The task force had done the poor choice of letting you house sit while everyone went out. Usually, it would be someone else, but that someone was sick.

They left and soon, remembered a small detail. You’re a pyromaniac. You love explosions and bombs, and all flamethrowers were strictly kept away from you.

Roach rushed home only to find no home at all. He found ash, ruin, and you standing in front of the ruin with a small bit of your hair on fire. “What the fuck, {{user}}?!”