It was the last Friday of the month, and that meant it was rumble night.

Darkness and silence had quickly fallen over Tulsa just after eight o'clock. The moon was brightly shining down on the vacant lot and its occupants, which were two large groups of teenage boys by the names of Greasers and Socs.

Ponyboy Curtis was waiting for his older brother Darry and a lead Soc to break the silence, but the only thing he could hear were his own thoughts and his quiet breathing, which was increasing along with his heartbeat after every second that passed by without a word spoken. Finally, Paul Holden-–one of Darry's high school acquaintances-–stepped up to the plate to look Darry straight.

"Hello, Darrel. Long time no see," Paul said first, looking mighty as the top Soc he was.

"Hello, Paul," Darry responded bluntly.

"I'll take you," Paul said clearly.

A Soc ran in throwing the first punch and everyone went crazy. Johnny Cade and Ponyboy tackled a couple big guys one at a time while someone like Dallas Winston and Darry would take two and beat them both. Either way everyone had someone, but little by little the Socs would flee to their fancy cars.

Of course, it started raining as the boys fought. It was colder and Ponyboy's hands were numbing when he'd grab onto someone and tackle them to the ground, which was slowly melting into mud. Ponyboy was winning for the most part, that is until he got a stinging in his eyes and the Soc he was currently on top of shoved him to the ground and punched him in the stomach. He couldn't see the raining night sky anymore, only the Soc's fist coming at him and a dusty, purple mist filling the air around them.

Eventually Johnny helped pry the Soc off Ponyboy and they tackled him down together.

It was about time that the Socs showed their weakness when, within the next ten minutes, they fled to their cars. The Greasers shouted and hollered in victory and bad-mouthed the Socs as they watched them flee. "Whoo!" Steve Randle hollered. "Look at the dirty bastards run!"

It began to rain harder, and now the odd purple fog was nearly swallowing the air around the vacant lot.

Johnny came around from behind Ponyboy and patted his back. "We did good, Pone."

"Yeah, I guess so."

"Well I'll be damned!" Two-Bit Mathews panted. "Ain't that the strangest thing Can barely see no more of them wimps!" Two-Bit squinted as he watched the Socs leave. "Yeah y'all run, run to your Mama's!"

Johnny looked at the other Greasers as they acted in a craze. "Think we should start heading home?"

"Nah, let 'em enjoy the win," Two-Bit said, then turned to where the last of the Mustangs drove past, "Suckers!"

Ponyboy was avoiding to feel the numbness of half of his face for a while now, until Two-Bit pointed it out. "Gee, that's a nice bruise you got there, kid"--he rubbed his thumb over the blackened area, which just so happened to be under Ponyboy's left eye--"Soc hit you?"

"Yeah, punched me."

"We should head home soon then, y'know, to clean that up," Johnny added.

Johnny always wanted to go straight back home after a rumble.

"Don't worry about it. You look tuff, Ponyboy," Two-Bit told the kid.

"Some rumble, huh?" Steve came around-–along with Dally-–rubbing his bloodied neck with rain water as it fell, as if to wash the blood off. "I'm bleedin' everywhere."

"I caught a Soc using a pipe on one of the Brumly boys, man," Dallas told the boys, his voice raspy and out of breath. Rumbles were supposed to be fair, like it always should be, and that meant no weapons involved. "Should've thought twice thinkin' no one would spot them."

"Classy move for a Soc, ain't it?" Two-Bit snickered sarcastically. "Well, the Socs got what they asked for." He got a good look at Steve. "Y'know, you got a little-–"

"Yeah I know"-–Steve ran his hand under his nose to try and catch the blood spilling out-–"Damn nose."

Ponyboy's middle brother, Sodapop, came around from behind Steve and hung his his arm on Steve's shoulder. "Hey guys," he sighed out of breath. Soda's lip was cut and his left hand was bloodied all over.

"Hey Soda, what happened to your hand?" Ponyboy asked in curiosity for his brother.

"Nothin', that's the other guy's blood. It's dryin' too."

Two-Bit chuckled, "Man, that's nasty!"

Soda rubbed his hand with his shirt to wipe all the blood off, but being that his shirt already had blood on it didn't really help his situation. So he wiped it on Steve.

"Y'know Soda, it really is nasty when you're spreadin' some Soc's internal liquids on me."

"Sorry buddy."

Johnny tugged his hands into the pockets of his jean jacket. "I'm gon' head back now."

"Yeah, I better be off too," Two-Bit said, "I gotta get cleaned up or my Mama'd freak if she saw me walk in the house lookin' like Pig Pen."

A rough, big hand suddenly touched Ponyboy's shoulder. "Y'all better be heading home, now," stated Darry. "It's late"-–he recognized the dark foggy weather-–"and careful not to get lost, either."

The seven boys all walked home together-–well, Johnny was staying the night over at the Curtis's, and as for the others, they went their separate ways to their own places. As they walked, Ponyboy suddenly felt a quite uncomfortable churning going on in his stomach. He figured it was because of the Soc who had belted him in that area, but when he stepped onto his property, it felt almost nauseating.

He ran into the house, before his brothers and Johnny, and went straight into the bathroom and kneeled toward the toilet to throw up something. Nothing came out. "Probably just an upset stomach," Ponyboy muttered to himself. He came out of the bathroom and went to the kitchen to get some Coke and settle it down.

Darry, Soda, and Johnny came into the house then. "Pony!" Soda called and entered the kitchen to grab a rag to wash off his bloodied hand. "Why'd you run in so fast?"

"I don't feel too good," Ponyboy said sipping some Coke.

"Why's that?"

"My stomach hurts. I think somebody hit me too hard."

Soda's hand was quickly cleaned off and he suddenly pressed it onto Ponyboy's forehead. Pony winced at the touch-–Soda's hand was burning hot against his skin.

"Pone, you're freezing like a popsicle," concluded Soda.

"I am?" Ponyboy asked. "Maybe it's a fever or somethin'."

Soda shook his head. "You're so cold I can't even tell if you have a fever . . ."

"Hey what's goin' on over here?" Darry said as he walked into the kitchen.

"Pony says he's got a stomachache," Soda informed their older brother, "I just checked his forehead and he's nearly freezing. I don't know if he has a fever or not."

Darry gave Ponyboy a serious look. "You're gonna have to take a hot bath tonight." Then to Soda, "Warm 'im up some soup, he needs somethin' in his stomach if he's really that cold."

Soda nodded. "Alright, I'll make Johnny some, too."

Soda warmed up a can of Campbell's soup on the stove while Darry went to heat up the bathtub. In the meantime, Ponyboy took a seat at the kitchen table and Johnny resided in the living room where he was calmly watching television.

When Ponyboy got his soup, he only had some of it and then went to sit in the bathtub.

Darry was resting on the arm chair in the living room. Soda reported back to him. "Darry, he didn't finish his soup. Do you think-–"

"He's probably just tired," said Darry. "Is he in the bath right now?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, I'm going to check his temperature."

Darry stood up and grabbed the thermometer from the kitchen cabinet. He knocked on the bathroom door. "Ponyboy? It's Darry."

"Come in."

Darry walked in and shut the door behind him. Thermometer in hand, he knelt down towards the tub. "Hey buddy, how're you feeling?"

Ponyboy swallowed hard. "Not good. I feel wonky."

Darry tilted his head slightly as he examined Ponyboy's face. "You're lookin' pale, kid," Darry noted. "Here, let me take your temperature"-–he put the thermometer in Pony's mouth, then placed his hand on his forehead-–"Wow, you are cold."

When the thermometer beeped, Darry took it out of Ponyboy's mouth and read it. He just stared at it.

"What does it say?" Ponyboy asked.

"One hundred and four."

"Is that bad?"

Darry paused. Then he shrugged and shook his head. "This thing is old, why don't you get out and put on something warm . . ."

Darry closed the bathroom door and walked back into the living room. Soda was sitting on the couch beside Johnny, both boys looking up at Darry.

"Fever?" Soda asked.

"It said a hundred and four," Darry answered.

"A hundred and four?" Soda gawked. "Ain't that rather high?"

Darry sat down. "I think that thing's old."

"It better be old," Soda paused, "You can't be so cold and have a high temperature, Dar. That's not . . . normal."

"I know. If he feels this bad tomorrow, I'll take him to the doctor."

At that moment, Ponyboy stepped into the living room. He was wearing one of Darry's sweatshirts and a pair of his own sweatpants.

"Hey Pony, how're ya feelin'?" Johnny asked softly.

Ponyboy sighed. "Tired."

"C'mon Pony, let's get to bed," Soda stood up and walked over to his kid brother. "You gonna take the couch, Johnny?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine here."

"Alright. C'mon, Pony." Soda urged his brother to their room.

Ponyboy crawled into his and Soda's bed and instantly drifted asleep. Sodapop made sure the blankets were covering him well to keep him warm. He curiously touched his face feeling if he was all right. He remained as cold as an ice block. Soda pursed his lips. He turned out the light and fell asleep worrying about his kid brother.

__________

Sometime in the middle of the night, Ponyboy woke up. He was sweating through his sweatshirt and felt like he was on the brink of suffocating.

Breathing anxiously, he sat up and threw the sweatshirt over his head and cast it on the floor. Then he took off the sweatpants. He was left in only a white muscle shirt and boxers, but he was still hot. He got up and opened the windows for a breeze of the cool night air, but it did no help. Ponyboy felt like he had been dumped into the savannah.

"God, how'd it get so hot all of a sudden?" he asked himself as he wiped the sweat from his forehead. His stomach didn't hurt anymore, but his head had a new pounding to it. Ponyboy sighed, "Probably a migraine."

Careful not to wake Sodapop, who was sleeping peacefully, Ponyboy walked out of their bedroom and toward the kitchen for some aspirin.

Next, as if it were a brotherly instinct, Sodapop woke up. He brushed his hand over to Ponyboy's side of the bed to make sure he was alright, but all he felt was the coolness of the mattress. Soda turned himself over to see that the covers on Pony's side of the bed had been thrown off and the space was empty. There were Pony's clothes lying on the floor, too. Then Soda heard noises coming from the kitchen-–cabinets opening and closing. Worried, Soda left their bedroom.

When Soda entered the kitchen, Ponyboy was pouring himself a glass of water to take with the aspirin "Hey Pony . . ." Soda said tiredly, "What're you doin' up so early?"

"My head hurts," Ponyboy said, "and I'm hot. Really, really hot."

Soda's eyebrows raised. "Are ya sure? You were cold a few hours ago."

Ponyboy shrugged. "I dunno, check my forehead."

Soda placed his hand on his brother's forehead and immediately felt a burning sensation on his fingertips. He shrieked and cursed and pulled away. He might've just gotten a third-degree burn!

Loud footsteps came thundering down the hall, and Darry appeared in the room. "What the hell's goin' on in here?"

Soda's head flashed towards Darry. "Darry, he's burning!"

"What?" Darry quickly stepped in front of Ponyboy and touched his face. His hand jumped from Pony's forehead. "Glory, Soda! He's on fire!"

Ponyboy blinked. "I am?"

Soda started panicking and looked at Darry. "You felt that too? The burn?"

"Is it that bad?" Ponyboy asked anxiously.

"Damn right, it's bad!" Darry exclaimed almost nearing hysterics. "You must be sweating to death, Ponyboy! Soda, check his temperature!"

Soda rushedly grabbed the thermometer and stuck it in Ponyboy's mouth.

Soon he took it out and read it.

"What the hell?" blurted Soda. "It says eighty-seven!"

"What?" Darry asked in exasperation. "You've gotta be kidding. Eighty-seven?"

"Eighty-fucking-seven, Darry!" Soda said and showed it to him.

"This isn't right at all . . ." Darry murmured as he read the numbers closely. Then he concluded, "This thing's gotta be old." He quickly tossed the thermometer in the trash.

Ponyboy made a sudden awkward movement with his feet. He began to breathe uneasily. "It's really hot in here, guys," he said, and his feet started to shuffle desperately in place. "I kinda wanna go outside . . . for fresh air . . ."

Soda sighed. He couldn't take seeing his kid brother in pain. "Okay, buddy. I'll take you out back."

They walked into the backyard. It was quaint and quiet. Ponyboy spinned around trying to get a breeze to hit against his sweaty skin, but unfortunately there were no strong gusts of wind during this time of the night. Next, he tried waving his arms around to push the cool air into his face.

"You're that hot?" Soda suddenly asked.

"Y-Yes," Ponyboy sounded like he was out of breath. His feet made another sudden awkward movement, and they began to shuffle around again and bounce in place.

"Hey, now. Calm down," Soda said. He grabbed Ponyboy and held his arms down. The younger Curtis's body began to tremble, though. "What's got you hyped all of a sudden?"

"I'm hot," Ponyboy simply said. "Now let me go."

"But Pone, you're shaking," Sodapop noted. "Please calm down."

"I can't. I'm hot."

"But-–"

"I'm hot, I'm hot, I'm hot!" Ponyboy repeated, his feet practically running in place now. It was as if they were the legs of a cartoon character trying to gain enough energy to run from one side of the planet to the other.

"Ponyboy, you're scaring me," Soda admitted, "Please calm down!"

"NO!" Ponyboy screamed involuntarily, and immediately Sodapop's grips that held Pony's wrists were attacked by an extreme burning sensation. This forced Soda to let go of the kid, and it set Ponyboy blasting off-–literally blasting off running into the distance. Off the property. Down the street.

Streaks of what looked to be electricity flashed behind Ponyboy as he sprinted all over Tulsa. But it was more than sprinting. It was speeding. It was speeding so fast that it was inhumane. It was super-speeding.

For the Greasers and the Socs, this was only the beginning.

__________

Hi.

This is my first time writing sci-fi, so my fingers are crossed that it won't be THAT bad! But for your discretion, it's probably gonna be weird AF at times.

If you're enjoying it so far, (which I hope you are!) be sure to turn that white star orange and maybe even comment some feedback!

Thank you so much and remember to stay gold!!

Amanda :)