Ryan Anderson, having just finished incinerating his teammate Anthony Davis, looked around at the destruction around him. The burned-out corpses of those he once called friends, those he once called mentors, littered the gym.
“I am… the flamethrower?”
Anderson’s voice contained none of the conviction that he had previously shown. The righteous anger that flooded through his mind was fading. His smirk turned into a grimace. Was this really what he wanted?
He looked at the gunmetal device he wore on his arm like a shooting sleeve with curiosity. Who had made this? It certainly wasn’t him. He wondered if it came off…
There were no visible fastening devices, but try as he might, he could not remove the portable flamethrower from his arm. He began to panic now. He had to get out of here, away from the scene of his(?) crimes. He tried to think back to what happened, but he could conjure no memories from the last few days.
He walked back to the exit of the gym, putting on the overlarge sweatshirt he found there. It must have been Anthony’s, before. Nervously he tried to navigate the now foreign practice facility, looking for an exit.
As he turned yet another unfamiliar corner, he ran into the Pelicans’ color commentator, David Wesley. David looked happy to see him, unconcerned about the ridiculous garment Ryan was wearing; Ryan was one of his favorites, so calm-tempered compared to some of the others. “Hey flamethrower!”
Ryan Anderson screamed and ran the opposite way.
“No, I am not the flamethrower! I am not the flamethrower!”