Sorry if this is a bit less refined, the grammar and spelling are probably a bit more flawed than the last one. I tried to keep the focus more on Sam, as well as more directly introducing Braden
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The detainee walked slowly, his armed escorts matching the pace beside him. An older man with a set of standard kevlar body armor stood a bit further back, his hand on his holster. He was the only one not outfitted in fireproof gear. The others wore Kevlar body armor that was normally worn when defusing bombs, making them blast resistant. The center of the entourage had handcuffs that were too tight and hair that was too short. It was a chestnut brown except where it had been burned. His clothes were close to tatters, and not decent in the least. Wretched burns of almost every degree covered his bodies, and his inconsistent gait conveyed his pain well.

Sam observed all this from his desk, and had to feel bad for the boy. He couldn't have been more than seventeen, yet he had been cursed with the ability to control fire without being fireproof in the least. The psychiatrist had called it "pyrokinetics" or something reminiscent of that phrase. The boy and his entourage went around the corner and left Sam's line of sight with hard footsteps. The dark haired detective took out his notepad from his top left desk drawer and wrote quickly, mumbling to himself all the while.

"A call went up around an 13:30 reporting a burning building. An older lady who lived across the street from the building.
13:45 - a young boy was found in the wreckage of a burning building. The first to arrive on the scene observed him keeping the heat away from himself using some sort of supernatural ability. Firefighters carefully moved the boy, letting paramedics on scene treat him as best they could. Unfortunately an order from the FBI prevented them from bringing anyone with supposed supernatural powers from being treated at a normal hospital.
14:00 - Soon after being treated the FBI showed up and began questioning the boy. Though nothing has been disclosed officially by the FBI (and probably won't be) a firefighter heard them discussing the burned down building. Not ground breaking in the least.
14:20 - The FBI radioed for and received backup as well as transport for the boy. Armed soldiers showed up and escorted the boy to the police station in a armored vehicle. Despite his wounds. This kind of treatment of suspects is very inhumane, and calls for a review of how these people are being treated."

"You busy Sam?"

A gruff voice interrupted Sam's quick writing. A frown formed on his face as he turned around.

"Am I allowed to once again lament how much easier this work used to be?" Sam asked, through almost closed teeth. His voice was higher pitched then most men, and a majority didn't let him forget it. "I liked my job much more when people couldn't leap buildings in a single bound. When we didn't have to account for the paranormal, and arson cases didn't involve finding out if any of the pyromaniacs had broken their parole. Do you remember when a perfect bank robbery was impossible?"

A deep breath escaped Sam's lips, watching the older detective smile at the question. His name was Braden, and he was going on fifty. His facial expressions were always soft, and it was rare when he didn't smile. "The kid. His parents are- ahem were. Were both doctors, he does well in school and then this shit happens. He said he just got it, no occurrence, then his house gets burned down."

Sam nodded slowly, his frown lingering. "So the kid is a liar, on at least one count. Everyone gets 'occurrences' or 'visions' when they get their powers, whatever they really are. We know this pretty well from multiple sources, not least of which the Doc. He isn't an exception; he is probably fibbing as much as he can, as if it will save him. Every police station we know of got the same briefing. Occurrences seem to be tied with how people get their powers. Strange visions, that other people with powers can see if they're nearby." A long sigh left Sam's lips, as he glanced in the direction the boy had disappeared to. "You gonna talk to him? Or are you gonna make me do it?"

"Why don't you give it a shot?" Braden asked, making it out to be an opportunity as opposed to a chore. Sam didn't see it that way.

"Of course, Major." He replied, pulling his clothes tighter around him. His brown trenchcoat was as dull as the suit he wore underneath, the black tie contrasting the white shirt only barely. They were both grungy as hell. Sam shrugged off Braden's wandering eyes and slowly made his way after the boy. Normally people like him would be held in a more secure environment, but the FBI had filled their containment cells already. The hall light flickered above him as he put his hand on the door to the room where they had placed the boy. Armed agents stood on either side of the door, watching him carefully, but Sam ignored them as he entered. It was a smaller room, the table in the middle half occupied and occupying; the first was being done by the young boy and the second by the table to the room.

The boy looked tired, but his eyes warily observed Sam as he took his seat. "Are you thirsty?" Common decency had to be expected  All the boy offered was a nod of confirmation, nothing more. Sam stood up and walked to the door, and opened it. Peeking out, he quickly requested the water from one of the agents and was sat down again before they could respond.

The door shut via its own weight, the sound echoing in the small room. One-way glass was behind Sam, and a trashcan sat in the corner. "It was an accident, wasn't it?" Sam asked quietly, trying to be respectful. The boy was probably in shock, and he just wanted to go home. Unfortunately that wasn't currently an option, as even Sam didn't have the authority to bring him home.

The boy lifted his eyes to meet the detective's, and left them there; They were an intense, piercing, blue and Sam felt something change. It was as if he had stood up too fast after sitting for too long, and his gaze appeared to be through a long dark tunnel, which was growing longer every second. Darkness overtook him but not peacefully like falling asleep. Forcefully like a car crash.
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