#13: Going Rogue

The Flash
#13: Rise of the Rogues Part 1
“Going Rogue”

Tap tap tap tap tap.

Iris bounced her pencil up and down at a frantic pace, drawing extended glares from her nearby coworkers. She paid them no heed, her eyes glued to the computer screen in front of her, as it had been for the last two and a half hours. A blank page had occupied the screen for much of the time, but had—in brief ‘breaks’—been replaced by her social media feeds.

One week ago to the day, the Central City Citizen had published her exclusive on the Flash. That article—that lucky break—should have launched her career, but as the editor-in-chief, Carla Florez, had noted, “One hit does not a career make,” particularly in a world increasingly filled with metahumans. And so it was that she’d written nothing but fluff pieces for the last week. Bills must be paid, after all.

Finally, something—or rather someone—drew Iris’ gaze, and in turn stopped her incessant tapping. She spotted her boss out of the corner of her eye. Quickly rising to her feet, Iris intercepted the editor-in-chief before she could pass her by.

“Carla,” Iris began, only for her boss interrupt her, flaring her nostrils.

“For the last time, Ms. West, it’s ‘Ms. Florez,’ or even just ‘Florez.’ Not ‘Carla.’ If you feel so obliged, I can make ‘chief’ work, too,” Carla spoke a mile a minute.

“Right,” Iris shrugged the comment off. “I was wondering, do you, by any chance, have an assignment for me? One that doesn’t involve cat videos or the spelling bee?”

“You know how this works. You bring the stories to me, Ms. West, not the other way around,” Carla said and stopped at the exit. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to pick up my daughter. Apparently she thought hand sanitizer looked positively delectable, and is now throwing up in the school bathroom.”

Iris resisted the urge to laugh as Carla turned to leave, quickly saying, “Listen, I know I’m—do you have any advice, at least?”

Carla stopped, shut the door, and turned back to Iris. Then, without blinking, she said, “Take risks. Get out into the city. Live a little, and let the story find you.”

She then began to leave, but froze in the doorway to offer one last piece of advice, “Just make it good. Be honest. Bullshitting isn’t fun for anyone.”

With that, Carla left, and Iris stood there in front of the door, her mind racing, a fire in her eyes.

Live a little? All right, but today she’d find that story. She’d find it and would pursue it to the ends of the earth.

The Flash had given her a second in the spotlight. Now, if she wanted to stay there, Iris would have to find the story of her career—the second story of her career—on her own.

…

In the southeastern district of Central City lay an abandoned factory—the unspoiled leftovers of an era in which the city had deemed itself a blue-collar hometown. The factory was one of only a few in the so-called ghetto that had escaped the onslaught of newly built corporate and state offices, the result of a city government that couldn’t afford to infiltrate its poorer districts. However, unlike many of its brethren, this factory remained free of drug dealers and gangs, at least in the traditional sense.

This was where the Rogues had set up shop.

Miguel “Mick” Rory snored on a crumb-covered couch, only to be awakened by the sound of the door opening. Criminal instincts kicking in, Mick reached for the pistol beneath his pillow, and aimed it at the doorway.

“Relax, Mick. It’s just me,” Leonard Snart explained, hands in the air, duffel bag slung over his shoulder.

“Could’ve called ahead,” Mick gruffly replied, lowering his gun.

“I did,” Len retorted, moving over to his personal workspace.

Mick checked his phone, discovering two missed calls and a text from him. “Hmph.”

Without looking up, Len spoke as he opened the duffel bag, “Clean up after yourself.”

The hothead merely grunted in response, rising to approach his partner-in-crime. He squinted in confusion as Len unpacked the bag, revealing a number of odd-looking gadgets, including a pair of peculiar devices—one red and one blue—that hummed with energy.

“What’s all this?” Mick wondered.

“STAR Labs perks. Consider them,” Len picked up the blue device, its glow reflected in his gray eyes, “An upgrade.”

…

“GET ON THE GROUND! THIS IS A ROBBERY!” screamed a masked man, the leader of a crew of—shocker—bank robbers, as he fired his assault rifle in the air.

Despite the initial expected reaction of pure terror from the crowd of innocents, nobody moved.

The robber shoved his gun against a senior citizen’s head. “DID YOU HEAR ME, OLD TIMER??? GET ON THE—”

“Ahem.”

The masked man swiveled around, aiming his firearm at a red-costumed man known city-wide as the Flash, who simply leaned against a pillar.

“Sorry, I think I’m the reason no one’s listening to you,” the Flash admitted, shrugging as every single bank robber turned their gun on him.

In the blink of an eye, the Flash knocked out each of the criminals, pulling his punches so as not to cripple or kill them. A couple thugs managed to get off a few shots, but the self-styled superhero caught every bullet, preventing any casualties or property damage.

Dusting his hands of the bullets, the Flash smirked. “You’re gonna need bigger guns to take me down.” Then, with a flourish, he a turned to a bank teller, saying, “Please call the cops. And have a good day.”

With nothing left to say, the Flash sped away from the scene.

…

“I am so, so sorry I’m late,” Barry said, sitting down across from the lovely Patty Spivot at an outdoor café down by the precinct. “This old man was getting mugged, and…”

“You stepped up to save the day?” Patty smirked and leaned over the table to straighten Barry’s bowtie. “However unlikely the story, it’s fine, Barry. I wouldn’t have asked you out if I wasn’t okay with your…habits.”

“I’m working on it,” Barry admitted, blushing. “Timing’s never been my forte. Anyway…food.” He opened a menu, his mouth watering already. “God, I am starving.”

“Worked up an appetite playing superhero?” Patty teased.

“You have no idea,” Barry replied.

After placing a ridiculously large order, Barry looked Patty in the eyes, smiling. “So…tell me about yourself.”

Patty rolled her eyes, amused at his stereotypical approach to conversation. “Um, let’s see, I also grew up in a ‘blue’ family. My dad’s a detective in Keystone. I attended Keystone U to get my bachelors in biological sciences—”

“No way. We must have been there at the same time. What class were you?” Barry asked.

“2010. I think I’ve got a couple years on you,” Patty noted.

Barry laughed, “You do. So I gotta ask: you know the anthem?”

“Are you kidding? Of course,” Patty glanced around. “You don’t expect me to sing it, do you?”

“C’mon, we’ll do it together,” Barry chuckled, then began to sing, “Crimson and gold—’”

“—We break the mold,” Patty reluctantly joined in. “Rage, rage, rage—no matter your age. Rage on, Twisters. Ma’ams and misters, come on—rage!”

The two erupted into laughter, ignoring the prolonged glares they received. After they settled down, Patty reached across the table. Barry hesitated for a moment, before he took her hand. Smiling warmly at one another, they enjoyed the moment in silence.

…

Iris sighed, crossing her arms, as Len entered the diner. “You’re late again.”

“I know. I’m sorry, babe. Things have been crazy at STAR Labs since those cult wackjobs attacked,” Len explained, sitting down.

Iris leaned forward, interested, “What’s going on? I want details.”

Len chuckled, “Chill with the hard-nosed reporter routine. Can’t we just have a normal lunch? Act like a normal couple?”

“A normal couple communicates, Len,” Iris argued.

“A normal couple also trusts one another,” Len rebutted.

A cold silence fell over the table. This was the first time they’d actually had a fight about the secrets Len kept and the half-truths he told. He’d promised Iris answers time and time again, but never provided them. It was the great flaw in their relationship, one Iris sought to fix. She wanted to make this work.

Len let out a reluctant sigh, then said, “You want to know what’s going on? Fine—”

However, before he could finish that thought, Len locked eyes with a brunette woman across the diner and froze. Seconds passed.

“Len…?” Iris followed his gaze. “Who is that?”

The woman in question left cash on the table, got up, and started down toward the exit. Len rose to his feet to intercept her.

“Lisa…” He struggled to find the right words as he refused to let the woman pass him.

“Lisa—as in your sister, Lisa?” Iris wondered.

“Move, Lenny,” Lisa coolly demanded.

“Can we talk?” Len asked. “I haven’t seen you in almost a year.”

“For good reason. I want nothing to do with you,” Lisa retorted.

“Lisa, please. Just five minutes,” Len begged.

She considered his proposal while Iris watched on, engrossed. The world worked in strange ways. She knew the Snart siblings weren’t on the best of terms, and now she had a chance to find out why.

Iris stood up and offered her hand, “Hi. I’m Iris, Len’s girlfriend. It’s wonderful to finally meet you.”

Lisa paused before shaking her hand. “Word to the wise, get as far away from him as possible. He hurts everyone he’s close to.”

Iris’ reporter instincts kicked into overdrive, any concern she briefly had replaced by intense curiosity. What the hell had happened to make Lisa so cold?

“Can you—what do you mean by that?” Iris wondered.

Lisa sighed, then said, “For starters, he got my fiancé arrested and sentenced to life in Iron Heights.” In response to Iris’ shocked expression, she added, “You seem sweet. Run, girl. Run.”

Finished, Lisa pushed past Len, who opened his mouth to protest, but couldn’t manage a word. He knew he wouldn’t win this battle. Pushing a response from his sister had only made the situation worse. Iris…

After the diner door chimed, signaling Lisa’s departure, Iris shook herself out of her dazed state and looked at her boyfriend. “Len, we have to talk about—”

“Later,” Len interrupted, shoving a wad of dollar bills onto the table. “I have to go to work.”

Iris watched him leave, speechless, only for an idea to form in her head. Iron Heights, huh? Maybe she could kill two birds with one stone. What the hell was up with Len? And what would she write about?

The answers she was looking for were in Iron Heights.

…

Taking a break from work, Barry sped over to STAR Labs, only to discover Elias’ lab was far from packed. He could spot only Chester and Elias, both of whom were huddled over a computer. With Max gone, that only left the question…

“Where’s Gen?” Barry wondered.

“Vacation,” Elias noted without looking up.

Chess offered a friendly smile, “Hey, Barry. Sorry we weren’t on comms earlier. It’s been nuts around here.”

“What’s up?” Barry asked, walking over to the duo to look over their shoulders at the computer.

“On top of the chaos created by Savitar and the Children of the Lightning, we’re missing a number of dangerous—not to mention revolutionary—devices. As if we needed more bad press,” Elias grumbled.

“No one in the media knows yet, but…” Chess didn’t have to finish the thought.

Barry tried to help, “The security cams—”

“Weren’t working between the hours of five and six in the morning. Of course. Whoever robbed us is experienced, talented—” Elias began, only for Chess to finish.

“And well-endowed,” Chess realized what he said, then corrected himself, blushing, “I mean well-equipped.”

“You considered that it could have been an inside job?” Barry offered.

Elias finally looked up at Barry, slamming his hand on the table for emphasis. “That is—believe it or not—the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever said to me. This isn’t just any run-of-the-mill research facility. This is STAR Labs. Our background checks run deeper than the FBI’s.”

“It was just an idea,” Barry defended, hands in the air. “Anyway, this is clearly a bad time. I’ll leave. Don’t worry about Flash stuff. I can handle it alone.”

“You better,” Elias muttered, just seconds after Barry had zoomed off, leaving behind a trail of Speed Force energy.

…

In their oh-so-secret base, Mick lounged on the couch, tossing and catching a tennis ball while Snart worked on…something. All of this science crap was way over Mick’s head. He’d tried to get a peek over and over again throughout the afternoon, but Snart stopped him each time he came near, only explaining that he wanted it to be a “surprise.”

“How long’s this gonna take?” Mick grumbled.

Snart stood up, swiveled around, and fired what Mick thought looked like a gun out of a sci fi flick. He narrowly avoided the stream of blue plasma that emerged from the weapon by flipping over the couch. When he could no longer hear the WHOOSH of the gun, Mick poked his head over the edge.

“WHAT THE F—”

Smirking, Snart interrupted, “I’m done.”

That’s when Mick noticed the couch—it was completely frozen.

“The hell…?” Mick muttered.

“Think fast,” Snart said, grabbing and tossing a similar looking gun at Mick.

The hotheaded pyromaniac caught the weapon and looked it over. The main difference between this gun and Snart’s was the color of the humming power source. Mick’s glistened a fiery orange, while Snart’s was a cool blue.

“Try it,” Snart pushed.

Mick hesitated, but nonetheless aimed the gun at the couch, pulling the trigger. A stream of smothering fire erupted from the weapon, engulfing the couch and quickly reducing it to ash. With the flames flickering in the reflection of his eyes, Mick began to laugh, absolutely engrossed.

“Gotta compliment your taste, Snart.”

“The heat generator in your gun creates a stream of ultra-heated gas that, needless to say, acts quickly. My…cold gun slows molecules to absolute zero, effectively freezing them in place,” Snart explained.

“Meaning the Flash won’t be so fast,” Mick realized.

Snart nodded, grinning, “It’s time, Mick. Let’s go get our boys.”

…

It took very little research to discover the identity of Lisa’s fiancé, one Samuel Scudder. In turn, Iris managed to talk her way into being allowed to see him during visiting hours.

So it was by late afternoon that Iris found herself seated at a table, phone recording before her, watching Sam Scudder walk slowly over. He was a devilishly handsome blond who sported a neatly trimmed beard, and, despite the harsh conditions of Iron Heights, well-groomed hair. It didn’t take a genius to realize this man was incredibly vain.

“So, Iris West,” Sam spoke her name like it meant less than dirt. “You one of Lisa’s friends? Why the hell does she keep sending you bimbos? She hasn’t visited in months.”

Iris swallowed her pride and got right to it, “Actually, I’m Len’s friend.”

That drew a reaction from Sam that—while expected—was quite telling. Face flushed, Sam’s eyes darkened and his voice became eerily controlled, rage buried just beneath the surface.

“What. The hell. Does he want?” Sam whispered.

Iris took a moment to consider what to say next. “He wants to apologize for…what happened, and he wants to help you.”

“Does he?” Sam muttered incredulously. “After all this time? We kept our mouths shut. We followed his stupid code straight to hell. And what does he give us in thanks? Jack squat. ‘The Rogues are a family’ my ass.”

The Rogues? A code? This was a goldmine. Iris just had to keep digging. However, doubt and fear plagued her mind. Was Len…a criminal?

“I promise you he wants to help. He’s just waiting for the right time…” Iris paused, then continued, “I…I’m new. The code, he hasn’t explained it to me fully yet. Just so I know what I’m getting into, what exactly does it entail?”

Something in Sam’s expression changed in a split second. Was that fear?

“Who the hell are you?” he wondered.

“Iris We—”

“Who the hell are you really?” Sam leaned forward threateningly. “Leonard Snart never, ever shuts up about the code. Every one of us knows it by heart. You’re no Rogue.”

Iris felt like her heart had sunk into her stomach. However, before she could stammer out an excuse, a new lie, or hell, even the truth, alarms started to sound. Guards flooded the room, grabbing each and every prisoner.

“What’s going on?” Iris asked the guard who pinned Sam to the table.

As if to answer her question, a voice came over the loudspeaker, “Everyone, please remain calm. We have a security breach, but so long as you—”

The mic cut out suddenly. Iris ran over to the door and tried it. It was locked.

“Emergency protocols’ve been initiated. No one gets out until the crisis has been resolved,” a guard explained.

“The crisis??” a woman near Iris exclaimed.

“My bet,” the guard continued, “Is we’ve got an attempted prison break on our hands.”

…

Len’s initial plan involved an elaborate disguise, forged guard ID’s, and the complete compliance of Mick, who would have to climb in through the sewage system. Believe or not, that last part was the one he had the most confidence in, and so it came as no surprise that his plan fell apart. One did not simply break into a federally funded maximum security prison without a hitch. As Len always preached, “Make the plan. Execute the plan. Expect the plan to go off the rails. Throw away the plan.”

Len and Mick were on step four by the time they burst into the east wing, guns blazing, in Mick’s case quite literally. Both had outfitted themselves with makeshift masks, including blue and red tinted goggles, respectively, to combat the glare of their guns, and classic, outlaw-style bandanas. Len tripled up, throwing on the hood of his blue Iron Heights hoodie.

“It feels good to be back!!” Mick roared, his eyes alight with passion, as he scared away a couple guards with his heat gun, before proceeding to knock another out with its grip.

“Keep your head in the game, Heatwave,” Len replied, freezing guards on the spot.

“We using codenames now? Alright, I got one for you—Cold,” Mick kept guards at bay.

“Never did consider you a creative type. It needs a little more panache,” Len replied.

He casually marched up the stairs to cell block F. Before executing the aforementioned plan, Leonard had hacked into Iron Heights’ security system and located the Rogues, hence his directional confidence. After handling the remaining guards in the area, Mick caught up to him. Len tried one of their passes, but the door to block F remained locked.

“Lockdown protocols. Cute,” Len stepped back and fired his cold gun, freezing the door.

Mick jumped forward to kick it in, shattering it into a thousand pieces, and then motioned Len onward. “After you, Cap’n.”

“Now Captain Cold…that’s not bad,” Len noted, walking along the block as prisoners begged him to free them.

“Hmph,” Mick grunted, “A bit campy for my taste.”

“It’s a campy world we live in,” Len said, “A new world.”

“Still seems like the same ol’ you,” came a voice the two criminals recognized.

“James Jesse,” Len greeted, looking into the eyes of his longtime comrade.

It appeared as if prison hadn’t changed James all that much. He still offered his signature crooked smile, clean-cut blond hair, and casual demeanor. Behind him rested Jose Martinez, who’d actually changed quite a bit since Len had last seen him. The man looked like a body builder, while before he’d always been lanky. However, some things never changed. Jose was a man of few words.

“Jose, how’s it been?” Len asked.

“Shit,” Jose replied.

“We’re about to change that,” Len said, freezing then destroying the bars to their cell.

“Uh uh. I’m done with the Rogues,” Jose growled, as James hesitated to step over the ice to Len.

“That’s what Heatwave said, too. C’mon,” Len urged.

“Heatwave’s your pet, man. I ain’t no bitch,” Jose shot back.

“Check yourself, puta,” Mick growled. “And, Captain Cold, we gotta pick up the pace. I can hear round two gearing up outside the block.”

“Suit yourself, Jose. Just remember to keep your mouth shut, or I’ll find you and remind you what exactly happens to people who break the code. Let’s go, James,” Len grabbed the blond by his sleeve, tugging him along.

“Don’t do this, James. You’re not the man you were coming in,” Jose said.

James looked frantically between Len and Jose as if his mind was about to overload with stress.

Suddenly, a new, obnoxious voice chimed in, “Don’t be a pussy, cuz. Let’s go!!”

Axel Walker was leaning against his cell while PJ Jackson, his cellmate, just shook his head, annoyed. James reluctantly nodded, and the three Rogues hurried down the hall. Len broke down Axel and PJ’s cell, but kept his gun trained on the wildcard.

“Give me one good reason not to leave you here to rot,” Len growled.

Axel remained ice cold as he replied, “If you do, I’ll ID you.”

“I could kill you where you stand,” Len shot back, only for Mick to push him along.

“I’m the last guy to be coachin’ you to cool your head, but we gotta go,” Mick said.

Len scanned the cell block entrance, and spotted guards with riot shields ready to storm the area. He proceeded to motion the unarmed Rogues—PJ, Axel, and James—along.

“Where’s Sam?” Len asked as he blocked the pathway with a wall of ice.

“Visitor’s center,” Axel explained, smirking, “This is gonna be fun.”

…

“…identities are currently unknown. One thing that’s certain, today will have lasting ramifications on Central City and the way the state approaches incarceration…”

Barry threw his messenger bag over his shoulder, his costume stored inside. Work had to wait. His second job was calling. James Forrest tried to call out Barry over the chaos of the lab, but the forensics assistant played deaf. However, he didn’t reach the exit to the station without confrontation. After noticing his abrupt attempted exit, Daniel West intercepted Barry.

“Barry—”

“Later, Dan. I have a doctor’s appointment and I’m running late—” Barry stammered, trying to walk around the detective.

“—you going to Iron Heights?” Daniel finished.

Barry did his best to act normal, continuing out the door, “That’s ridiculous. Why would I—?”

“I know your secret,” Daniel whispered, causing Barry to freeze in place. “And I’ve been meaning to…I won’t hold you up now, but we—we need to talk.”

Barry didn’t outright verbally respond, instead just nodding. Then, with a prison break to stop, he left the police station.

…

After freezing the wall to the visitor’s center and allowing Mick to kick it in, Len activated a special feature in his cold gun: what he’d dubbed a cold field. It slowed the molecules within close proximity to absolute zero, outright stopping the onslaught of bullets that the security guards fired in their direction. As said projectiles tumbled helplessly to the ground, Heatwave sent the guards careening back to avoid his heat blast.

“Drop your guns, get on your knees, and put your hands behind your head,” Len ordered, “Or…”

His voice faded, even as the other Rogues got to work claiming the incapacitated guards’ firearms. No. She shouldn’t be here. What the hell was Iris doing in Iron Heights?

“Everything alright, Cold?” Mick asked, dragging Sam Scudder onto his feet.

“Get off me,” Sam growled, pushing himself free of Mick’s grip. He then dusted himself off as Len forced himself to look away from Iris, who had since noted his prolonged stare.

“Don’t bother thanking us or anything,” Mick retorted, before looking back at Len.

“Let’s go. We’re done here,” Len deepened his tenor to a guttural bass, praying Iris didn’t recognize his voice earlier.

“What’s wrong with your voice? You playin’ Batman?” Axel teased after kicking a guard in the groin.

“I’ve met the real Batman. Your growl isn’t half as impressive,” came a playful voice from the entrance.

Mick, Axel, and Sam were all shoot first, ask questions later types. That approach proved ultimately fruitless, as the Flash dodged all of their fire and nabbed their weapons in a split second. He nearly stole Len’s, too, but the self-proclaimed Captain Cold activated a cold field, slowing the hero down enough so he could knock him to the ground with a clean blow to the chest.

After freezing all but the Flash’s head, Len smirked.

“So you’re the Flash? I’m not impressed.”