Dreams of Cruelty

Meet the Pyro

"I fear no man, but that thing... it scares me." The man I was interrogating, who calls himself Muscular, sat partially shrouded by the shadows. He wasn't the type of villain to be scared of someone. "It isn't a person; no, no one could be as crazy as he is." I wasn't getting anywhere with him, so I decided to interrogate someone else. "NO COME BACK; HE COMES FOR YOU WHEN YOU'RE ALONE!" The ramblings of a madman.

As I arrived at the holding cell of Himiko Toga, a notorious serial killer, I heard her giggling to herself. 'A little crazy,' I thought, 'but nothing I can't work with.' I opened the door and moved to sit down. "Now, Ms. Toga, how did you find the location of the training camp?" More giggles from her.

"Why would I tell you?" She seemed to derive pleasure from this little game she was playing. "Well, if not that, why not tell me about the Pyro?" Her face twisted from joy to fear as she heard that name.

"No, I... I ain't, I ain't talking about that freak." She tried to stand up. "W-wait, he's not—he's not here, is he?" She started to panic. "You h-have no idea what he'll do to me—to us!"

Cut to Endeavor Agency

A man in a red firefighting suit and a black gas mask with a fire axe in his right hand is seen walking towards the entrance of Endeavor's agency. Suddenly he stopped and murmured a phrase, muffled by his gas mask, "Mrr hrr mphuphrrur, hrr mph ph." He looked around; he didn't see any civilians. As he set off again towards the agency doors, he reached up and unhooked the front grate from his mask. He took a deep breath in and lit Endeavor's agency aflame.

Cut back to interrogation Rooms

"Now, Mustard, is it? I hope you're more cooperative than the other two were." He looked young—15 at the oldest. "Can you tell me anything you know about the person you were with who got away from us? Your comrade called him 'Pyro'."

"Ah, the Pyro. No one ever knew him. We never got an inside look at who he is or what he's like when he's not the monster. He- look, people have this idea that we can fight with dignity and honor. It's absurd, but we also need it to endure the bloody horror that is murder. He relishes in breaking those ideas and showing people what a brutal, messy thing it is to kill. He shoots the wound and executes the wounded. He takes people in close combat.

But most importantly, his fire. His life, his love, and his lady is the flame. He destroys what people think a man is and becomes their monster. One would shudder to imagine what inhuman thoughts lie behind that mask. What dreams of chronic and sustained cruelty?" This was morbid.

"Well, thank you for that description. Do you have anything else that could help?" I was desperate to find this guy.

"I had only seen him without his mask once, but it was enough to scar me permanently."

"What did you see?"

"He-he has no face. It's just fire. His skull is pure white; it's terrifying. Nothing can stop him. Nothing can stop him. Dear God, please tell me you can stop him." He was reduced to a panicked mess; he lifted his legs, held his knees, and started rocking back and forth, presumably to calm himself.

Besides their sheer fear of the Pyro, we didn't get much from them.

Cut back to Endeavor Agency

Around the man lay bodies—so many charred bodies; some were sidekicks, some were heroes, and some were civilians. His axe was bloody, but then again, when did he care about the blood of these fakes?

As he walked away, he whistled a tune. It was a joyful song, but he made it sound melancholy. Nobody would ever catch him, because, after all, he believes in magic.

652 Words

End Chapter One