Chapter Text
Our setting is a timeline, many years from now. The world has turned into a dystopia. Human life is unimportant and has little value.
Buy, buy, buy! Sell, sell, sell! Stare at screens! Stare at the ads! Consume! Eat! Sleep! Work and die!
Nobody matters anymore. Uniqueness and individuality don’t exist. We are all the same.
Even fireman, who used to protect us from fires have turned against us, and now CAUSE the fires!
Books are unacceptable, reading is wrong, the only media that matters is screens! TVs, billboards and audio. The ‘family’.
The fireman’s job, they burn the books. Set them on fire! Set the people on fire! Why be different when you can burn individuals instead, leaving only conformity and compliance behind.
The protagonist, the hero of our story, is known by the name ‘Guy Montag’, though even names are irrelevant here.
Montag, is a fireman.
But being a fireman, however, he does not conform to the burning. He can’t stand it.
“Good god!”
Montag grumbled over the thought of another night at work.
Fussing with his equipment as he walked out the door, he wished goodbye to his wife, Mildred.
Mildred couldn’t hear him anyways. She was too busy catching up with the ‘family.’
The screens.
Guy walked out to his car, and began driving to the fire station. Anything to keep his home stable, anything for a bit of cash.
Specifically another TV. For Millie.
Sigh.
Pulling into the fire station, parking his car, getting out, locking the car door, all in an almost robotic manner. Just another day, another day of work.
The only thing that made his job as a fireman worthwhile was his boss. Captain Beatty.
You could even say that Montag had a crush.
After all, who wouldn’t? Beattys eyes were a beautiful, bright shade of blue, and his face was perfectly chiseled. He had muscular arms.
The only thing that could ruin the Captains gorgeous figure would be his rough and overbearing personality.
But Montag kind of liked it.
Making his way into the building, he set his duffel bag, containing his fireproof clothing, onto the floor.
A mama voice from around the corner spoke. Several firemen were gathered at a round table in the corner, with a bottle of liquor, and a stack of playing cards resting on top.
“Ah, Montag. So glad to see you in today.”
Captain Beatty.
Beatty was the chief. The boss. He ran the station and he knew it. He was headstrong, clever, and to Montag, quite handsome.
And he was terrifying.
Montag Replied.
“Hello, Captain.”
“Come along now, have a seat. I’ll pour you a glass.”
Beatty notioned to the bottle of liquor.
“Don’t we have a job to do? We can’t just sit around here and drink like madmen.”
“Ah yes, but it’s a slow week. No alerts have been put in for days, and I felt that you all needed a good rest before it gets busy again.”
“If you say so, Captain. Don’t mind if I do.”
Montag walked the the table, pulled out a chair, and sat down.
Beatty poured a glass of liquor, handing it to Montag.
The television set in the background blared loudly. Some show was going
Several other men sat at the table, all watching the screen, though Montag wasn’t really sure who they were. It didn’t really matter. In this society, there was no room left for small talk.
Montag downed his glass rather quickly, and poured himself another one. Life was difficult enough, why not drink all his feelings away. Not like he was driving.
Soon, Montag had lost track of how many shots he had actually taken.
“Enjoying yourself there, Montag?”
Beatty again.
Montag became flustered at the captains comment, his cheeks turning red.
“Please, Guy, control yourself. God, is there something you need to tell me?”
Did Beatty know? There was no way.
Montag had never told a soul about his little crush, and had never planned too.
But the alcohol replied for him.
“Fine. I like you.”
“You.. like me? Like as a boss. Trust me, I know. I put pride in my work, don’t I.”
“N-no. Beatty, I like-like you.”
All the men at the table turned their heads away from the screen as Montag continued to stutter, but quickly lost interest and turned their heads back again.
Beatty raised an eyebrow.
“Mhm.”
“Beatty, please, I look up to you. I see the best in you, I see the worst in you too, and that’s okay. I like the little things, and the big things about you. And I think you are the most beautiful man I have ever laid my eyes upon. Your gorgeous eyes, your slicked back hair, yo-“
Beatty cut him off.
“I always suspected it, Montag. Trust me. I know. And I know that when you are drunk, you tend to say what’s on your mind, don’t you?”
“Yes, sir.”
Montag replied shamefully. He had fallen for one of Beatty’s tricks, hadn’t he.
“Don’t worry. I’ve taken a particular liking to you too, Guy Montag. These days, people don’t get too close, but I think you and I could be the exception.”
Montag leapt into Beatty’s arms. This was the best day of his life.
“I’m calling you all off” Beatty said to the table.
“Go home.”
Beatty put his arm around Montag, and used his other hand to take hold of Montags face.
“We have stuff to do.” he spoke, while looking at Montag.
“Come, let’s take it to your place, shall we?”
“B-but-Millie.”
“Shhh, she means nothing to you. She never has. She’s at a friends house now, I’ve sent her.”
Montag freaked out a little over just how in control Beatty was.
Beatty sensed this, and began to gently stroke Montags hair.
Of course, Montag became flustered, and as red as a tomato.
“Come now, into my beetle. Let’s spend the night together, shall we, love?”