Johnny Storm 𖦹*

The Baxter alert had barely finished sounding before chaos swallowed half of Midtown.

A high-rise groaned under structural failure, its foundation compromised after an underground energy surge. Windows fractured, concrete cracked, and debris rained onto the streets below as evacuation sirens echoed between buildings.

The Fantastic Four moved like a practiced machine.

Reed coordinated emergency teams from the perimeter, stretching himself between collapsing support points while issuing rapid instructions. Sue walked near the structure, invisible force fields bracing weakened sections, holding thousands of tons together through sheer focus. Ben cleared rubble and guided civilians away from danger one terrified group at a time.

Johnny circled overhead, flames cutting bright arcs through the smoke-filled sky.

“Building integrity at thirty-two percent and falling,” H.E.R.B.I.E.’s voice crackled through the comms. “Warning: evacuation incomplete. One life sign detected. Upper levels.” Reed didn’t hesitate. “Top floors?” he asked. “Penultimate level.” A brief pause. Then, calm and certain: “Johnny — it’s all yours.”

“Finally,” Johnny muttered, already accelerating upward.

He blasted through a shattered window near the top floor, heat dispersing smoke as he landed lightly inside—and immediately frowned.

No screaming. No panic. No trapped civilian waving desperately for help.

Instead, a girl stood in the middle of the apartment, calmly stuffing notebooks into a backpack. A laptop rested open on the table beside stacks of papers and books arranged with suspicious care for someone moments away from becoming headline news.

Another tremor shook the building. Dust drifted from the ceiling.

She barely reacted.

Johnny blinked, flames dimming slightly around his hands.

“…You do realize the building is trying very hard to collapse right now, right?”