sister wasn't making his decision any easier either.

This could be your second chance, a small voice in the back of his head whispered. You couldn't save Isabella but you can save her.

He looked at the girl over his shoulder. Her bottom lip trembled as she stared back at him. Tears were streaming down her face now as she cried silently.

Oscar's heart thumped in his chest. The sound was louder than the boombox that always blasted hip-hop music on 34th street.

"Ayudame." Her cracking voice was an octave above a whisper.

He released a shuddering breath before cursing quietly in Spanish.

Without giving himself a chance to change his mind, he offered her his hand. Once she took it, he helped her out of the truck and scanned their surroundings. They were in the clear, but only for a few more minutes. They needed to leave.

He turned toward her. "Vamanos."

She nodded and squeezed his hand.

Together the two of them took off running down the street and into the night.