Davis was so happy the world ended. He'd warned his parents, then his doctors, and finally his therapist, but no one believed him. So, in the middle of the night, he cackled as the blue boxes he always knew was coming finally came. The boxes asked him a bunch of seemingly innocuous questions, but he knew the answers to give. Not who he was, which was nobody, but who he wanted to be. Davis had loved fire to an unhealthy degree ever since he was little. Nearly burning down his parents' house at seven had got him his first introduction to a therapist. He hadn't intended for the house to catch on fire. One of the candles he had lit ended up dripping down into a wall socket. He'd found a grill lighter and started lighting the candles all around his house. He had no idea why his mother loved candles so much but never lit any of them. Seeing the flickering flame on the first one had made him want to light them all, so he did.
The breakers in the house had been bad. Instead of shutting off the power to the outlet as it should, it just kept on going. The electric current ran through the wax, setting it on fire and then lighting up the drywall. By the time this had happened, Davis wasn't even in the same room anymore, lighting candles in his parents' bedroom.
He had still been staring at one of the burning candles, seemingly hypnotized when the firefighter burst into his parents' room and carried him out. He kicked and screamed the whole way, reaching for the candle that had been knocked onto the floor.
After that, there had been a lot of assumptions. He still wasn't communicating well at his age. His therapist called him a late developer, his mom called him special, his dad called him stupid. All of them believed he had lit the fires for attention. All of them were wrong.
The second time Davis had burned down a building, it had been on purpose. He was better at covering his tracks and making it look like an accident. Turns out, a lot of older houses just weren't particularly fire-safe, to begin with. His parents had left him with his grandparents for a weekend. His grandmother acted sweet around his parents, or strangers, but called him names and smacked his hands when they were alone. His grandfather mostly stared at the TV and ignored it all. Neither one made it out of the house. The fire marshal blamed it on the old stove being left on overnight. Which was true enough, but Davis had helped it along a bit.
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The third time, Davis was sloppy. He could admit that to himself now. It had been rushed because he was angry. His father had said something insulting. He couldn't even remember what it was now, but it had infuriated teenage Davis. So Davis went with his tried and true solution for dealing with his problems. He took the plastic gasoline container in the garage, poured it down the hallway of his house, lit it, and left. He headed over to a friends house and claimed that his parents had thrown him out. Unfortunately, his mom had woken up in time to notice the fire, and gotten out.
Davis had been deemed criminally insane. He didn't think he was insane, but he did like fire a lot so maybe. The flashes of start-up windows and error windows he'd gotten a few days before the system initialized had gotten him the straight jacket treatment though.
Sitting in his solitary room with his straight jacket on Davis smiled and hummed happily. The window informing him that his entries had been accepted closed, and after a few moments, his mind expanded. For the first time, he truly understood Fire, how it burned, why it burned, and how he could make it with just a thought. The straps on his jacket burst into flames, and he didn't even wince at the heat. He tore the jacket off and tossed it to the side. He narrowed his eyes at the door, then glanced back at the jacket. He picked it up and tossed it on the bed, then with a thought lit it on fire. He banged on the door and screamed for help. The orderlies burst in one pushing him up against the wall the other trying to beat out the fire.
Then they burned.
Davis stole out of the psychiatric prison wearing an orderlies outfit. People were too distracted by the blue boxes to pay much attention, plus there was a sizable fire going in the high-security wing. He turned back to the building and lit the roof on fire in a few places. He feed the flames with his mind, goading them until they could burn on their own in the shingled roof. So many old buildings in the deep south. So flammable.
The glimpses he'd gotten at the underlying code of the windows had told him a little of what was to come. He needed to prepare. As much as he had hated the old world, the new world would need people like him. People who are willing to kill and survive. He'd do what he was always meant to do. Burn a path for humanity to thrive.