(Quick heads up: He somehow survives from the flamethrower)

Damn you, Montag. Beatty thought as he ran his hand through the remaining hair he had sustained. Bandages littered his body, showing the flamethrower’s work. His eyes remained on the file.

A new recruit.

Beatty sighed as he stepped out of the room, wincing as pain radiated throughout his legs. He was told to remain at rest, but burning books were much more important than waiting ‘til his body healed.

Books provided knowledge. Knowledge that the people didn’t need.

His eyes locked onto those of the young firefighter in front of him. Their eyes widened at the hideous sight of him.

“Beatty,” He introduced himself, extending his hand for a handshake. Beatty’s eyes narrowed at the hesitation. Was it because of how he looked? His arm fell back to his side. “Well then, I suppose I can arrange a meeting with the rest of the men here. I can assure you that they don’t mean any harm.”