I revved the engine, feeling the vibration through my entire body, and I shot forward.
The cage seemed to expand and contract around me, synching with my breathing, as I leaned into the curve, climbing higher in repetitive circles. This was how I used to feel all the time—trapped, deafened by my own thoughts, the world a cage I couldn't escape. I pushed the bike faster, needle of the temp gauge rising towards the red zone. The spiraling was endless as I rode along the curved walls, centrifugal force pressing me into the seat. Every other second, gravity tried and failed to reclaim me. The familiar rush of adrenaline flooded my system, but it carried with it a new sensation. Before Lucy, this high had been the only thing that made me feel alive. Now, it wasn’t life sustaining, it was life affirming.
The crowd beyond the latticework was a blur of faces, indistinct and irrelevant. The only one that mattered was somewhere out there, watching with a gaze that somehow penetrated every wall I’d ever built. I'd spent years not giving a damn if I lived or died during these stunts. Now, suddenly, I had a reason to make it out of the globe intact. It wasn’t that I didn’t love my pack before, wasn’t that I didn’t care about leaving them behind. They just weren’t enough to keep me breathing when the worst impulses and thoughts attacked. Lucy was more than enough. Lucy was it for me.
I leaned deeper into the curve, the tires gripping the metal as I climbed ever higher, giving the laws of physics the middle finger. The buzz in my head intensified. It wasn’t the destructivestatic of my darker days before Lucy, but a crystalized focus that made everything else fall away. My body moved on instinct, years of muscle memory taking over as I approached the top of the sphere.
Nearly vertical now. Nearly inverted.
The world turned upside down as I rode across the top of the globe, nothing but centrifugal force and precise balance keeping me from plummeting to the bottom. For a suspended moment, I hung there, completely inverted, the ground a distant memory. This was the moment crowds paid to see. This was man conquering the impossible, defying the natural order of things. Of course, they were also here hoping they’d witness my defeat. There was nothing a crowd like this thrived off more than a bloody, fatal crash.
I began my descent, spiraling back toward the base of the sphere. The pattern was hypnotic, meditative. Each revolution brought me slightly lower, slightly faster. Everything beyond the grid of metal was an indistinct haze, as if this was a dream and I was the only thing real.
That's when I smelled it. Kerosene and diesel. Asher's special fuel blend during cooler weather.
Son of a bitch actually did it.
We'd argued about it over the last couple days—his idea to set the globe on fire during my ride.
"Trust me," he'd said, that manic gleam in his eyes that appeared whenever fire was involved. "It'll be controlled. The audience will lose their minds."
I should have known better than to agree to anything that made Asher smile like that. I also should have double-checked with the Cirque that my psychotic brother got permission.
The first lick of flame appeared at the base of the globe, bright orange tongues crawling up the metal framework. I couldn’t hear anything over the intense hum in my brain and thesharp crackling of fire. I could imagine though: how the crowd would gasp, a collective intake of breath, as they watched this surprise unfold.
The fire spread with unnatural, dramatic speed. Within seconds, the entire lower half of the globe was engulfed, the heat intensifying as I continued my circuit above the flames. My stunt costume was fire retardant, so I wasn’t too worried about burning to a crisp. My bike on the other hand hadn’t been outfitted with anything special for this. At the very least, we should have swapped my rear tire for a car one with better durability and heat performance.
I rode lower.
Into the flames.
And it didn’t take long for me to clock a subtle change in the motorcycle’s handling. I glanced down and my stomach dropped. My tires were already burning, the rubber melting and beginning to smoke. The protective suit wouldn't save me if the tires failed completely.
I shouldn't have let Asher talk me into this, I thought, gritting my teeth as I maintained my spiral. The smell of burning rubber filled my helmet, acrid and chemical. Each revolution brought me closer to the heart of the fire, the heat against my suit increasingly painful.I’m going to kick Asher’s ass.
There was no stopping now. To brake in the middle of the stunt would send me crashing to the bottom of the sphere—directly into the inferno. My only option was to continue the pattern, letting momentum carry me through until I could reach the escape hatch at the bottom. Assuming the Cirque employees recognized the damn danger and lowered the ramp, otherwise I’d slam into an unyielding wall of fire and metal.
The rear tire gave way first, disintegrating in a shower of burning rubber. The metal rim hit the globe's inner surface with a shriek that cut through the roar of the flames and the crowd'sapplause. Sparks erupted where metal met metal, adding their own golden light to the hellscape the globe had become.
I adjusted instantly, compensating for the loss of traction, fighting to maintain control of the increasingly unstable machine. The front tire was still intact, though smoking ominously. If I could just make it to the hatch...
Through the smoke and flames, I found it. And, thank fuck, it was open.
The spiral tightened as I descended, the circle of my path growing smaller with each pass. The flames reached higher, licking at the upper half of the globe now. I was being cooked inside my protective gear, sweat pouring down my face inside the helmet. Searing pain ran the length of my calves, as if the suit was melting against my skin, and my leather boots weren’t saving my feet from the volcanic heat.
Though survival instincts told me to go faster, I slowed gradually. Careening through the exit too fast wouldn’t do me any favors. I let gravity do most of the work now, no longer trying to defy it. The motorcycle's momentum decreased as I approached the bottom of the sphere. The escape hatch was so close I could taste it now. Through the rectangular opening I could see crew members waiting with fire extinguishers. In the near distance, the Cirque fire truck was closing in, its lights flashing.
Ten feet. Five feet. Almost there…
The front tire caught fire as I made my final approach, the rubber surrendering to the relentless heat. The machine beneath me shook. Still, I was close enough now that I could make it.
The disintegrating front tire caught on a seam in the metal floor. Under normal circumstances, the bike would glide right over it. This time, the wheel hit it like a ten-foot wall. The motorcycle stopped; I didn't.
I sailed over the handlebars, my body launching forward toward the narrow exit. I bought my arms up, folding them across my chest, hoping to save my ribs from the unavoidable impact. For a surreal moment, I was flying, weightless, suspended in a sea of orange and red with even the suit blazing around me.Bet I look like a damn superhero. A real Johnny Slick.The thought made me grin even as I flew headfirst toward pain.
I hit the ramp just outside the hatch, tumbling end over end until I slammed into the arena ground below. The impact knocked the wind from my lungs, stars exploding behind my eyes as my helmet then right shoulder took the brunt of the fall.
Hands grabbed at me immediately, pulling me further from the flaming globe. Voices shouted instructions I couldn't process. Someone rolled me over and over on the ground, trying to smother the flames that clung to my suit. When that didn’t work, another person opened fire with an extinguisher, covering me in white foam. The world spun in nauseating circles, disjointed images flashing before me—concerned faces, the still-burning globe, the distant sky above.
