A Chance of Fire

Chance, a normal, loving, peaceful reporter sits down at his desk frantically pressing the keys of glory with his white, pasty fingers. Sweat slowly drips down his cheeks, while his blue eyes gaze at an unmoving screen. His right hand gently lifts from the keys to move a black mouse on its pad, which moves a black blinking cursor slowly across the screen, making its way to the end of the page before starting fresh, free, and white as can be.

Chance, a fearsome French warrior whose dashed personality raises hell through his computer, his brand spanking new camera, and his ID that dangles around his neck, does his job well. He would like to think that smashing those keys with the anger of a thousand pissed rhinoceroses would make his article look interesting, but knowing that the deadline for his next article was approaching did not make those sweaty palms move faster.  All he needed was this night to remain calm. No distractions, no national weather emergencies, no sudden computer malfunctions; just him and his retro monitor that hummed every hour he used it.

Chance was twenty-five. He had been a reporter for his hometown for a short while. The staff knew him all by name, especially Nice, whose tom-boyish attitude sparked a flare of hope in his day. Yet, sometimes, that flare was entirely unnecessary. In fact, it happened to be all—

"Another late night with your computer, Chance?"

He sighed—by chance. "I hope you weren't expecting to sneak up on me doing something interesting, Nice."

The young woman, whose brown hair accompanied her blue eyes that glimmered in the night's white glow, poked her head around the cubicle's entrance and peered at her friend. "Typing isn't all that bad."

Chance, who was in mid-stroke of typing the word "pleasant", relinquished his keyboard and turned to Nice. Her clean young face was sporting a very arched eyebrow. "What?"

"If you're typing an interesting story, then the whole process of doing it isn't bad!" she exclaimed, smiling. The rest of her small frame appeared in front of Chance. "Come on, let's see it."

He frowned. Another night at the office. "All right, have a look."

She smiled and shoved him aside, which ultimately made him tense, violated, and mildly confused. He stared at her with the face of a child whose toy was tossed into the evil neighbor's yard. "How dare you shove—"

"Oh, get over it, Chance," she said while her eyes were glued to what he had typed. "You'll get over my shove tomorrow morning when we go to get some Denny's."

She was right. He would. He would forget her rude stunt and go back to typing. Was he accepting of it? No, but he was tolerating it. Maybe he had to start caring about her shoving him so she'd stop stalling him. He could be using his time more efficiently so he didn't have to stay in the hours of the night furiously bashing his keyboard to bits.  Maybe—

Did she say Denny's?

His stomach, who was quiet for the entire time, roared mightily at the sound of the word "Denny's" being uttered at such a late time.

"Sounds like your stomach agrees."

"Shut up," Chance replied, sparking a giggle from Nice. While she read his "magnificent" article, Chance was leaning on the remaining spot by the computer, holding onto the side for dear life. His arm, still locked into the 'I thought I fell but I'm still up' position, was shaking from the shove. He sighed and carefully moved it. As he did, the jitters—his arm was being a spas—slowly subsided, leaving him with his normal arm once again. With a smile not on his face, he turned to Nice to see her eyes not on the screen. She had finished it already, and she was smiling at him. This wasn't a good sign.

"Chance, you said I wouldn't be interested." She rolled over to his side and nudged him lightly. "I didn't know you would lie to me like that!"

Chance smiled at her. "Lying can sometimes be my specialty, Nice. Speaking of, how was it not bad? I want to make it as dull as possible so that the readers don't stalk me on Twitter for more information."

She groaned. "You really think writing about a portal to a new dimension would get your readers bored?"

"Do people really buy into this sort of reporting?" he asked, head swimming at the thought he was doing the exact opposite of being an everyday reporter.

Nice facepalmed. "Did you really fail Human Communications 101?"

Chance nodded. "Had to take it twice."

"I wasn't asking for an answer!" she shouted, holding her hand closer to her face. Slowly, the small hand slid off her red face—probably red from dealing with Chance—while her right brow twitched in agony. "Look, you wrote something more than just interesting. This sounds one hundred percent legit!"

Chance let out a chuckle. "You'd think I'd lie to you, Nice?" he said as he stood up and carried his white mug to the break room.

Nice stood up and followed her friend. "You just told me it was one of your specialties," she answered calmly. "Unless you don't have a specialty that is truthful?"

He sighed. "Definitely not one you'd like to hear."

"What might that be, Chance? What is your specialty?"

He smiled and lifted his mug in front of her face. "Being a professional coffee drinker."

She chuckled. "A professional coffee drinker?" The two stopped in front of a coffee dispenser. "You know how ludicrous that talent sounds?"

Chance lowers the cup under the dispenser's nozzle. "At least it isn't as bad as the article I typed."

The coffee began to be reborn, splashing into the white mug of an anxious, tired, and beat-up reporter. His mug carried its sweet delectable liquid while the conversation between the two friends continued raging on into self-hate and lies.

"Chance, your article is awesome."

"No, it's absolute shit. If I turned it in with the quality I typed, I would be fired in an instant." He gazed at the mug. "Besides, who would read that garbage?"

Suddenly, the counter shook with the strength of an earthquake. Nice, who was farther from Chance just a second ago now stood closer to him, her breath tickling his nose hairs. "Not only did I read it, but I would go with you to see the portal." She stopped standing on her tip-toes, gazed at the coffee dispenser, and with a squeal before her remark, she screamed, "Is that decaf?!"

Chance sighed as the final few drops enter his mug. "No, it's regular. Decaf is too cheap for this office."

She sighed after hearing those comforting words fall from Chance's mouth. "Phew, you had me worried that you were an amateur coffee drinker."

Chance smirked as he lifted his cup from the dispenser and placed it on the counter. While carefully snapping the traveler's lid—the old lid was bent anyway—on top with a loud click, he asked freely, "So, why are you here?" He looked over at Nice. "You don't have any new stories you have to type up, since you told me you already turned yours in yesterday."

Nice gasped quietly. "I-I was curious to see where you were at!" Her hand slowly slipped from the counter. "And I wanted to know if we—"

"Nice," Chance said, cutting her off. "You know we split up months ago."

She cringed. "I'm sorry..." She looked down, while her hand gravitated to her hair, twiddling with each strand. "I just thought we could... be together again, just this once."

He sighed. That's what she always said. Just this once, Chance. Just this once. She always did this before she walked away into the night, hoping for another bite at another man. She didn't know what commitment meant if it bit her in the rear end, but Chance knew she was committed as a friend; the best friend he ever had. "I'm happy you'd like to try again for the third time. But I'll pass."

"C-Chance...." She watched as he moved past her, his mug clasped between his hands. "How about we just go as friends?"

Chance stopped, his head spinning from all those times she romanced him; the kisses, the hugs, the long hours sitting on their bed loving each other, before they slipped into not one, but three consecutive arguments that stabbed their relationship straight in the heart. Those arguments tainted his mind more than the loving moments.

He wished they never existed.

"Sure. We'll meet at Denny's at nine-thirty sharp." He turned around and headed to his left. "Don't be late, Nice."

Behind him, all he heard was squeals of happiness and joy.

Morning had arrived. It was late, like always. The sun hadn't been burning so hot lately, so the temperature had resisted breaking the 'oh shit, we need some A/C!' point and instead lay comfortably at a seasonal average stat of seventy degrees fahrenheit. As it had rose, so did Chance, who was, like usual, submerged in his covers, wishing that the sun was away while he gathered just a few more minutes of rest. Like usual, he slowly crawled out of the sheets—almost bumping his head on the frame in the process--and assuming an upright position to adjust his nightwear.

"Drool," he grumbled as he spotted the adversary's streak down the front of his shirt. He sighed, wiped his face clean of leftover slobber—if there was any—and slowly waddled into the bathroom, where he woke the angered french man within him.

"Merde, Chance. Un petit merdeux, es-toi!?"

He splashed some water on his face, soaking his skin. "Ugh, Nice would slap me if she heard that."

Another splash; it soaked his skin. "Yet again, she always keeps me in line."

With a towel, he wiped his face clean and without a moment to spare, he climbed into the shower and washed away the pains of yesterday.

Chance parked his car at the Denny's parking lot. It was pretty full, considering this was the only breakfast eatery in the entire town, but he hadn't expected it to be as full as it was. He had garnered one of the few spots remaining, which probably angered the family behind him, whose mini-van hummed when he turned off his four door sedan. Figures, he thought, as he opened up his car door. People didn't like his car nor his parking spot recognition. Oh well, they'll have to deal with it.

After looking both ways (he didn't want to get run over by the same angered mini-van driver), Chance crossed the lot of hell before landing on the safe sidewalk of the restaurant. He smiled, turned, and waited for—

"Chance!"

He sighed. "You always arrive earlier than me."

She came to his side, her head titled slightly to the left. "What do you mean? You said I shouldn't be late!"

"So you came early?"

She paused. Her finger slowly gravitated for her hair again, wrapping itself in a cocoon of her long hair. "I just... wanted to go in together. It just looks bad when you walk in alone..."

Chance looked at her eyes. He knew her reasoning. She wanted to be closer to him so she could feel like they were together for that time. It was her lure. It was her way of getting back together; she wanted him.

He didn't want her like that.

"You could've reserved a booth for us," Chance said, throwing another metaphorical dagger at Nice, who took it to her heart. He noticed her frown: one that she had worn when they were breaking up. For some reason, though, he did not feel her hurt. He felt nothing except his stomach growling, his mind asking the waiter that did not exist at that very moment what types of pancakes do they serve, and his heart was trying to calculate blood amounts without spilling it into the wrong tube.

It isn't to say that Chance didn't care that he had caused his best friend to be sad, though. So he did what he should do: wrapped his arm around her and gave her a noogie.

"H-Hey!" she hollered while trying to bat away Chance's arms. "Stop that!"

"Then stop being sad," Chance replied, pulling her close.

"Do I have a choice?" Nice asked, her frown beginning to come around.

Her question was answered by a noogie and a loud growling monster.

She smiled—just enough—and said, "Alright, Chance. Let's go inside. I can hear your stomach rumbling."

"My stomach isn't—"

The monster growled again.

"Sounds like Sovereign is more than ready," Nice said with a jab to Chance's side.

He growled. "Shut up and let's get inside." He walked towards the door. "My stomach is calling for a meeting with ten different varieties of pancakes and bacon."

"Is their ambassador going to visit you too?" Nice asked as she strolled up alongside Chance.

"Not if we keep stalling!" he replied while bursting through Denny's glass doors.

She laughed heartily as she joined him in finding a waiter to annoy. Together, the two were inseparable, undefeated in gaming—she owned the console, not him—and...

"WHAT?!"

...they were the most impatient human beings on the planet.

"What do you mean we have to wait for five minutes?!" Chance shouted.

The skinny, young waiter whose name tag was clearly upside down stood in front of them with a bead of sweat dripping down his forehead. "Another family just took the last table. There should be a—"

"Chance, stop stressing out the kind waiter," Nice said, waving her finger in front of Chance's nose. Her finger poked him straight in the nostril, but she didn't jump back in disgust. No, she kept it there to see if he would move first.

"Nice, what are you doing?" he asked while looking at the finger wedged in his nostril.

"I'm 'fingering' you, Chance," she said with a giggle, which made Chance and the waiter's jaws drop. "Too much?"

"Scott, could you please notify the next guests their boooooth..."

The scene was perfect. Nice, who had kept her finger in Chance's nostril, stared at the new intruder with her eyes half-lidded, while the two boys, who were still awestruck from Nice's lewd behavior, stared into space. A few customers had been watching the scene. Some were disgusted by Nice's choice words and actions, but some were laughing in hysterics. One customer even was choking on his pancake while a much stronger man stood over him performing the heimlich maneuver. It was a great time.

"What is going on here!"

Except for the general manager, who stopped the fun right in its tracks.

Nice, not aware that she had her finger still lodged in Chance's nasal cavity, spoke her mind, "Fingering."

Aware that Nice just stated it bluntly, Chance, while pulling out the finger, said, "Pardon her, monsieur, she's just a bit overwhelmed."

The general manager's eyebrows formed into two parallel slants. "Scott, get these two their tables..."

"Oh thank you so much sir," Chance said happily. "I finally am able to quell this angered—"

"...and a fine."

"A fine?" Nice asked.

Scott nodded and proceeded to give them their table, which was in the farthest corner from the entrance. Once he gave them their table, Scott left with a polite greeting, their menus, and their little piece of paper: the fine.

Chance sat down, read the paper slip,  and groaned. "Fifteen dollars for disturbing the peace."

Nice frowned and sat across from him. "I'm sorry..."

"I would say it's not your fault, but it clearly is," Chance said with a matching frown. "That doesn't mean I can't accept your apology."

Nice's frown slowly turned to a smile. "Thanks, Chance." She looked around to see some customers glaring at them, but they quickly hid behind their menus or turned back to their conversations. "Are people mad at me?"

Chance smiled. "If they are, let them."

There couldn't have been a better thing to say.

After their meal, the two left the establishment with full stomachs.

"That ambassador sure was tasty," Chance muttered to the air.

Nice giggled. "Did Sovereign like it too?"

Chance paused. "You're hooked on that Mass Effect game, aren't you?"

"Of course!" Nice replied giddily. "Who do you think I am?"

"A bad influence," Chance answered flatly.

Nice jabbed Chance in his side. "Look who's talking!"

The two laughed heartily as they returned to Chance's car. Nice smiled. "So, I want to go visit the portal. Mind taking me there?"

"And leave your car parked at Denny's?"

"Chance, I didn't take my car," Nice said, earning her a confused look (brow raised higher than he could normally raise it) from Chance. "I took the bus?"

"You took the bus?" Chance asked in mock surprise. He knew her car wasn't ready yet. It still needed new brake lines placed before it could even move out of her driveway. Yet she was mechanically inept, so her luck had to be placed within her friend Len, who owned his car repair shop downtown.

Nice grinned. "Yep! That means you have to drive me to the portal!"

Chance leaned on his car door. "How does that imply that I would take you there?"

"You wouldn't leave me alone... here... where I'll just make more lewd comments in your name an—"

"Alright, hop in," he said, unlocking the car with his keys. "Let's head to the facility."

All Chance heard was happiness and a pig squealing in the distance.

Chance and Nice stood quietly in front of a giant weathered building. It was close to the road they had traveled on, but unlike their town's pristine boardwalk and colorful buildings, the abandoned ones only saw glimpses of a passerby. Well, until today, that is.

"Hemming's Gate?" Nice asked. "What the hell type of name is that for a business?"

The big white letters told the tale of a business that once stood the test of time. "Hemming's Gate was an electric company, Nice."

"Electric?" She huffed. "Sounds more like a gate to hell."

Well the building certainly looks like hell, but Chance knew there was more to it than he thought. After investigating the property further, he found something stellar. At first he thought it was a malfunctioning piece of machinery the people who had owned the place left behind. But no, it was not someone else's problem, but rather a treasure.

And Chance couldn't wait to show her.

"Well, the gates of hell has your portal."

She arched an eyebrow at Chance. "This... hollow building has the portal in your article?"

"Yep," Chance began, his arm reaching out for the battered handle. He gripped it tightly and turned it as he spoke, "Found the portal after I investigated the area. Who knew that dysfunctional electrical equipment would be so interesting?"

As the doors swung open, old dust particles welcomed their lungs. The two humans coughed after inhaling such toxic fumes—sarcastically speaking—but Chance did not care. He hadn't died from the first trip here, so there was no need to worry. He sputtered one last time before grabbing Nice's hand and heading into the land of darkness.

Inside Hemming's Gate was a waiting room. There was a kiosk with papers thrown about. The old tile floor was dirty and moldy. Due to the lack of lights, it was hard to see. Thankfully it was still sunny out, or Chance would be tripping over every little thing. Specks of light pierced the canopy of soot and grime. Brown weathered desks accompanied old cabinets of paper and taxes (separate but equal in Chance's mind). He had seen the worst before, but Nice hasn't even touched a speck of the place. She's been marveling the fact that the place even exists.

"Why haven't I seen this place before?"

"Because you're too busy typing about hair salons and shopping malls to notice."

"Ha, very funny, Mr. Portal Guy."

Chance rolled his eyes. "You're the one who asked to see the portal."

She nodded. "I just never expected it to be here."

Chance nodded as he held his phone in one arm, and his other on the gritty railing. They were on the path to the portal, but the old stairwell that led directly to it had collapsed. The only other way down was the path Chance and Nice were taking. Chance was worried though, since this stairway was not in good shape either.

"Keep a good hold of the railing, Nice."

"Gotcha, mon ami!"

When Nice spoke French, her accent flirts with the students who just learned French. It is, as if, she was never even born in France.

"You keep sounding more American every day, Nice."

"And you keep delaying our portal adventure with your quips," she replies, frustrated with her friend's commentary.

He sighed and walked into the next corridor. "Sorry that this adventure is taking so long."

In the darkness lay a passage. It was not normal. It felt too futuristic for Chance's tastes, one that made his stomach squirm and his mouth feel clamped shut. He didn't want to say anything, nor did he want to move any farther. This door gave him trouble before, but that feeling now grew stronger with Nice by his side.

"Stay here for a spell."

His hand hesitantly rose to the button near the wall.

"I'm going down alone."

The words had left his mouth too quick for Nice to respond.

When Chance bashed the button, the ground beneath their feet shook. Nice had almost fallen to the ground, but thankfully Chance had the balance to keep both of them upright. While they struggled to stand tall, a passage in the far corner opened slowly. Chance knew what was below, but she didn't. So he sprinted to the passage and hopped down the hole.

"Chance!" Nice shouted as she scrambled to the hole. "Are you okay?"

"Just hold up, I'm fine!" Chance replied, coughing up dust of the yesteryear. Grumbling, he took his phone out and shined some light into the room.

"Now where is that switch...."

Theoretically, the power shouldn't be working. Chance knew that this whole side of town was removed from the grid years ago, but something in this building has given it the power of electricity. When Chance found out the lights were working, that was when he knew this place was something else. It was a story that he didn't even know about.

"Ah ha! There it is!"

Smashing the sneaky little white button on the wall, Chance watched as the whole room lit with happiness and glee. Tall monitors played old retro tunes, hanging light bulbs grew life of the light again, and the sounds of archaic technology struggling to start made Chance's heart pump rapidly. Even if there was life here, the room mirrored the rest of the facility's old, gruesome look. The place had been worn many times before. Dust and stale air float around aimlessly, but inside this room lays a generator, and a gigantic portal from the article.

"All right, hop down, I'll catch ya!"

Nice, who had watched the room light up, hopped down the hole and into the world of electricity.

"Whoa, it's light city in here!" Nice exclaimed. "Who would've thought this building had promise."

"Yeah, but the promise is right here: metallic and trans-dimensional," Chance replied, casting his hand out to present the fine-work of art.

"Whoa..." Nice murmured. And Whoa was the word indeed. The hunk of circular metal hummed to the sounds of life in the room. It beeped plenty of beeps both loud and soft. Some lights flickered on when a certain loud beep sounded, but the main attraction, a purple warped membrane in the center of the portal, was the most futuristic of the entire facility. But that's all that Chance knew. Now Nice is up to par with him.

"Do you even know where this leads to?"

Chance shook his head. "Not at all."

Nice walked up to it and touched the side of the portal. It was very cold to the touch. As a result, she pulled her hand back and winced. "That fucker is cold!"

"Your fault, yet again," Chance answered. He received another punch in the arm from Nice. "Abusive."

"Wimp," Nice replied. She giggled to Chance's eye roll. "So, are we going in?"

"And risking our livelihood?" Chance asked.

Nice wrapped her arm around Chance's back. "Exactly! You and I both know that our lives are a bit more boring than usual, and this could be our ticket to a whole new world! What could happen?"

Chance thought about it for a whole three seconds before responding, "We become slaves, we become prostitutes, we die, or worse, we do all three of those in order."

Nice frowned. "You're not advertising this right..."

"Was I advertising this?"

Nice nodded. "Putting that article in the newspaper is advertising the portal, Chance."

It was Chance's turn to frown. It was just his treasure before the article, but once corporate gets their meaty little hands on the article he half-finished, they'll either toss it or print it. And it'll become the advertisement of the town.

"This is our only opportunity to do something different, Chance! Please?" Nice asked.

Chance watched as Nice turned on her 'puppy eyes act' right before him. He never seen her beg before. Actually, that is a lie, he's seen her beg multiple times. Usually it was for her own agenda, which he usually had no time for, but sometimes he went with her to wherever she wanted to go. It was either for shopping (protection from creeps), tanning (fear of dying in a tanning bed), or going to the beach (buff guys and sand kickers). Unlike those events, Nice didn't use the puppy eyes act. So why now?

He gazed at the portal. The portal was blinking and warping the fabric of time right in front of them, and they hadn't even touched another button since Chance pushed the white button. This whole paradise was up for grabs, and they were the first to find it. Chance laughed at the thought of being the first.

Finder's keepers, losers weepers.

It was the trademarked phrase of a lifetime, and it applied so well to this situation.

He sighed. Maybe this was their only opportunity. But what if something goes wrong?

Chance spared a glance at his begging friend. She's all he really has at the moment, save for his family and his other friends. He really enjoys their company, but Nice has been stuck to him like glue ever since they met in high school. She wore her nerdy glasses while he wore his Michael Jordan Bulls jersey. They both became outcasts and best friends as a result.

Chance grabbed Chance's left hand and pulled her up. "Stop kneeling when you beg, it looks demeaning."

Nice frowned. "I'm sorr—"

"No you're not," Chance fired back. "You say that and then resort to begging every time. You've been the same since high school."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Nice asked.

In one, swift movement, Chance grabbed his friend by the shoulders and brought her close. He hugged her tightly and sobbed into her shoulders. The pain that he felt in school with this woman—their backs stung with each hit sometimes—he would go to the ends of the Earth to find her again if he could.

She was his best friend, after all.

"Chance, why—" she began, while patting his back.

"If we do this, you better not die on me," Chance said in-between sobs. "Best friends don't die on best friends."

Nice giggled and returned his hug. "Chance, I have no plans on dying. All I have is plans on being the best friend I can be."

In the midst of sadness, Chance wore a proud smile. He pulled back from his vice-grip, wiped his tears from his face, and kept that precious smile on for his best friend. He had made his decision.

"Let's go."

"Really?"

Chance nodded.

"No turning back? No yelling, no nothing?"

"You got me to fucking ball my eyes out, Nice."

Nice brought a finger to her chin, pondering over the moments before. Then, she nodded. "I guess that counts."

Turning to face the portal, the two humans held hands for what they believe may be their last time together on Earth. Then, as the portal's warped purple membrane shatters the fabric of time, the two run towards the time warp.

And just like that, the two humans disappeared from Earth, never to be seen again.