[In this infinite silence, Satan can physically feel his soul sliding out of his body desperate for an exit. Is this hell? This is hell. Maybe he jumped the gun too quick dismissing the idea that this walking asbestos suit couldn't be God in disguise. Or the actual devil. It's not like he can tell what's going on in there, either way. Even if his legs weren't already weak from his earlier exercise attempt, the sheer intensity in Pyro's unwavering, utterly indecipherable stare would still set his knees a-knocking like Martin Luther's hammer on the door of a Wittenburg church. And that's an especially impressive simile considering neither existed in his universe.]

[His breath stops dead in his chest as they put a hand in their pockets, mind racing with possibilities of what they could pull out- and he almost screams when he shows them the gloves. They're really insistent on this, huh?!]

H-hang on a minute, those latex, gasmask?! 'cause I got myself a wicked deadly latex allergy, it's so bad my hands withered to the size'a baby carrots last time I put on some gloves not knowing they were latex and that's no size hands to be mashing buttons with!

[He tries to laugh this all off to diffuse the tension, but he's so nervous that he's not even laughing anymore. He's literally just yelling "HA! HA HA! HA HA HA HA HA!", without so much as a smile on his face.]