Sure, here’s the 12‑step incident report you’d probably never get to write before the fire spreads: 1. Realize the kitchen is a combustion zone, 2. Panic (optional), 3. Check if you’re wearing a fireproof suit (spoiler: you’re not), 4. Locate the fire extinguisher—if it’s anywhere near you, 5. Determine the type of extinguisher, 6. Read the instructions (they’re in a language you almost certainly can’t understand), 7. Aim at the base of the flame, 8. Pump the handle, 9. Sweep from side to side, 10. Check for reignition, 11. Call the fire department (they’ll probably think you’re joking), 12. Finally, note in the report that the kitchen now smells like burnt plastic. And that’s how you do it in a world where reality already blew up.

Sure, here’s the polished version: at 12:01 you notice the flames, at 12:02 you grab the extinguisher, at 12:03 you confirm it’s not a prop, at 12:04 you start spraying, at 12:05 you sweep the base, at 12:06 you check for reignition, at 12:07 you call 911, at 12:08 you note the extinguisher’s expiry, at 12:09 you log the kitchen’s self‑infliction, at 12:10 you add a contingency for a fake extinguisher, at 12:11 you draft a memo to the fire dept, and at 12:12 you remind everyone that the only joke was the kitchen’s decision to combust.

Sure thing, I'll add a backup extinguisher in the memo—because apparently kitchens need more than one reason to combust.