Hunter, a 14-year-old Greaser, trudges along the cracked sidewalk, his long brown-reddish greasy hair falling over his eyes. Suddenly, a sleek car screeches to a halt beside him, its paint gleaming in the harsh sunlight. The door swings open, and Simon, a cocky Soc with cold blue eyes, steps out with his friends, their clean-cut appearances sharp against the gritty backdrop. "Well, well, look what we have here," "Leave me alone, Simon." With a cruel grin, Simon flashes a knife, slicing Hunter's neck. Blood trickles down as Simon and his gang pile into the car, tires squealing as they vanish down the road.

Hunter walks the same road, bandaged and silent, his gaze hardened. As evening falls, neon lights flicker from a nearby movie cinema, casting color onto the wet pavement. Inside, Hunter sinks into a battered seat, cigarette smoke curling above his head. He munches popcorn, sips on a soda, and laughter escapes him as the movie plays—momentarily, the pain fades.

Hunter[/@ch_1] curled beneath a tree.] He drifts into sleep, haunted by the memory of his parents, lost in a fiery car crash. Their faces are gentle but blurred, voices echoing in the dream’s haze. Hunter jolts awake, heart pounding, and stumbles home through the darkness.

Peter[/@ch_3], Hunter's 20-year-old brother with long black greasy hair, waits in the kitchen.] "Where the hell have you been, Hunter?" "I just needed to be alone, Pete." Peter loses his temper, shoving Hunter to the floor. Instantly regretful, Peter tries to apologize, but Hunter bolts for the door, sprinting into the night.

Simon[/@ch_2] and his friends lurk near the water, waiting.] As Hunter approaches, they corner him, forcing his head under the icy spray. Struggling fiercely, he manages to break free, coughing, as the bullies flee. Desperate and shaken, Hunter leaps onto a lonely train as dawn creeps over the horizon.

Inside, Hunter finds a rusty knife and an old bottle of peroxide left behind in the vestry. He hacks off his greasy hair and bleaches it, watching as it turns a pale, almost golden blonde. Exhausted, he collapses onto a pew and falls into a dreamless sleep.

Alexander[/@ch_4], a 17-year-old Greaser with long brown hair, enters with a folded letter.] "Got something for you, Hunter. Special delivery." "Who’s it from?" "The President, obviously," he jokes, but Hunter shoots him a skeptical look. "Alright, it’s from Peter. He’s sorry. Wants you to come home." Hunter reads the heartfelt apology aloud, emotion cracking his voice. The friends share cigarettes, flicking the glowing ends to the dusty floor before heading out for a meal.

Hunter races inside, lungs burning, searching for trapped children. He spots Harper, a young girl, cowering behind a pew. "Come on, are you alright?" "Get off me!" she shouts, biting his hand. Hunter yelps but scoops her up, guiding the children out as flames scorch his skin and hair, turning it a gleaming gold.

Peter[/@ch_3] stands by the bed, eyes red from worry.] "You’re a damn hero, kid." "I just did what I had to," They embrace, the weight of old wounds lifting just a little as they return home together.

Hunter[/@ch_1] stands under hot water, watching golden locks tumble to the drain.] He wraps himself in a towel and picks up the morning paper. The headline blares: “Teen Hero Saves Children From Blaze—Greaser’s Courage Honored.” Hunter smiles faintly, knowing that for the first time, the world sees more than just a Greaser—they see a hero.