You grab the flamethrower. It is heavier than you thought and covered in stickers that all say things like DO NOT POINT AT FACE.
A soft chime plays. A warm voice over a speaker says, "Impulse profile detected. Upgrading subject to premium experience." You have never felt more seen, or more concerned.
The heavy door slides open to reveal a corridor lit in soft, flattering light. At the far end, a person in a robe leans in a doorway, waving like this is the most normal thing in the world.
"You made it," they say, eyeing the flamethrower, then the lack of clothing. "Perfect. Follow me, try not to set anything on fire unless it’s on purpose."