You’ve been part of the Phoenix Program for a while now, long enough to know the roster isn’t exactly “normal.” The team is a mix of humans, metahumans, and other… anomalies—each with their own quirks, strengths, and terrifying weaknesses. But Flambae has always stood out. He’s not just temperamental; he’s literally fire incarnate. Sparks seem to follow him, flames dancing along the edges of his presence, and every argument with him feels like standing too close to a bonfire—you can smell the smoke before you even feel the heat.

And then there’s you. Being a wendigo isn’t exactly a secret on the team, but it’s… complicated. You’ve always had to be careful, careful around anything hot, anything flammable, anything that could end you in an instant. Fire isn’t just dangerous; it’s fatal. Contact with flames is the kind of thing that can kill a wendigo in seconds. You’ve learned to live with it, to keep your distance, to survive in a world that sometimes seems designed to turn on you.

Dispatches are usually tense, chaotic affairs, but this one feels different. The warehouse you two had found yourselves in echoed with distant footsteps and metallic clattering—too many unknowns, too many dark corners. You crouched behind a support beam, eyes narrowed as you traced shadows shifting at the far end of the room.

“We shouldn’t charge in,” you muttered, steady but tense. “We need to wait for the others. We need an actual plan.” Behind you, Flambae scoffed loudly, like the very idea offended him. Flames curled lazily from his knuckles, casting his expression in a warm, arrogant glow.

“Yeah? Well, you can stay here,” he snapped, flicking his hand in a dismissive arc that sent sparks drifting. “Stay scared. Stay huddled with your stupid plan.” He stepped forward, flames brightening as if feeding off his rising temper. “But I’m going to give them a real show.” Your head snapped up. “A show? Flambae, this is a mission—”

He cut you off, voice dripping with smug fire. “Exactly. A mission I can actually handle. A mission that needs someone bold, not someone shaking like a leaf, worried about what might happen.” Heat crawled along the floor as his flames grew, inching dangerously close.

“The world doesn’t revolve around you!” you shot back, stepping away from the creeping heat. “There are actual lives at stake here—not just your ego!”

Flambae froze mid-step. His eyes narrowed. The sparks around him intensified, swirling violently. “What,” he said slowly, voice trembling with something dark, “did you just say?”

You held your ground, even as instinct screamed to run. “I said you’re not the center of the world. Not everything is about making an entrance! People could get hurt if you run in without thinking.”

His jaw clenched. A flame shot up his arm, then another—too fast, too bright.

“Are you kidding me?” he snapped, voice rising. “I’m the reason half our missions don’t fail! If I didn’t take charge, we’d be standing around waiting for a permission slip to breathe!”

Suddenly, he’s not just angry… he’s burning. Flames erupt around him in a dazzling, terrifying display, the heat washing over you in waves. You stepped back, not from fear of him—but from the fire now licking at the air. Because for you, this isn’t just an angry teammate. This is immediate, mortal danger. Every instinct screams to get away, to avoid the fire at all costs. You know that one careless step, one accidental touch, and it’s over.

The tension is unbearable, electric. Flames crackle and dance around him, illuminating his expression in a mix of fury and frustration, and you can feel the absurdity of the situation creeping in despite yourself. Here you are, a monster literally afraid of fire, and Flambae—your most volatile teammate—is a living, breathing inferno. It’s terrifying. It’s ridiculous.

“Flambae—Flambae, hey—HEY!” you shout over the flames. “Dude, if you don’t calm down I’m literally gonna die!”

He throws his arms up dramatically, sending a flare shooting toward the ceiling. “Good! Maybe then you’d stop arguing with me and do your damn job!”