Grog hung the tankard back to his utility belt, as the poison spirit expressed his thoughts on the matter. He hastily tucked a couple of fireworks that were left non-concealed back under his jacket, and weighed the situation. Just how did Villiam know he was about to use them? He was a smart bastard alright, but he was civil enough, perhaps too civil, to Grog. Even though he was sure that something was off about that spirit, he quickly dismissed the issue after hearing Villiam's view on his explosives. He let loose a disconcerting but gleeful chuckle, and puffed his chest, maniacally shouting an in-depth explanation of his invention, his tone oddly jumping from cheerful to somewhat annoyed.    

"About what you said earlier... [i]Your[/i] signal? Not worth the entire prison? [color=ed1c24][i][b]Meager explosives!?[/b][/i][/color] Now, listen up my fine, semi-gaseous friend. One of these babies I'm carrying right here can illuminate an area approximately five meters wide by thirty meters long. They're compressed roman candles of my own making! They've got gunpowder, various salts and metal powders far exceeding the power of those found inside normal, legal -back on earth at least- fireworks and a cocktail of pellets consisting of [i][color=ed1c24]WHITE PHOSPHORUS AND THERMITE.[/color][/i] They won't just make a scene, they will [color=ed1c24]BLOW. YOUR. MIND.[/color] Now, let's [i]fucking[/i] RUMBLE!"

 Just as he screamed his last few words, he heard chatter coming from his associates' dataslabs. Nifty pieces of machinery, they were. Grog thought about getting one of his own. Quickly diverting his attention towards the prison, the masked hoodlum picked up his pace, and, grabbing his pint, commanded it to conjure a mugful of Boilermaker. He messily downed it as he sprinted in an attempt to catch up with the others, spilling at least half of it on his way. As his speed steadily increased, he found the time to scream his lungs out, spewing nonsensical threats.

 "YOU TELL 'EM BOYS! WHO'S STUPID ENOUGH TO GUARD A JAIL, [color=ed1c24]IN HELL[/color]? WHERE ARE YOU EVEN KEEPING THEM FROM? YOU'RE ALL A BUNCH OF WEINER-SLOBBERING [color=ed1c24][b]FUCKS[/b]![/color]"

 Having reached a suitably close distance from the containment facility, Grog stopped dead in his tracks. He retrieved a couple of fist-sized speakers from his belt, and placed them on the ground, one on each side. Hooking them up with a small walkman shoved in a pocket on his jackets' lining, he stood in silence, eyeing the imposing jailhouse. A gust of wind blew suddenly as Grog closed his eyes and breathed in, contently. A small tag reading "one use only" was carried away, the meager amount of sticky tape holding it in place finally giving way.

 And then, a [url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IhnUgAaea4M]strange parody of a patriotic song[/url] began blaring from the tiny speakers, at physically impossible volumes. They were most definitely enchanted.

 Wasting no time, Grog unzipped his pants. The leather garment was overflowing with previously mentioned miniature explosives, all connected by a single fuse string. He retrieved a lighter from his pocket and lit it. As the spark neared the payload, Grog lowered his mask and screamed one last insult before unleashing his divine, thermite-fuelled wrath.

[indent][indent][b][color=ed1c24]"SUCK

MY

ASS"[/color][/b][/indent][/indent]


 His voice was instantly drowned in a whirlwind of pyrotechnics and national pride. The only thing that smelled worse than whatever ingredients the fireworks contained was the ever-increasing stench of burning crotch flesh. Grog spread his arms wide and laugh-screamed as the self-made inferno raged and burned brighter and brighter.