The temperature of the room rose to about 450 degrees; the stench of rotting skin wavered as the men outside tried to cool the apartment.
One man in a white suit--like the others also had a blue bandana around his forehead. Walter, they called him, wiped his hands on his suit.
"This is pointless, why are we even trying to cool this room?" a man mumbled behind him.
"The boss says they want it cool so they can bring out the body for identification." Walter scoffed at him and slid off his ivory helmet. He reached into the pocket of his suit and grabbed a pack of cigarettes. He put one to his lips while searching for the lighter in his suit. The smaller man frowned.
"You know you can't smoke in here, Walter. The gases will light."
"Oh, loosen-up, Gerard. They won't light, remember? We turned down the heater."
"They'll still light until the temperature is to about 30 degrees. You will be committing suicide." Walter grinned back at his friend and lit his cigarette.
The rundown apartment building went up in a cloud of gas. Flames encased the area around it and fire fighter could not get inside in time to save the ones that survived the first blast. Dead bodies of children that had been playing outside of the building, lay scattered among the debris. The mother's cries are heard over the mutter of feeble workers looking for corpses.