[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/XV1PIyT.jpg?2[/img][/center]

The church wasn't the only fire the Fireflies started yesterday night. As I slept, three other places of worship went up in flames, and now they lay in ash across the city. From what Peter can gleam from the police scanners, the fires and explosions were so hot that they left absolutely no trace or clue on how they were ignited. Not surprising. Why would anything be easy? Why would there ever be any actual clues? Nah, better to make me run across the city in a wild goose chase instead. That's the better use of everyone's time.

The video doesn't tell us anything, either. It was clearly recorded before the attacks actually happened, and the mask and voice modulator makes it impossible to tell who actually is speaking. Pete has been trying to find out who uploaded the video to YouTube, but so far all he's found is a bunch of pings from public wifi locations. Whoever the Firefly is, he or she is one hell of a smart cookie.

I'm still not sold it's multiple people. The mask, the phony cult speech, and the plural name is all a smokescreen, if you ask me. Just a distraction to make the cops chase down some new, wacky church in the dark corners of the city, while whoever Firefly really is goes around burning everything his heart desires. Probably nothing more than a pyro with some fancy equipment.

[color=f26522]"Can you believe how close we were?"[/color] MJ says from beside me as she pops a french fry into her mouth. [color=f26522]"We could have been incinerated in a blink of an eye!"[/color]

[color=ec008c]"Yea, well,"[/color] I shrug, deep in my own thoughts, [color=ec008c]"I guess after a bald, naked, silver alien drops out of the sky and plays around with the strongest heroes in the world, a lot of people's worldviews will go haywire. Must be some religious nut who can't handle the fact that science is swiftly overtaking what we all thought was possible a few months ago."[/color]

I've been trying to keep my mind off the appearance of the Silver Surfer. Partly because I have enough on my plate with Spider-Woman, Peter, school, Dad, and everything else. But I'd be lying if part of my desire to keep it from dwelling in my mind is because I would have stood no chance in hell if the alien had decided to drop into Times Square and put me through his test. It's a reminder that while I may be powerful, there are things out there that can wipe the floor with me. I may enjoying playing the plucky, punk underdog who fights to the last, but I'd rather not end up smashed on the windshield of a chrome, cosmic god.

More frightening than what would happen to me in that case, however, would be what would happen to the people who I protect. What happens when someone like the Surfer brings down the Empire State Building or something? I may not have been alive when 9/11 happened, but I know if I was and had my powers, I would have tried to help people. And probably would have failed miserably doing so. I can't match up with someone like that, and if I can't, who knows how bad things could get.

My comment about worldviews isn't far from the mark, I think. His appearance has changed everything. For one, the first meeting of superheroes has given people hope that even if someone like this shows up again, we will have a chance. That would be the good news, of course. 

The rest is hearsay and rumor, but enough of it is hitting home for me to know that it's got some truth to it. I've heard Dad whisper about new arms and ammunition coming into the NYPD from some technological think tank to combat metahumans and be ready for any invasion. To say it has me on edge is a ridiculous understatement. If Dad and the NYPD are getting new toys, it's almost a certainty that governments across the world are scrambling to catch up to the new paradigm.

And considering human history, when scared, powerful men rush to keep up, bad things happen.

[color=f26522]"Well, I think it's crazy how crazy things have gotten,"[/color] MJ sighs, clearly trying to grab more attention than I'm giving her. I continue to mostly be off in my own world, so she throws something at me I can't ignore, [color=f26522]"Speaking of crazy I hear you're starting at the loony bin tomorrow."[/color]

She's, of course, talking about my new internship at the Ravencroft Institute on Stryker's Island. I've been counting down the days until it starts, and the Firefly incident actually has me more excited, in a morbid way. I want to know how these kind of people think. Not just because that means they'll be easier to catch, but maybe easier to help as well. It's a pipe dream, probably, but it's worth a shot. Plus, I don't know what else I'm going to do with my life.

I shoot her a dirty look, [color=ec008c]"It's a center for the criminally insane, MJ. Loony bin isn't something you should say anymore. These people are sick. They need help. Well, most of them are."[/color]

My mind floats back to Max Dillon. What he did to those people. What my dad went through trying to catch him. He may be insane, but he does not deserve pity. I'm not sure he deserves help. 

Maybe that's another reason I'm excited to learn from Doctor Kafka. Sometimes we need to see beyond our feelings and search for empathy where we have none.

[center]**********[/center]

Ravencroft lies on an island in the middle of the East River, shared with Stryker's Island Prison. The facility is one of the most secure in the country, and actually has a good record in rehabilitating its prisoners and patients. Still, it's an imposing sight as I cross the bridge towards the main building.

Ravencroft sits in an old Victorian mansion, once the home of some nineteenth century oil tycoon. The structure's flowing architecture dominates the island. At the center of the house is a large, imposing spire, with a rust red roof sticking like a spear into the sky. On both sides are long, low wings. The building almost looks like a volcanic eruption, with the blacks and greys of its bricks mixing with the red of its roof.

[color=7bcdc8]"You be careful in there,"[/color] Dad says as he drops me off. [color=7bcdc8]"You know the kind of people they have in here."[/color]

I give him a big hug and smile, [color=ec008c]"Relax. I'm mostly just here to observe. I'm not going to have contact with anyone."[/color]

[color=7bcdc8]"Yea, well, I know you,"[/color] he gives me an amused look. [color=7bcdc8]"You tend not to listen to what you're told."[/color]

[color=ec008c]"Yea, well, when mass murders and the like are the other option, I think I'll behave."[/color]

[color=7bcdc8]"I'll keep that in mind for the next time I catch one."[/color]

[color=ec008c]"Okay, Dad,"[/color] I feign annoyance. [color=ec008c]"That's not creepy at all."[/color]

Closing the door, I make my way towards the entrance of the asylum. It seems to loom over the entire island like a huge monster. It blocks out the sun as I move through the front gate and towards the front door. The double doors look like a mouth ready to swallow everyone who steps through them. For a place that actually helps people control their minds, this place is scary as hell to walk into. I just have to hope it's way nicer on the inside.

As the doors open in front of me, the inside is indeed more comforting. It's clinical, of course, as any hospital would be. But there seems to be an energy about the place. A calming energy that soothes. It could be my desires playing on my mind, but the inside does not match the outside. It's clear significant money has been poured into the hospital to bring it into the modern age. The halls are white and clean, with a modern design flair in the common spaces. Clean lines and soothing furniture adorns the walls and spaces.

Standing by the front desk waiting for me is Doctor Ashley Kafka, head of the Institute. A long white lab coat flows down her slender body, covering meager khakis and a blouse underneath. She stands about my height, with dark hair in a messy pixie cut, glasses hanging on the edge of her nose.

She looks up and smiles politely at me, [color=fff79a]"Ms. Stacy! I'm glad to see you made it. Welcome to Ravencroft."[/color]

[color=ec008c]"Thank you, Doctor Kafka,"[/color] I take her hand as she presents it. [color=ec008c]"I'm really excited to get started."[/color]

[color=fff79a]"Please, call me Ashley,"[/color] she waves away the use of her formal title. She begins to walk the halls and I follow her. [color=fff79a]"People like to complain about not being called doctor after all that training, but it helps people to trust me. Here, trust can be everything. Without talking in good faith, none of our patients can really make any progress."[/color]

We tour the halls of the hospital, and I marvel at how the treatment rooms are so informal. It's clear the idea is to make the patients as comfortable as possible. The rooms have couches, TVs, water coolers. They're leagues different from what you'd see in the movies or TV. It's more like a hotel than a hospital, made even more remarkable by the fact that this place houses some of the most dangerous people in the world.

[color=ec008c]"I don't see anything to restrain the prisoners,"[/color] I comment. [color=ec008c]"Do you really risk getting into the room with them?"[/color]

[color=fff79a]"We have experimental restraints,"[/color] Kafka explains. [color=fff79a]"Any sudden movements or movements outside the range we allow result in the loss of motor control. Totally painless, but ensures we stay safe in our sessions. Again, we want to give them as much freedom as possible. Some cases we can't allow that much, but we try the best we can. We cannot hope to treat and cure these men and women without treating them like human beings. Showing them that the world around them is sane helps them to grip reality. And that's all we can really hope for."[/color]