When he first objects, X makes to move on to the next person. There's too much time crunch during a fire to leave room for arguing, and the man would know his own limits better than someone who just met him on the street.

But then the man sees the injured victims and changes his mind. X smiles. It's a small smile, but a fierce one, all gratitude and quiet pride. Decades of near-hopeless struggle, and he can still find the time to appreciate when empathy and the desire to help others overrules caution.

"Thank you," he says quickly, to mark that change. Then he leads the way in, ducking through the sagging doorway.

The inside can't be completely written off yet, but there's smoke everywhere and X ends up needing to breathe through his sleeve to keep from choking. Most of the fire must be upstairs. He takes the first room, ducks his head in and calls out. "Hello! Anyone still in there? Hello?" He coughs a little. "Anyone deaf, blind, and can't smell?"