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"It's not a crime if it's objectively funny."
"I somehow doubt that.”
Genos glanced at the giant straw goat, and then at Garou, and then at the rapidly draining gas can lying sideways at Garou's feet.
Genos' sensors detected a third, indistinct presence in the bushes, but he made an executive decision to ignore it for now.
"You're overreacting," Garou said. "I don't understand why you're getting so worked up over a stupid straw goat—"
"City L takes its wintertime traditions very seriously. This is why multiple S-Class heroes have been dispatched to patrol this area around the clock, thereby assuring the Yule goat's safety," Genos said. "This year, there will be no shenanigans… or shenani-goats, for that matter."
"Take a look around," Garou said, gesturing. "Do you see where you are right now? Do you hear yourself talking? This whole damn thing is the definition of shenanigoats—"
Genos sighed. In the grand scheme of things, this goat guarding gig did seem a little silly. Silent and stoic against the night sky, the structure stood taller than a Tyrannosaurus rex, and just as long. But unlike a T-rex, it was made of straw, and highly flammable.
Precisely because the goat was highly flammable, it was heavily secured. Genos couldn't fathom how Garou had managed to slip past the multiple S-Class heroes stationed throughout the town square, and the remaining A-Class heroes patrolling the overall district.
Perhaps because Garou happened to be dressed as Santa Claus, nobody had thought to question him.
"Come on, man, I thought we were cool," Garou moaned. "You showed up at my house with a cake—“
"And that is why I cannot allow this to continue," Genos replied. "I have personally observed that you are capable of good behavior. Therefore, I am obligated to step in precisely because I respect you—"
"Yeah, yeah, yeah." Garou rolled his eyes. "'Friends don't let friends commit arson,' or whatever…"
"Yes."
"Do you know what time it is, Demon Cyborg? It is 3 o'clock in the afternoon," Garou said, gesturing to the starless stratosphere looming above. "It is 3 o'clock in the goddamn afternoon, and it is pitch-fucking-black—"
Garou was right. The night was cheerless, comfortless, and cold. The endless darkness descended from the heavens like a funerial shroud or a fiendish curse, and all the tiny flickering Christmas lights seemed insignificant against the bleak and suffocating horizon.
At that moment, Genos himself felt helpless and insignificant, stricken by overpowering waves of existential dread.
"It's dark and miserable," Garou emphasized, "and it's gonna be like that for a long-ass time."
"But with the solstice approaching…" Genos found he couldn't finish the sentence. Garou picked up where he left off.
"Even if it gets brighter outside, it's still gonna be dark and miserable—just figuratively, and with more sunlight," Garou said. "I don’t care how long the days are—life is a fucking shitshow, and more sunshine just makes it worse somehow… insult to injury, or whatever. We've all earned the right to burn something. Just one thing, for good behavior. And I've been very, very good this year—"
Garou looked up at the goat longingly. The goat looked down at him with regal and almost permissive disinterest.
Genos shook his head, because he was clearly seeing things. No good ever came from over-anthropomorphizing objects. The objects might get ideas, and gain sentience.
"Please," Garou said, pressing his hands together and pleading. "Please, I could have kicked your ass just now, but I didn't. I've walked away from so many fights, you wouldn't believe—"
"—then I suggest you walk away from this one," Genos replied.
"Demon Cyborg’s right, you know," said Badd, stepping out of the underbrush where he had been hiding. He was dressed as a gingerbread man. "It’s Christmas, you shouldn’t be fighting people. Can't we have, like… a regular date? Like regular people?”
“But we’re not regular people.”
“Good point, I guess.”
"Metal Bat!" Genos exclaimed. "Are you aiding and abetting Garou? No wonder he slipped past our defenses—"
Badd shook his head. "This is all my fault. He said arson was an important part of Yuletide tradition—“
"It is!" Garou protested. "Look, you guys might get all high-and-mighty because you have 'no criminal convictions’ and 'basic impulse control,' but trust me… Every working-class, blue-collar stiff has an office betting pool going. There's a whole video feed people watch. Look!”
Garou whipped out his phone and practically shoved it into Genos' face, and Genos reluctantly watched the video feed. Soothing, ambient music played softly as stray tufts of hay danced like spirits in the winter breeze. All around, snow-covered trees extended their restless branches towards the massive straw structure, reaching. To Genos' relief, the three of them were not visible to the camera, inadvertently hidden by the goat’s gargantuan hind legs.
Genos did not want to think about his overwhelming smallness compared to this grandiose and imposing Christmas bovid, nor contemplate his overall cosmic insignificance and the terrifying vastness of Creation, nor admit to the indisputable facts of the situation: Garou was right, and there was indeed something indisputably burnable about this goddamned, fucking goat.
"I mean, just look at this thing!" Garou said. "It’s practically begging us to torch it.”
Genos made eye contact with the goat. Unlike Genos, it did seem to be at ease with its own inevitable fiery demise.
"And there's at least one grade school class counting down until the thing gets cooked—" Garou slipped his phone back into his pocket as he spoke.
"Please don't bring Tareo into this," Badd protested. "He looks up to you. You're supposed to be setting a good example.”
Exactly—a good example. A hero's job was to set a good example, no matter how hopeless the circumstances.
“There’s no need for us to fight,” Genos said. "If you turn around right now, I will look the other way. I will not file a report, and I will not press charges.”
"Inspector Gadget, we can't give up now!" Garou complained. "We are so, so close to our goal. What kind of a message does that send to a kid?"
"Perhaps your lived experience will serve as a valuable parabel. In the future, if Tareo finds himself succumbing to peer pressure, he will remember this moment and understand that it is never too late to see the error of one's ways—"
"I dunno, Gen, Garou kind of has a point," Saitama said, stepping out of the shadows with a shopping bag. He was bundled up in several layers, and calmly eating a banana.
"Sensei!" Genos gasped. "What are you doing here? I told you to wait for me at home—"
"Yeah, but first I got bored, and then I got hungry." Saitama tossed the banana peel over his shoulder as he stepped forward. "Sneaking past enemy lines, playing with fire… seems like a better date idea than board games, whatever we had planned."
"See? This guy gets it." Garou and Saitama fist-bumped.
"How about this," Saitama said, scratching his chin and thinking. "It's a double-date, but it's also a competition. If we burn the goat first, then you guys each pay us $50. But if you guys burn the goat first, Genos will pay you $100." He took Genos' hand and affectionately squeezed it. "What do you say, Gen?"
"...I…I… have reservations about this, Sensei."
"You really shouldn't—if you hesitate, we'll lose the upper hand… Speaking of hands, can I borrow yours?” Saitama wrapped his fingers around Genos' forearm, and began aiming Genos' incineration cannons towards the ill-fated straw structure.
"But Sensei—"
“Okay, Gen, on my count. One, two, three—incinerate!”
WHOOSH.
A sharp, dissonant hissing sound interrupted Genos' plea as a frothy, light-colored foam covered both the cyborg and his sensei.
The sudden intrusion came not from flames but a fire extinguisher, wielded by Zombieman. The undead hero had noticed the sudden ruckus and quickly intervened. Amai Mask was right behind him.
"Alright, alright, that's enough," Zombieman said. "You should know, I'm very disappointed in all of you."
"How much of that did you hear?" Garou asked. He kicked the gas-can further into the bushes. Somehow, the fire extinguisher had managed to miss all the spilled petrol. The exceedingly-flammable fuel shimmered prettily, mirroring the streetlights. On the oily surface, their reflections shone like faraway stars.
"It's not a crime if it's objectively funny," Badd insisted. "That's what you said—right, Garou?"
Zombieman gave him A Look.
"The spirit of the law will side with me, eventually," Garou said. "I just have to find the right judge—"
"Yeah, but the Hero Association has its own code of conduct, which you have all flagrantly violated." Amai said, looking sternly at his colleagues. He addressed Genos and Saitama first. "Demon Cyborg, you're getting written up. Caped Baldy, you're getting fired—"
"I'm getting my ass kicked by the old man," Garou mumbled.
"And you're definitely going to jail. And you…" Amai tilted his head and squinted at Badd.
"I really believed what he said about crimes," Badd repeated wholeheartedly.
Amai shook his head in disdain. "...you're just lucky you're pretty."
Three of the four culprits hung their heads in shameful silence. Garou, on the other hand, stared at Zombieman with an expectant expression.
“If he’s Bad Cop, that means you’re Good Cop,” Garou said. “Besides, we’re out of the range of the camera. You can’t prove anything. Fuck, we didn’t even do anything—“
Zombieman sighed as he reached into his coat and produced a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.
"I don't like having this conversation any more than you do," Zombieman said. "I'm sorry this had to happen at Christmas. But rules are rules…" He placed the cigarette in his mouth and then tried to light it. With a flick of his thumb, the lighter came to life—a flurry of sparks jutted into the air and then, inevitably, fell to earth.
One of the sparks crash-landed in the spilt gasoline. In an instant, the ground was aflame. The fire spread to the fallen hay tufts, and the loose pile of straw beneath the goat's belly.
It was a magnificent sight—the goat going up in great, billowing clouds of smoke, consumed by vibrant, electrifying flames. In seconds, the whole structure had been consumed by fire. As the goat burned to embers, the blaze danced wildly against the desolate night sky, in defiance of the darkness. Over the gentle murmuring of the flames came the distant sound of people cheering—even his fellow heroes started high-fiving, shouting, and arguing about which bar they should go to, and who owed who drinks.
Every person in sight, both the large and the small, were cheering—without any scruples at all.
He hadn't stopped arson from coming—it came! Somehow or other, it came just the same!
Zombieman buried his face in his collar. Amai Mask took out his wallet.
"I am writing each of you a check. You are going to take them and cash them, and then never speak of this again.”
"Deal."