"Greetings to all citizens of New Warren City. This is Lighthouse Beacon Radio and I am your host, the Spotlight. This is a special broadcast as I have a guest in the studio with me today. Someone who has heard our message and wants to make the city a better place. Someone who has been involved in the recent chaos besieging us all. Not as the cause, but as the flame resisting the harsh winds of corruption. Please sir, introduce yourself and greet our listeners."

  "Thank you, Spotlight. My name is Sparks of Life. Many of you may know who I am, what I do and what I've done. Many more may know me as the Crimson Lotus."

  "The same Crimson Lotus who's been identified by authorities as a serial arsonist. You've asked to speak to the city to send a message and share information, is that right?"

  "That's correct."

  "Then let's start there. Can you share with us the purpose of your acts of arson?"

  "I would love to say it was for art and community. To burn away that which is old and decayed to bring about growth and renewal. In truth, the reason is much more mundane. My fires were ordered. Assigned. Targeted. I was hired to burn down certain structures so their owners could collect the insurance money."

  "That's quite the claim! I would like to remind our listeners that what makes our broadcasts so special is the powerful force of Truth. No lies can be told on this station. What we are all hearing is undeniable, absolute Truth. So, Mister Sparks, you believe your work to be pure artistry even as it has ties to white collar crime?"

  "Yes. I never did it for the money. I did it to create something. To form art under the persona of the Crimson Lotus. I wanted a name out there. Whispered in the crowds. Lingering on the lips of the public. I wanted to spread infamy far and wide as I gained insight into my art and improved. As any good artist should be, I needed to be compensated for my work. So, why not do both at the same time?"

  "Why come forward now? What has spurred you to 'go public' as it were?"

  "I have discovered severe corruption in the city. One that runs much deeper than I initially realized. I hope to bring it into the harsh light of the public eye so that it may be burned away. To create a renewal from the ashes as I have done on many jobs before."

  "Dear listeners, to say the individual before me is complex would be an understatement. By his own admission, he has committed multiple acts of destruction without any violence fueling it. This person was used by the powerful few. A tool to be applied based on the wielder's whims. At the same time Mr. Sparks, the inspiration you have brought about is powerful. Your actions represent a change that this city has needed for some time. Many may call you a criminal but I think many more would say they've found hope. Hope for change across the entire city. We've all had our fair share of broken promises. The Crimson Lotus is here today to use his own social and financial standing to expose corruption to the light, as tinder to a bright new flame. I understand you have a list of names you'd like to read?"

  As the names were read off one by one, Buck and Krouri listened with awe and begrudging respect. Sparks was putting everyone to the coals. Lobbyists. Politicians. Business owners. Employees of the city. He even dropped his ex-butler's real name. Dozens in all and all of them being publicly accused of fraud. Every single one having hired Sparks directly or having requested him through Victor. Soon, he didn't even need to read from the list. Like an artist giving a tour through his showroom, he described each job from memory in great detail with his eyes shut tight. He finished with a solemn nod to Paul.

  "Thank you, Crimson Lotus. Thank you for sharing and arming the citizens of New Warren City with the Truth. Any final words to close out this broadcast?"

  "Yes. Sadly, this last message is a confession. It was never my intent to be in such a position but recent events have urged me to make a declaration. I caused a life to be taken. Not in malice but from inexperience. A man whom I bore no ill will towards perished from a fire I lit with my own two paws. This is something that cannot be rectified yet I have spent my life trying to atone for this egregious sin. I deeply regret what I have done. I can only ask for forgiveness from the family I've torn apart from my actions. That is why I cannot stand idly by while some two-bit nobody attempts to copy my work. Before me is a situation that desperately needs to be 'Fixed'. To be burned away and born again in the cleansing, sanguine flames of renewal. I speak to the little bitch who ran away when faced with true power. I call you out. Come and see what true creation is. Come to the place where your victory was denied. Let's see if you're truly worthy."

  "A challenge from a wielder of fire with a conscience to one without. Only time will tell what the result of that will be. As always, be safe out there New Warren City. This is the Spotlight, signing off."

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  Paul gave a thumbs up and motioned they were clear. Sparks removed his headphones and took a long, shaky breath.

  "That was...alleviating."

  The studio door banged open. Spotty barreled in, wild-eyed and grinning. "You all need to see this."

  She sprinted to the window. The others crowded in behind her. Below, New Warren City was moving. Not just stirring—rising. People spilled into the streets in clusters that merged, then swelled. Dockhands in The Stairs threw down their tools and walked off job sites, ignoring their supervisors’ shouts. Apartment balconies filled and roared. Crowds converged. A tide of furious, awakened citizens.

  Spotty pressed a hand to the glass. "Gods… it’s actually happening. Change is finally coming."

  "Look up there," Illani whispered.

  Sparks followed the direction of her finger. On the roof of a derelict factory, a couple citizens spray-painted with shimmering crimson. A massive lotus blossom. The symbol of the Crimson Lotus. Kindling weaved between his ankles, purring softly. "The bridge to my old life is well and truly destroyed now," Sparks murmured. "But so are the strings." His voice grew steady, resolute. "I’m free—to create again." He raised a hand and conjured a flicker of flame. It grew between his palms, shining through the gaps in his fingers. There was the brief smell of burning hair and after a moment, he released his hold. The flame was now a powerful roaring sphere, churning with roiling flame and purpose. Its reflected light danced across the window glass like a sunrise.

  "The artist has been recognized."

  Paul gave an awkward cough. "I don't mean to ruin the moment but I believe you all have somewhere you need to be?"

  Spotty stepped forward. "I’m going with them."

  "Same," Illani started—

  "No," Spotty said sharply, turning to her. "You’re still recovering."

  "I need to help," Illani insisted. "The truth is out—but it’s not finished. I want to see it through."

  Krouri hesitated a long moment, then gave a single nod. "Stay near the task force. Don’t wander. We don't know how Fixer is going to react to this."

  "Uhh, yeah we do!" Hazelnut said, pointing towards the park. Black smoke was rising into the air with a worrisome orange glow.

  "The park," Illani said. "He’s already there."

  Sparks flexed his neck until it popped with a crack. "Good. I hate making people wait."

  The elevator dropped like a stone. They burst into the alley and sprinted to the abandoned bus. No driver in sight—so Buck took the wheel. They weaved through half-flooded streets as civilians rushed past in the opposite direction, screaming.

  Krouri pulled out her phone and dialed someone as she held on for dear life. "Dad, you know how you wanted to go full transparency? Grab the files. ALL of them. The lid is off the pot. We're headed to the park. I love you."

  As they reached the edge of the park, the heat washed over them like an open kiln. Trees burned. Lampposts sagged. Sculptures collapsed in ruined slag. And in the middle of it all, standing atop a charred park bench, stood Fixer.

  Buck skidded the bus to a halt. "Holy—"

  Fixer watched them approach, then tore off his gas mask and roared. Green bits of paint flecked away from his neck and face, revealing raw crimson scales beneath. Filed-down horns. Glassy, reptilian eyes.

  Buck's mind raced with fragments of memories. The busboy from the diner. His scream upon finding the body of Zadron. The way his scales flecked away as he served Buck his pancakes, dry and peeling.

  "...Tim?"

  Fixer jabbed a syringe filled with glowing yellow fluid into his neck and slammed the plunger down. Champion flooded his veins. His back arched. Bones cracked. Muscles bulged and writhed beneath his skin. Smoke gushed from his maw as he doubled in size, claws lengthening to swords. Bits of glass rained from his hand as he crushed the syringe.

  His eyes—sickly yellow and full of hate—locked onto Sparks.

  And the red dragon charged.