With sublime indifference, the man lit his cigarette, then turned his attention to the men on the far end of the platform. He walked in their direction, tossing the match over his shoulder with a negligent flick of his wrist. The match arched through the air to land in an open box.

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A smell of burning wood and paper came through the televisions. The man stopped and tilted his head to search for the source of the smell.

With shocked realization, he spun and looked at the stack of mortar boxes and the blaze that consumed the dry wood and packing materials.

It was too late.