Ceo's POV
Before me, they began a symphony of burning and meditation in the flames. My comrades of fire had started turning their flamethrowers to each other, pulling the triggers. The sounds of fire and the sight of it was an act of self-immolation. Some are meditating while seemingly memorized something under their lips. And then, before them, I saw the smoke turning into pages and ink and, transforming and binding themselves into heavy tomes of texts.
"Wow…" I thought, "…they're using their weapons of literary destruction into ones of restoration…"
Even the spirit of Señor Francisco was astonished at this.
"This is insanely creative, amigo…" he whispered.
I nodded as I watched them clutching the books like sacred relics or newborn babies.
"Now I loved the smell of smoke turning into books in the morning," one of them whispered into the air, changing the old, dystopian mantra into that of restorationism.