A homeless man shifts under his blanket of newspapers, unaware of the woman watching him. She lights a match, uses it to ignite her cigarette, and tosses it onto the ground. The man begins to scream as the flames engulf him; though he has been homeless since he was fourteen, his last thoughts as he burns to death are, "I want to go home."
The next day, John Jones looks down at the body. The crime scene is cordoned off, and the rest of the local homeless population is being kept back. John glances over his shoulder, briefly watching the green Martian wander the scene to investigate the strange, colored smoke rising around them. Ignoring the entity, John looks back to his local PD liaison and asks, "How many victims?" even though he already knows the answer. "Twenty-four victims and twenty-four perps," the detective says with a sigh.
John nods and lights a cigarette, bending down to examine the scorched earth where the man had lain. Meanwhile, Detective Mayweather explains that all of the perps stated they suddenly felt an overwhelming desire to commit the act. Mayweather tells John he figured it was some kind of cult, but they claim they don't even know each other, and there is no evidence saying otherwise, concluding that some people are just crazy and do things without a reason. John nods again, but he isn't really listening anymore. The Martian leans over his shoulder, staring at the burn marks, and calmly states, "Residue of bad idea number 1937-231. Combustion compulsion. Arson instinct. The emancipation of the emulated."
John reaches down and touches the ground where the victim had lain, encountering residual thoughts and emotions that he can see, feel, and breathe in. Staring at the gathered crowd of homeless onlookers, Detective Mayweather suddenly says, "I don't understand these people. Why don't they just go to the Sunnyside Hotel? At least they'd be safe there." But John shakes his head and replies softly, "Big Al didn't like shelters. People stole his shoes. He liked his chances better on the street," earning a look of utter confusion from Mayweather.
John returns to the station and starts questioning the perps—twenty-four people who suddenly decided in perfect unison that the best thing to do was to burn fifteen men, six women, and three children alive. He sits across from the first suspect while the Martian lurks behind him in the shadows. "I've never seen them before, I swear," the first man says regarding the other twenty-three people. John nods; none of them have criminal records, yet white smoke circles their heads. "I've never done anything like this before in my life. I just got the sudden urge," a second suspect, a woman, says. John nods as the Martian steps up behind them, his hand turning to smoke as he reaches into their minds to sift through their thoughts and memories. "We must move quickly. Extinguish every ember, every spark," the Martian rumbles. He sees everyone who comes through, noting that each one has a pre-existing condition. "Past trauma. Tragedy. Victims. All victims," the Martian whispers.
Later, John drives home with the Martian sitting next to him, arm resting out the window as they watch the world pass by. "Funeral march! Civilization's closing ceremonies. Beautiful to behold," the Martian whispers. John nods as he pulls into the driveway. Stepping out of the car, he is suddenly surrounded by colorful smoke from which swirling monsters emerge and fight each other. John isn't worried, understanding that the Martian is just trying to get its point across. "I get it. You've made it very clear," John says, watching his step as he navigates the lawn and walks over the colorful smoke. "What I don't get is why. Why does this White Martian want to destroy anything? What did we do to it?"
The Martian answers softly, "It comes from somewhere so far away that it doesn't make sense to speak in terms of distance. The White Martian has decided on tragedy." John nods and keeps walking gingerly, unaware that his wife is watching from the window, her eyes filled with worry at the sight of her husband. "The White Martian is cosmic: predator, creator, destroyer. A hundred thousand life-worlds lost. With great purpose, to deliver delight," the Martian whispers. "Bring your emotions to the front door. Talk to Bridget. Spend time with Tyler. Breathe deep your life, John Jones, while you can. The White Martian has decided on tragedy." John nods and heads inside, but he doesn't talk to Bridget.
They sit on opposite sides of the couch with the Martian positioned between them. Bridget's thoughts fill the room as colorful smoke, revealing how worried she is about John and how unsure she feels about what to say to him. He stands and opens the window to let the smoke out before finally turning back to his wife. "Bridget, I—" he starts to say, but he loses the words as he looks into her eyes. Shaking his head, he says, "I'm going to go check on Tyler," and walks upstairs. As he steps into Tyler's room, his phone suddenly buzzes. "You should take that," the Martian rumbles. John answers the call from Detective Mayweather, and his eyes widen at the news. Rushing outside into the suburbs on the outskirts of the city where he lives, John takes in a full view of Middleton. Fires burn everywhere, and smoke fills the air, rising to create a massive white cloud over the city that flares out into an evil face. Behind him, the Martian repeats, "Bad idea number 1937-231. The emancipation of the emulated."
John heads into the city to help, arriving at a family bakery first. He passes a woman whose thoughts drift out in colored smoke, revealing she lost her husband and children, but he keeps moving. He sees someone burning down the home of a stranger they have never met, a man burning his own house, and children gathered to burn down their own playground, yet John keeps moving while the Martian watches through his eyes. "How do you stop this? It's just random people setting random fires," John questions. He can feel the Martian shaking his head. "No such thing as random, only misunderstood," the Martian says softly, ordering John to open his eyes, see the implicate order of everything, and use his Martian vision to recognize that the White Martian wants to destroy the concept of home—the places where people feel safe, their shelter.
Whether by chance or fate, John finds himself passing the Sunnyside Hotel, a homeless shelter in Middleton. He watches as a crowd gathers with white smoke circling their heads, lighting Molotov cocktails and tossing them through the windows. John rushes forward, grabbing his phone to call in the fire and ordering the police and fire department to get there fast. He then charges inside, ignoring the fire, heat, and smoke, as the Martian protects him by altering the air around him so he doesn't feel it. Inside, they find the first victim being chased by the fire, where the colored smoke manifests as their personal trauma in the form of their father. Another victim is chased by needles, another by past mistakes, and another by their entire family asking, "Why can't you just be normal?" But the green Martian intervenes, reaching out to grab the colored smoke, lifting it into the air, and breaking it in half. John steps forward, the fire refusing to touch him as he reaches out for the victims, using the Martian's power to displace them one by one and send them safely outside.
He finds the last woman clutching her children as the smoke takes the form of their abusive father. The green Martian destroys the images while John sends the family outside, but then John looks up as both he and the entity sense something else approaching. A woman rounds the corner, her body burning in white fire as she steps forward, her hair and clothes writhing in flames. "I have a message for the green one," she says softly as her lungs and vocal cords begin to melt. "It knows you're here, hiding in meat. It knows you're looking. It welcomes you to watch. It loves an audience," she says, her words becoming more strained as her body begins to fall apart. Her eyes burst and melt, and smoke fills the air as she leans forward. "Most people don't get it. They think it's about fire. It's not. It's about the smoke."
She gasps and collapses, the white fire suddenly extinguishing as John clutches her while the green Martian stares over his shoulder. "You get it, don't you? It's all in the smoke, John Jones," the woman whispers as she dies, her final words turning into white smoke.
