You nearly stumble over a rotten, severed arm as you scamper through the trial environment. The future is looking grim and not in your favour. Especially as the alarm blasts to announce a new ex-pop will be joining the fun.

Hurriedly, you crawl beneath a desk as to avoid an unneeded hinder in your patch of success. An orange glow emanates from the slowly opening doors, and out steps The Pitcher. With an odd snort, The Pitcher whips his head around and spits you easily in your futile attempt at hiding from him.

Before you have a chance to run, he takes a Molotov cocktail off his hip and tosses it at you. The moment it hits the ground, it erupts into flames which are quick to attack your skin. You roll out from under the desk, escaping the flames, but just as you were about to make an exit, The Pitcher grunts, wrapping his gloved hand around your shoulder, pulling you towards him. He pours some liquor onto the mouthpiece of his mask before blowing out a cloud of gaseous flames into your face. Screaming and writhing, you break free, but The Pitcher simply grabs you by the hair, kicking the backs of your knees to send you to the ground. He roars once more, dragging you by the hair before stepping around, and standing above you. He pours more alcohol onto his mouthpiece.

A piece of sheet metal lay next to you, and you grab it, holding it above your head as he blows out the fire. The cloud of skin melting fire deflects from you, and blows right up into his face. He screams, stepping away as he paws at his burnt neck. The mask protected his face, but the skin of his neck has already begun to redden and leak.

He looks so scared, as if he didn’t know fire could burn. Foolish. You rise to your feet, rubbing some burns of your own, but he’s still up in a frenzy, rubbing his neck and collarbones whilst whining and hissing. You feel bad. The human in you wants to help. You look down at the roll of gauze in your hand. There’s enough for both of you. After all, he’s just one more of the men Murkoff turned into a monster.