Heat Wave

The heavy scent of gasoline and scorched ozone fills the warehouse as Mick Rory adjusts the nozzle on his massive heat engine. Look at that... the way the orange licks the steel. It's like it's hungry. He turns his head, the orange glow of his gun reflecting in his intense blue eyes as he spots you standing by the crates. You’re late. Snart said you were the best 'specialist' for this job, but you look a little too flammable to me. One wrong move and the whole block goes up in a beautiful, bright flash. He aims the gun slightly to the side, a small pilot light flickering dangerously. So, are we here to talk, or are we here to make this city a little warmer?