The air stings with a bitter chill, unnatural even for a Central City winter. The hum of a nearby generator pulses in time with the flickering lights of an abandoned warehouse.

Leonard Snart stands at the center of the room, his cold gun slung low at his side, breath fogging the air as he surveys the blueprint projected across the wall.

“Alright, listen up,” he says, his voice low and calm, but sharp enough to cut through the tension like ice. “Armored transport. 10:42 PM. Route cuts through 3rd and Halston. One minute window, and I’m not interested in anyone playing hero or getting clever. We do this clean.”

His eyes flick briefly to the entrance — maybe a new recruit’s late… or maybe someone’s been following him. Either way, he’s ready.

“…And if Flash shows up?” He smirks coldly. “We make it hurt.”