An Exception

Of all the firefighters, the only one left beside the fire truck was the robot spider.

I'd figured it had stayed behind just to keep anyone from stealing the thing. Instead it was piloting the drones on its own and hauling the hoses into place. That, apparently, was the robot's job.

Part of me wondered if I ought to cheer it on, at least a little. But I might only get in the way, so keeping still was probably the wiser call. Of course, "keeping still" applied to my body alone.

Watching them fight the fire from outside would have been a spectacle in its own right. But the real heart of it was the firefighters who'd gone inside to save the child, wasn't it? What kind of plan would get them through those writhing flames all the way to the seventh floor? I was curious enough that I secretly stretched out my Thought-form just to follow them with my eyes.

Maybe it was the heat-resistant gear they were all wearing. At a glance I almost couldn't tell who was who. Even so, their builds were wildly different, so telling them apart was still possible.

Fire spreads from the bottom up. The lower floors had already burned themselves nearly hollow, so climbing higher wasn't that dangerous yet. But once they reached the fourth floor, the firefighters started running into real trouble. That was where they met the roaring flames head-on.

The stairs themselves didn't have much left to burn, maybe. If it weren't for the smoke choking the hallway, they could have come and gone as they pleased. What they'd been asked to do, though, was rescue an unconscious child on the seventh floor. The longer this dragged on, the slimmer that child's chances became.

The safe play would have been to keep extinguishing as they climbed. Do that, though, and the child might never open their eyes again. So the firefighters must have been torn. Follow the manual and suppress the fire first? Or dive into something far more dangerous and go after the child?

Faced with that impossible choice, they made their call.

They split up. It looked rational enough, but the truth was both operations got riskier the moment they tried to have it both ways. Pushing alone through flames you could barely see past and smoke thick enough to choke on, just to save a child — that was never going to be easy.

What if he collapsed while moving solo? The teammates putting out the fire below might catch up and pull him out. But before that, he might inhale too much smoke and suffocate, or get scorched until his life hung by a thread. They were the experts. They knew that better than I did.

And still, watching the ones silently deploying hoses and blasting suppressant, and the one climbing the stairs alone, I couldn't help getting excited. My fists clenched tight.

"Yeonmin. Can you see inside that building? The way you checked on the child's condition, too..."

I'd been completely absorbed in the firefighting and the rescue. The voice calling my name snapped me right out of it. Of all moments to speak up — Agent Park, right in the middle of something solemn. Then again, I'd been standing ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠there so still they were probably half worried and half suspicious.

Were they about to ask how I could do that while wearing restraints?

If I said their restraints were completely useless — haha! — next time they'd bring something worse. Not just locking down my hands. They might cut off all five senses and seal me entirely. So I shrugged and played dumb.

"Can't you all see it? It's a bit far, sure, but it's not like it's out of sight."

If I acted like of course I could see it, nobody would know whether the restraints were working or not. Who cared if my sensory organs were the same as a human's? As long as I didn't actually interfere over there, nothing would show.

"Mm... well, you aren't human like the rest of us, Yeonmin. I suppose you might see things we can't."

Thankfully, Agent Park talked herself into accepting it. This time, though, Helena was the problem.

"Yeonmin. Are you thinking of saving that child?"

She'd sidled up beside me and whispered it, all sly and quiet. Ah. Was this jealousy? Was she getting restless because the one who'd saved her might go save someone else? Helena being that cute made me puff out a little laugh.

"Come on, I'm all tied up like this. How am I supposed to save a child? The firefighters are already here, so I believe they'll save them. These people are heroes, you know?"

Well, honestly, it wasn't as if I couldn't save them if I tried. Even that is easier when the person actually wants to live. If they're unconscious, even that's hard. I'd have to use Thought-form to apply real physical force — and I'd never practiced controlling that kind of strength, so I might end up hurting the child while trying to save them. Leaving it to the professionals was best. For the child, for me, and for everyone else.

I'd just about managed to put Helena at ease when the robot spider hooked a hose to the hydrant and started blasting a water cannon at the burning building. I wasn't sure spraying water from outside would actually help put the fire out. But it had to be better than nothing, right?

Meanwhile I could see the flames dying down around the fourth floor. The firefighters who'd gone in were working the suppression. So what about the one who'd gone after the child alone?

That smallest firefighter. That human, all by himself. I rode the stairs upward along the Thought-form I'd secretly stretched out. The others were still putting out the fourth floor and had just started on the fifth, so there was no chance of running into me. Inside, with nobody watching, I went straight to the seventh floor.

Which is how I found myself face-to-face with the firefighter in front of the fire door from the emergency stairs to the seventh-floor hallway. Maybe the door was too hot from the heat beyond it, or maybe he ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠didn't know how big the fire was on the other side. He couldn't bring himself to open it easily.

Instead he pulled something round from his gear and stuck it to the door. Frost started spreading across the fire barrier from that spot, crackling as it went. Some kind of portable cooling device? That would be amazing in the summer.

Once the fire door was cooled, he slammed a fire axe into the upper part of it. Thud. Thud. He didn't seem to be trying to smash the door. Watching him, I realized he was trying to vent the smoke. Black soot started leaking out through the axe marks. But seeing that, the firefighter muttered, frustrated.

"Damn it. The smoke's venting way too slow. ...Screw it."

Then ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠he dropped low and yanked the fire door wide open. Naturally, the smoke that hadn't escaped yet came roaring out through the newly made passage. Like it was savoring the freedom of finally being let out, it raced up the stairs, delighted. The smoke was lighter than air, so it rose the way flames do. Even so, it couldn't have left the firefighter lying flat on the floor completely untouched.

"Cough, cough... I can't... pass out..."

Ah. This person was poisoned too. They say when there's a fire you have to watch for suffocation more than burns. That must have been it. Most people who die at fire scenes lose consciousness and never make it out. Should I take comfort that at least they didn't die in the agony of burning? Or grieve that they never even got a chance to run?

Listening to the coughing, to a voice growing fainter and fainter, it was getting harder and harder for me to just sit still. Ah. This was it — that painful flavor of watching humans thrash and struggle. And at the same time, I was growing desperate too.

Please. Make a wish. The way every dying soul does.

Was it answering my hope? Or just crying out a last scrap of hope? The firefighter tried to get up somehow, then crumpled, muttering.

The moment I heard that voice, a shiver ran through me.

Every girl I'd saved until now had wanted revenge. Children ready to throw everything away just to snuff out someone else's life with their own hands. So I'd given them their lives back so they could have that revenge.

But here, in a situation where he might die himself — how sacred was it, to wish for someone else's life? I usually don't grant wishes unless it's a girl. But I tend to make exceptions for cases like this.

So I reached out with my Thought-form and touched the firefighter. She shuddered for a moment, then sprang to her feet as if she'd forgotten she'd been suffocating a second ago. But the body inside the protective gear had shrunk until "slight" was genuinely the right word.

And still, without a flicker of hesitation, she plunged into the flames. She smashed in the front door of the apartment I had pointed out with her fire axe, scooped up the child who had collapsed trying to escape through it, and the time it took her to drop low again and make it back to the stairs was a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠single blink.

She came down the stairs without even caring that her body had shrunk. The moment that figure appeared at the first-floor entrance of the apartment, the robot spider snatched up an oxygen respirator and bolted that way. Well. Eight legs does make you pretty fast.

Faster still was the child's mother, the instant she saw her kid coming out in the firefighter's arms.

"Aigoo, my son! Thank you, thank you..."

Watching that, I found myself smiling, all proud, even though I wasn't the one who'd saved them.

"Yeonmin. There definitely wasn't a woman among those firefighters. That was you—"

Until Helena whispered it to me in secret.