The graffiti covering the factory walls bubbles and crackles from the heat. Rivulets of blood trickle from under the doors forming a river of crimson flowing down the pavement. He stepped clear of the churning mess and looked back at the business his grandfather had built. They'd used to make those little firetrucks he'd loved so much.
They would be here soon. The real ones, not the toys. An industrial fire this big wouldn't be ignored for long. He could just about make out their sirens already.
"Kill them! Burn it down! No one can know!" The thoughts clanged in his head like the loser buzzer of that last slot machine only a few hours before. He clutched his head, the gun barrel still warm enough to singe. Kneeling before the blaze, he prayed John would forgive him.