For not a few moments, Alex can only stare at the blazing door with horror and dread. Reflections of the flames flicker across his widened eyes and he can already feel a faint heat reaching his position. All the while, his mind races with unanswered questions.
They followed me!? Why are they so obsessed with me!? What about Fry! I thought they would stay away when I'm not alone! Is that why they're burning the building!? To kill us both!? How did I not notice the fire until now? Did it spread too fast?
I need… I need to run! I need to escape! In an instant, he casts away all his useless thoughts and focuses on the only thing he can: survival. But, even that comes with its own problems. How the hell am I supposed to escape!?
Obviously, Alex can't leave the way he came. The door has been engulfed in flames. He can even feel the heat all the way from the bar counter. If he were to go near it, he'd die at worst and get grievous burns at best.
But that's not all. The fire is spreading fast. Too fast. Scarily fast. Unnaturally fast!
It tramples across the walls, floor, and ceiling in waves of heat. The wood chars and blackens within moments and the licks of flames swiftly reach several feet from the door within a matter of seconds.
Although the pawn shop is made of wood, it shouldn't burn that fast. The fire from the door will take a few minutes to spread to the rest of the building. Not to mention, there would obviously be preventative measures put in place when constructing a wooden building. Alex doesn't know what they are, but he's sure they should at least slow the fire down!
But, it's as though the building is made of kindling!
In a matter of seconds, the fire moves closer and closer to Alex. The flames burn a vibrant orange and yellow, with small hints of white where they are most concentrated. Waves of heat radiate out, stinging Alex's face more and more as they draw closer.
In the tens of seconds that Alex spends being stunned and then trapped in thought, the flames encompass most of the room. By now, they're less than ten feet from him! If he stays still any longer, he'll be burnt alive!
With no other choice, Alex takes one last fearful glance at the fire, the flames traveling mockingly fast, and sprints through the door Fry went through. As he does, the string nailed to the counter alights from a stray ember and snaps.
The room behind the door is large and bare. Its floors and walls are tiled and only a few metal counters remain. It was likely meant to be a large kitchen, but without any funding, no appliances were ever brought in and it has been left deserted.
Fry probably has just enough money to buy some appliances, but there's no real point. He, like everyone else in Tetanus Town, is just a squatter. So, when the police come to get rid of loiterers, they might also take the appliances as "evidence."
Passively making these observations, Alex sprints as fast as he can through the room. Fry isn't there, but there's an open door about ten yards away situated at the right wall. He doesn't even think as he instinctively runs towards the door.
His shoes squeak against the tiles; his long, grayish-green raincoat flaps chaotically behind him; and his old, tan backpack bounces on his back. Meanwhile, Alex unsheaths his long knife, the pointed tip gleaming in the light. He holds it so tight his knuckles turn white.
For all he knows, the psychopath is already inside!
Passing through the kitchen in a matter of seconds, Alex makes it to the door. However, instead of rushing through like before, he puts his back to the wall just beside the door and catches his breath.
The fire won't be able to cross the inflammable tiles, so he has a little time to revitalize himself. Not only that, but he needs to be cautious when entering the room.
By now, he's realized that the psychopath has been watching him at least since he met that dog. It wouldn't be inconceivable that he set a fire at the entrance and went through a back door to ambush him.
Fry! If I can get Fry to help me, I can take them out! After all, they were scared of facing us both at once!
With a plan formulated, Alex bares his knife and leaps out in front of the doorway. He yells loudly and charges through, hoping to disorientate anyone who might be there. But, to his surprise, no one's present. Neither the psychopath, nor Fry are there.
Instead, all Alex sees is a small room that looks like an old pantry. There's an old, stained mattress on the floor, a crumpled up blanket laying on top of it, a few magazines strewn about, and a cooler labeled snacks.
Fry's bedroom? Why isn't he here?
SLAM!
Before he can even articulate why Fry is gone, the door behind Alex slams shut! What!? He instantly whirls around and stares at the door.
What was that!? Why's the door closed! Was it the psychopath!?
Upon thinking this, Alex grips his knife tights and fearfully reaches for the doorknob. However, when his palm is just centimeters away, he feels an aura of heat radiating from the metal doorknob and into his hand. It's as though someone heated it with a blowtorch!
In an instant, he pulls his hand back and looks at the doorknob in horror. It's hot! I almost burnt my hand off! Why is it so hot!? How is it so hot!? The fire shouldn't have reached here! At least not yet! Was it the psychopath!?
Plunged into a state of confusion, Alex continues to just stare at the now red-hot doorknob. Then, his survival instinct kicks in and an angry grimace finds itself on his face. I'm not letting that bastard trap me like a rat! I'll kick the damn door down if I have to!
He raises his right foot and slams it into the door with a loud thud. However, it doesn't budge. This only makes Alex angrier and he kicks again, harder. But this leads to the same results.
A few minutes pass, and he kicks over and over, using more and more force each time. When that doesn't work, he slams his shoulder into the door. Repeatedly, he takes a few steps back, bares his shoulder and charges full-force at the door. Ignoring the strange smell that has appeared all the while.
The door shakes and a loud thud resounds from the impact, but it doesn't open. It doesn't even crack.
Failure after failure, Alex keeps trying to force the door open but fails each time. He even tries stabbing it a few times, before sheathing his knife.
In the end, the door stands, and he's exhausted, angry, frustrated, and desperate all at once. His shoulder stings from a few new bruises and that damn smell still hasn't gone away!
The smell is familiar, but with his emotional turmoil, exhaustion, and battered shoulder, he can't take the time to place it. Instead, he drops to his knees and lets out winded pants. His indignation is plentiful, but his stamina isn't.
Am I really going to die here? I'm going to be burnt to death by someone I don't even know? What kind of fate is this!? What have I done to deserve this!? I-I haven't done anything! My entire life! All I've ever done is survive!
A sense of self-pity starts to wash over Alex. I've given up on everything. I've had no goals, no aspirations, no dreams, nothing! All I've ever looked forward to is the next meal. And now I'm going to die on an empty stomach. He lets out a faint chuckle. How ironic.
Alexander Ackrom, one of the great Ackroms, is going to die like a cornered rat. I'm sure you'll laugh when you find out, Ellis. He turns a fearful, frustrated gaze towards the door. "And I'm sure you'll smile when you find my charred corpse, you psychopath."
With that, Alex closes his eyes, and waits for the inevitable to happen. He hasn't found peace, and he hasn't found solace, but there's no point trying now, with so little time left.
He waits several minutes, expecting the heat to ramp up, and to be slowly scorched to death. But instead, nothing happens. If anything, it actually gets a bit colder.
Am I not even allowed to die in a timely manner? Alex opens his eyes and slowly looks around the small room. Then he spots a difference almost instantly. The doorknob that had been bright red before, was back to its original color.
What the hell is going on!? Yet again, Alex is cast into confusion. But, with no other choice, he stands up and tentatively places his hand on the doorknob. It's cool. Has that psychopath left? He twists the doorknob slowly, straining his ears to hear for any changes outside, and upon hearing nothing, opens the door.
The instant he does, the strange smell floods into the room and assaults his sinuses. It's so potent that Alex almost gags upon opening the door. However, he manages to hold it in. That is, until he looks towards the source of the smell.
In an instant, Alex retches and lets out loud, dry heaves. He instantly recognizes the smell. It's burning flesh.
Fry's mangled corpse is laying on the ground only a few feet away.