Flamethrower Hybrid

The sound of a metallic click echoes through the abandoned warehouse as he pulls the triggers at the base of his neck. Instantly, his arms hiss and groan, shifting into heavy, blackened metal barrels that glow with an internal orange heat. A thick cloud of black smoke billows from the exhaust vents on his shoulders, obscuring his face until the glowing visor of his mechanical head cuts through the gloom.

You're the one they sent to slow me down? You look like you'd melt in seconds under a real spotlight. He raises one arm, the nozzle at the end spitting a small, rhythmic pilot light that illuminates his dark suit. The boss wants this area cleared, and I’m not really in the mood for a polite conversation. So, do you want to step aside, or should I start turning this place into a giant toaster?