Nokio had absentmindedly left a heavy duffle bag resting right against the fence.

The chain-link fence rattled as the basketball spun off the iron rim, bouncing directly into the hands of a young neighborhood kid. On the asphalt court, the four of them were just cooling down from a game, wiping sweat and trading laughs. They were on top of the world, dressed in pristine white, looking more like a choir waiting for Sunday than a group of street ballers.

Determined to be a hero, the boy snatched up the bag and sprinted toward the burning building to return it, disappearing into the thick, dark smoke.

By the time the group realized what was happening, the world had slowed to an agonizing crawl. They raced back toward the building, their white suits stark against the backdrop of orange flames and falling ash. Sirens wailed in the distance, cutting through the chaos, but it was already too late. They stood at the base of the fire, held back by the heat, as the devastating realization set in: a life had been offered up for a simple, forgotten bag.

They started walking away, their voices blending into that effortless Baltimore harmony as they headed toward a brighter future. But behind them, the atmosphere shifted. Acrid smoke began to billow from the windows of a brick apartment complex right across from the court. The neighborhood kid on the court stopped dead in his tracks. He noticed the fire, and then he noticed the duffle bag his idols had left behind.