<em>Out of order.</em><br/><br/>Preston stared, unbelieving, at the bright yellow sign plastered over the elevator.  He hadn't even seen it at first; he must have jammed the button at least four times before he realized something was wrong.  It was an old elevator, you had to hit the call button just so to get it to light up.  When you were riding it felt as if the entire thing was slowly shaking apart, and the occasional ping of metal bouncing down the shaft as it laboriously climbed to the top floors always sent a shiver down his spine.  He had complained to other tenants on his daily trips in the death machine, all of them agreeing the elevator needed to be replaced and how it was a crime they were forced to ride the thing.<br/><br/>He drew his jacket tighter around him, glancing at the door to the stairs as it swung open.  Maria stepped out, the gorgeous bank girl that lived on the second floor.  From here he could smell the floral scent drifting off her ebony locks, mixing with the smell of ketchup and frying grease that he carried.  He quickly pulled the McDonald's hat off his head, hoping by some measure that she wouldn't see him.  Six months ago, he remembered telling her about how his major was going at Mercy Island State University, even letting it slip that he had a good internship coming up with one of the studios down in Summer Bluff.  If those dark eyes dropped on him and spotted the mess his life had become since leaving school, he was pretty sure he would die.  She smiled at him briefly and moved along, leaving a whirl of intoxicating scents behind her.  He sighed and watched her leave before passing through the door himself, trudging up the stairs and complaining silently about how he couldn't use the elevator.<br/><br/>His tiny apartment was on the ninth floor, a one bedroom flat had once been easy enough to afford with the allotments off his student loans.  He remembered thinking what a steal it was, filling it with computers and televisions and video games almost as quickly as he could get the money in hand.  Now there was little more than a couch in the living area, and an old card table near the kitchen with bucket seats like you find in a bus terminal to sit on.  His books, the last treasures he would ever sell, were stacked neatly against the walls.  They stood in quiet dignity like the skyscrapers of the city, impervious to time and entropy, waiting for the time they would be returned to their proper place among the bookcase shrines they once commanded.  Everything else, aside from the bed surrounded by piles of clothes in the adjoining room, had been sold.  Everything that could go had so that he could afford to finish off his lease and eat before hopefully finding somewhere cheaper to live.<br/><br/>He dropped on the couch and closed his eyes, letting the late afternoon sun wash over his face.  He stank; he wanted nothing more than to take a hot shower and just forget about what his day-time life had become, but a wave of apathy so powerful washed over him that even that simple pleasure was too much of a trial.  He began sinking into a little self induced pity, and eventually it took longer for his eyes to recover from each blink.  When he opened his eyes again it was much later, artificial light streaming in from the darkened skyline beyond his balcony.  A low smile cracked his face, and eagerness rushed through him as he jumped from the couch and ran to his bedroom, stripping away the mustard-caked uniform and kicking his sensible non-slip work shoes to the corner.  Naked, he pulled his thin mattress up by the edge and reached in for the cool comfortable material hidden beneath.<br/><br/>The garment was red and black, a cool flexible material that was stronger than leather but just as flexible as spandex.  His fingers ran over the red sun at the center, across the flame-like design that stood scarlet against a black background.  It still felt new to him, so different from what he used to wear in a different life, more alien to him than that of the mundane fast-food worker he was moments ago.  He pulled the trousers up over, sliding across his thin muscular frame like a glove and then slid into the top.  He dug through the clothes and found his boots and gloves, a matching set of black leather with straps that kept them in place to either elbow or knee, respectively.  With those on he lifted his cape, a scarlet red length with a black cowl at neck, open to let his hair through and covering just enough so that no one could see the man inside.<br/><br/>The Living Blaze stepped from the shell of Preston Scott, glancing at himself with a wide grin that anyone would call infectious, his boyish sense of wonder and adventure returned in the moments it took to transform.  He stepped to his balcony, glancing around to make sure no one was looking and slid over the edge into the cool embrace of the night sky.  As the ground rushed towards him he let fly the energies the coursed within him, heating the air around him and rising effortless back into the sky as if carried by the warm wind itself.  He glided lazily, rolling and drifting on his back as the building rolled past.  Three or four blocks away from his home he yelled in triumph, his eyes igniting in a burst of fire as he reached inside and pulled the flames out, an explosion of flame igniting the current he glided on and propelling him forward with the speed of a jet.<br/><br/>It was time to patrol the city.  It was time to be free.