Being Yourself in the Fire

"Good afternoon, everyone."

Clayton shoved his entire head into the shelter, gazing sinisterly at the survivors hiding inside.

He stuck out his tongue and licked the wounded corner of his mouth, frightening all the Big-Mouthians in the shelter into retreating again and again.

"Quick! Open the back door!"

"Don't push! I'm an executive at a Fortune 500 company, let me go first!"

"Fuck you! Even if you're gay, you still get in line behind me!"

"Ow, my back! Stop pushing!"

"Mom, I'm scared."

"Mom's scared too."

"..."

Like a flock of startled lambs, the survivors all backed away from the front entrance Clayton had crawled through.

"Why won't it open?!"

The survivors shoved desperately at the back door, but the emergency exit seemed welded to its frame. No matter how hard they pushed, it would not budge.

Just as the survivors were frantic with anxiety, Clayton suddenly grinned, revealing a vicious smile terrifying enough to make a child cry.

His nightmarish voice reached everyone's ears.

"Stop wasting your strength. I blocked the back door with a tank long ago."

"Now, even if you want to leave, you can't."

"Ehehehehehe!"

Clayton rubbed his hands together, his tongue hanging out as the expression on his face grew ever more twisted.

As he laughed, a particularly courageous Big-Mouthian stepped forward and punched Clayton in the face.

Clayton's laughter came to an abrupt halt. Somewhat stunned, he stared at the person who had hit him.

Pulling his head back out, he spoke through the hole into the shelter. "I just thought of a particularly interesting punishment."

"Wait here. I'll be right back."

Before leaving for real, Clayton thoughtfully used a sedan to block the entrance, preventing the survivors inside from escaping.

The survivors looked at one another, unsure what they were supposed to do now.

They could neither escape nor fight back. There was only despair.

"Where's the military?! I've paid so much in taxes, so why isn't the military coming to save me?!"

"A bunch of useless trash! They couldn't even kill one Viltrumite and made me live in fear for so long."

"Once I get out, I'll make sure every last one of them faces a court-martial!"

The company executive cursed furiously.

"Pfft!"

A dejected office worker sitting on the floor with his back against the wall could not hold back his laughter.

"What are you laughing at?"

The executive frowned slightly and looked at him with hostility.

"You idiot. At a time like this, you're still daydreaming? You think you're getting out alive?"

"Instead of wasting your breath, why not rest up?"

The dejected man shifted his butt, changing to a more comfortable position against the wall.

The executive's face turned livid with rage. Just as he was about to lash out, the little girl hiding in her mother's embrace in the corner began to sob.

"Mom, are we going to die?"

The young mother held her daughter tightly. Tears slid from her eyes, and her trembling lips could not form a word.

The entire shelter fell silent. No one spoke; only faint sobs echoed through the shelter.

The executive swayed, his legs giving out as he collapsed onto the floor.

Without intelligence, how could he possibly have become an executive? Of course he knew none of them would survive.

But what if? What if they did survive, even if the odds were almost zero?

Even so, he wanted to cling to that near-zero chance. It was his only straw.

Bang!!

At that moment, the ceiling was ripped open by tremendous force. The setting sun slanted across the wall, and every survivor raised their head.

Was it hope? No, it was despair!

Clayton, who had returned, hovered above the shattered ceiling with his arms raised high, holding a huge iron drum. Four large red words were printed on its surface.

'Flammable Hazard.'

Under the gaze of every survivor, Clayton pulled one hand back and drove it into the iron drum like a blade.

A pale yellow liquid flowed from the drum, dripping onto the shelter floor and giving off a pungent smell.

One Big-Mouthian raised a hand to touch the liquid splashed onto his face, then brought his fingertips beneath his nose.

"Gas... gasoline?!" he cried in terror.

A twisted smile appeared on Clayton's face. He tilted the oil drum in his hand, pouring down even more gasoline.

"Correct~ Your reward is a wild party!"

He laughed maniacally, his voice ringing through everyone's minds.

The executive sat on the floor, staring up at the gasoline pouring in without end. His face was ashen as he muttered, "It's over... It's all over..."

A large number of survivors ran to the doors and shoved against them with all their strength, trying to escape this hellish shelter.

They shoved, slapped, and pounded. They tried every method they could think of, but the two blocked doors still would not move.

"Someone help! Save us!"

"I surrender! I'll serve you like an ox or a horse, sir! Please spare my life!"

"Don't kill me! My older brother only died a few days ago. I promised him I'd take good care of my sister-in-law for him!"

"I ***** you **** I'll **** you ***"

"You'll die horribly! You demon!"

"..."

Some broke down and cried, some pleaded for mercy, and some cursed at the top of their lungs.

Ignoring the voices around him, Clayton poured the last tiny bit of gasoline into the shelter, then flung the oil drum far away.

"Before the party starts, we still need a special guest. Any eager volunteers?"

Looking at the panicked survivors, Clayton smiled slightly. "Looks like there are no brave souls. In that case... I'll choose one myself."

He flew through the hole in the ceiling into the shelter and casually grabbed a Big-Mouthian by the collar.

Clayton dragged him to the gasoline-covered floor and tossed him into it with a flick of his hand.

"No! Please!"

The guest dropped to his knees, clasping his hands together and begging desperately. Tears and snot mingled together, dripping from his chin into the gasoline.

Clayton turned a deaf ear. Under the guest's despairing gaze, he took out a box of matches.

"No... no... please... don't do this."

He struck a match against the box, and a flame appeared at its tip.

With a flick of two fingers, Clayton sent the burning match steadily onto the pleading guest.

In an instant, fire engulfed his body.

Clayton flew out of the shelter and quietly waited for the good show to begin.

"AAAAAHHHH!"

The agonizing pain across his body made the burning man roar. Unable to see what was ahead of him, he could only run around wildly like a headless fly.

"Y-you, don't come any closer!!"

Watching the burning man charge toward him, the executive threw out a hand and shouted.

But the burning man could not hear him at all and simply kept charging forward.

The executive was knocked to the ground. His expensive clothes were soaked with gasoline, and flames instantly climbed over his body.

He rolled wildly on the ground, but rather than going out, the flames only grew fiercer.

One spread to two, two to four, four to eight...

Before long, every survivor was engulfed in roaring flames. Their howls as fire scorched their skin pierced the heavens.

Clayton turned his head sideways, cupped one hand to his ear, and listened to the screams below. The pleasure made his eyes roll back, and an expression of enjoyment spread across his face.