The burning Tower splashed the dirty gray clouds with its red glow, and black smoke slicked the sky like oil leaking from a ruptured supertanker. Much closer to my hiding place was the inferno engulfing two Lone Star cruisers and the remains of a motorcycle, merrily blazing away at the intersection of Third and Madison. Though only twenty meters from the alley where I crouched, neither the light nor warmth of the fire touched me. The heavy, acrid scent of burning rubber would have been enough to drive most sane people from the immediate area, but if I had any claim to sanity. I’d not have been there at all.