#16: Rogue Elements

The Flash
#16: Rise of the Rogues Part 4
“Rogue Elements”

The blood of her brother-in-arms crept beneath her boots. She could not move, could not speak, could not imagine how she was back in the desert. Thomas was dead, blown to pieces by a suicide bomber. She’d seen the child before he could reach Thomas. She’d known what the bulge was beneath his clothes. But she froze. Gehenna always froze.

The desert wind grew hot, humid. Humid…? Gehenna ducked into an alleyway, her breath coming in rapid shots.

CRACKOOM! CRACKOOM! CRACKOOM!

The gunfire rang like thunder…

Gehenna awoke in her bed drenched in sweat, a storm roaring outside. She tried to calm herself, but couldn’t escape the sight of the blood. Something creaked. She screamed. It was just the apartment above her, she thought. She was alone.

Alone with the nightmares.

Gehenna reached for her phone, trying to drown her fears in its glow. An email caught her off guard. It drowned out the thought of blood, but her anxiety remained.

“Oh my God…”

…

“Gods walk among us,” said his brother. “And all you can think about is revenge. Revenge against some old #$%^& who were doing their job.”

Mark Mardon scowled and sat back on his hard-as-wood cot, which creaked under his weight. Solitary confinement had it worse than the rest of the prison. For the “dangerous folk,” they were sure as hell easily forgotten.

“The Heights are hell, Clyde. West, Allen, they ruined our lives. They deserve what’s coming,” Mark rebutted.

“We ain’t shit. Normal folk like us, we can’t survive out there no more,” Clyde retorted.

“Don’t mean we should give up on getting even,” Mark argued.

“The Flash’ll send you right back here before you can touch a hair on either cops’ heads. And that’s assuming you can get out in the first place,” Clyde said.

“Shut up. Shut the hell up. I call the shots. I always have,” Mark growled. He locked eyes with his brother: cloudy gray against cloudy gray.

Clyde looked away, face flushed. “You’re right. My B, bro. You’re the oldest. You call the shots.”

Mark anxiously ran a hand along his oily black ponytail, which was slung over his right shoulder. It hadn’t been cut in ages. He hated it, but he didn’t trust any of the sketchy assholes in the Heights to come near him with a razor, and he sure as hell wasn’t good with one. Shaky hands. Always been bad news. That’s why Clyde was the thief. Mark was the muscle, and built like it.

“We need a plan,” Mark muttered.

“You are one creepy mother, you know that?” This voice was new, male. Weirder, it sounded garbled, as if it was coming through water.

Mark glanced around the room, but spotted only his brother.

“Down here,” came the voice again…from the toilet.

Mark stood up and leaned over the toilet’s edge. Was he crazy? Was he imagining…?

There was a face in the toilet. Some glass-masked freak in a costume. Mark rubbed his eyes, but the face didn’t disappear.

“Pretty sure you are crazy, but I’m most definitely here. Sam Scudder. People are calling me Mirror Master.” The costumed nutjob emerged from the water’s reflection, stepping into the cell surrounded by a faint white glow. “Not my cleanest entrance, but my options were limited.”

“Clyde, you seeing him too?” Mark wondered.

“Uh huh,” drawled his brother.

“Who are you talking to?” Sam asked, looking around the room. “I mean, I heard you were crazy, but damn…full-blown schizo. Didn’t seen that coming.”

“I ain’t crazy. My brother—”

“Is with you in solitary confinement?” Sam retorted.

Anger roiled Mark’s insides. His brother was standing in the corner. Musty brown hair. Tan, freckled skin. Gray eyes. That was Clyde. Clyde was here. They’d put him—

“Somebody didn’t take his meds,” Sam teased. “Your brother is dead. Rumor is you killed him. Shank right in the gut. That’s why you ended up here.”

“I didn’t—I wouldn’t—” Mark’s head had begun to spin. Confusion and fear mixed with the anger, swirling, swirling, swirling…

“Take it easy, man,” Sam grabbed him by the shoulder, holding him upright. “Forget all that shit. I’m here to break you out. Let’s get going before—”

“What? Why?” Mark mumbled, falling back onto his cot. “I didn’t kill Clyde. I wouldn’t—why are you here for me?”

Sam’s one-word response came with a smile: “Revenge.”

For a few moments, Mark’s head cleared.

That was enough.

…

Gehenna arrived at STAR Labs running on three hours of sleep and a whole lot of coffee. She expected—even hoped—for an hour or two to herself to meditate and calm her anxieties. Instead, at the whopping time of 6:32 AM, she discovered the lights were on in Elias’ office. Afraid of an intruder, Gehenna produced a bottle of pepper spray from her purse and crept toward the door. She slammed it open, ready to strike, only to discover Chester’s terrified mug.

“HOLY—” he began, before recognizing Gehenna, “What in the fresh hell, Gen?”

Gehenna rubbed at her eyes. “I thought you were…”

“Dr. Elias’ ghost?” Chess quickly added, “Not that he’s dead. He isn’t, right?”

“An intruder,” Gehenna clarified.

“Doi.” Chess nodded. “No, I’ve, uh—been sleeping here sometimes. First Max then…it just feels wrong, y’know?”

“Yeah,” Gehenna’s thoughts wandered back to the email she’d received. “I understand.”

Chess stood up and motioned her out of the room. “Let’s get out of here. Feels like it’s actually haunted.”

Gehenna led the way out without a word. She began to tremor as he shut the door to Elias’ office after them, panic rising, rising…

“Iwasofferedthedirectorjob,” Gehenna blurted the instant the door clicked shut.

“Uh…slow down, Flash,” Chess muttered.

Gehenna collapsed back into a swivel chair and stared at the floor. “I was offered the branch director job.” She paused. “Elias’ job.”

“That’s awesome!! Congrats!” Chess exclaimed, suddenly energized. After an awkward moment passed, he said, “That’s a good thing, right?”

Gehenna shrugged. “I don’t know. I mean, yeah, for my career, I guess, it is. Better pay. Looks good on a resume, but…”

“You feel guilty replacing Dr. Elias?” Chess said.

“More than that, I just feel…” She contorted her face into a mask of disgust and fear. “I’m barely 30 years old. I’ve only worked here for a couple years. It feels unearned, and…then there’s the matter of my—my health.”

Chess blanched. “What’s wrong?”

“My mental health, Chess,” Gehenna clarified. “My anxiety. After my tours, I’ve…we’ve talked about this.”

“Your PTSD? Who cares?” Chess said. Gehenna looked up at him blankly, causing him to blush. “I mean, obviously it’s important. Your feelings are—I just meant, it hasn’t stopped you yet. Why should it now? You’re probably the most talented and intelligent person I’ve ever met, and that’s saying something. I know myself.”

Gehenna chuckled lightly. “Thanks.”

“No, for real.” He leaned against the desk next to her and offered a toothy smile. “Whatever…difficulties you have, they won’t stop you. My Asperger’s, people look down on it, on me, I know. Been called retarded more times than I can count, but look where I ended up—at the age of 21, no less. Who looks retarded now, huh…? Um, that was insensitive and—I just meant—”

“You’re a prodigy, Chess. You’re the heart of Team Flash. What do I even contribute—?”

“OK, come on now. You sound like Dr. Elias. Let’s not beat the same dead horse,” Chess said. “You are a friggin’ stud, Gen. Hell, you’ve gone through crap I can’t even imagine. Stuff that would make Barry wet his pants. Let’s be real here—you’re a hero.”

Gen hugged him. The sudden movement caught Chess off-guard, and he was afraid she was about to storm off. After a moment, he relaxed, and returned the embrace in kind.

Gen pulled back. “Thank you.”

Chess blushed. “No problemo…just…take the job, yeah? We could all use a win.”

Gen’s smile faded slightly. “I’ll…I’ll definitely think about it.”

For now, that would have to be enough.

…

Given all that had happened in the last few months, one might expect Barry’s fellow police scientists to have warmed up to him, but that wasn’t the case at all. After his battle with Savitar, he’d tried to grab lunch with a few of his coworkers, but they always ignored him. During his brief tenure dating Patty, she’d explained why. His constant ducking out in times of crisis had far from lent him sympathy with his coworkers, even after all that had happened with his father. The fact that despite his numerous absences he turned in more evidence tests and analyses than just about anyone else furthered their resentment of him.

Barry hated it. He was a people’s person, but he swallowed his frustrations. He was cutting off ties to focus on his work as the Flash. Developing new friendships would be counterintuitive. He still had to break the news to Team Flash, but it had proven more difficult than expected, particularly given Elias’ recent departure.

And then there was the matter of Daniel…

Who was—perhaps for the thousandth time—pestering Barry at his work station.

“You know there’s this new Mexican joint that opened on the corner—Papa Tio’s or something like that,” Daniel said, leaning against Barry’s desk. He accidentally nudged it, rocking a beaker filled with hydrochloric acid, and Barry had to move at superspeed to prevent it from splashing across the table.

“Dan…” Barry glanced around.

“Sorry, man,” Dan looked over his shoulder. “You’re good. Nobody noticed. So…Papa Tio’s?”

“Tio means ‘uncle’ in Spanish,” Barry stated, eyes on the report before him.

“And…?”

“So Papa Tio doesn’t make any sense. It’s literally Father Uncle,” Barry explained.

“I don’t know, maybe it’s a kink thing,” Daniel said. “Anyway, not the point. Take a break. Let’s get lunch. Not like you don’t cut work anyway.”

Barry sighed and faced Daniel, who began to speak again, “Sorry, that was rude. I just—”

“I’m flattered that you’re now interested in becoming my best friend, but I have work to do,” Barry said.

Daniel tried to hide his hurt behind a mask of casual confidence, but Barry could read behind his smirk. Guilt ghosted through his mind. Dan opened his mouth to speak, only for his words to be swallowed by a gargantuan rumbling. The beaker of acid shook.

Earthquake..? Barry thought.

Suddenly, the entrance to the police bullpen blew open, and a powerful gust of wind threw a dozen officers to the ground. Barry glanced out the window. Shadowy storm clouds had engulfed the sky. The air tasted thick, as if they were locked in a hurricane. There hadn’t been a forecast for storms…

In walked a man Barry never expected to see in person.

“Mark Mardon?” Barry and Dan exclaimed simultaneously.

They glanced at one another, then back at the freed criminal. He’d lost weight, his hair had grown down to his lower back, blowing in the riotous wind like a spider’s web, and he was flanked by a supernatural fog, but there was no doubt in Barry’s mind that this was the man who had made his father a hero. There hadn’t been a report of another breakout. Had Mardon escaped today…? How?

“I WANT JOE WEST AND HENRY ALLEN!!” Mark roared over the thunder, his trench coat flapping in the wind.

Two detectives drew their firearms. Mark waved a black stick—was that supposed to be a wand?—and lightning raced through the air, striking them both dead.

“DO I NEED TO REPEAT MYSELF???” Mark said.

Daniel reached for his pistol and inched toward the door to the main bullpen. The instinctive act of heroism kicked Barry back into gear. He reached for the duffel bag beside his desk and ran for the bathroom.

“Running away again?” someone chided.

Barry briefly locked eyes with Patty Spivot, who was scowling at him. He bit back a response and threw open the men’s bathroom door. Luckily, it was empty. Within seconds he’d changed into his costume and made his way back around to the entrance. In that time Joe had emerged from his office, begun speaking to Mardon, and Daniel had aimed his firearm at the escaped convict.

“—here. Please, just take a deep breath,” Joe urged.

The veteran cop made the mistake of glancing at his son. Mark followed his gaze. He waved his wand just as Daniel fired. The Flash’s eyes widened, and he raced toward his childhood bully. Lightning tore right through the bullet Daniel had fired. The Flash reached him a moment before he would have been struck, and carried him to a safe zone out of the blast radius.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Flash ordered, slowing down.

Daniel nodded dumbly, eyes wide in shock.

Most everybody else in the room had to take a moment to register what had just happened. The Flash used that time to sprint over to Mardon and landed a solid punch in his gut. The force of the hit knocked the escapee back against the wall. However, the longtime criminal had taken his fair share of blows in his lifetime and recovered quickly, twirling his wand in a circle.

Suddenly, the air picked up around him, and a tornado began to form. The Flash hesitated. That moment cost him Mardon. The tornado quickly grew to the point that it began tearing through the bullpen, throwing people aside left and right. The Flash ran into action, zooming across the walls to catch the first few victims, then, after placing them on safe ground, hopping across tables to catch the others.

Thankfully, other police officers did their part and pulled the frozen few out of the danger zone. Now the Flash just had to worry about the tornado itself. Could he just run in the opposite direction of its rotation and…? No, that was stupid sci-fi logic. Tornadoes form when cold, rainy downdrafts meet wicked hot updrafts. To cut it off, he needed to heat up the downdraft.

He considered rubbing his hands together at super speed. That wouldn’t work. Whatever aura protected him while he ran would prevent him from creating sparks with friction. He needed something flammable…His desk! The Flash zoomed over to the lab, grabbed his beaker of hydrochloric acid and a tin can of soup from another scientist’s desk, then looked around for…

There. A lighter. Bless Darryl Frye, the old smoker. The Flash zoomed over to the cop, who was helping a few others toward the exit, and took his lighter out of his jacket pocket.

“Sorry, need to borrow this,” Flash blurred.

He ran back to the tornado before he could receive a response, sprinted along the wall to the ceiling, tossed the tin can into the beaker of acid, and then activated the lighter. The flame didn’t take. The Flash grunted in frustration and reignited the lighter. This time he outright shoved it toward the chemical concoction, which had produced a flammable gas. The Flash could feel the explosion before he saw it. It torched the glove of his suit, burning the skin beneath it, before he managed to get away.

The explosion did effectively eliminate the tornado by creating an enormous hot downdraft, but it also lit the room on fire. The Flash put out the flames as quickly as possible, but much of the room had already been ruined by the time he was done. Then there was the matter of the two dead cops. If he’d acted faster…

Unable to waste time in the bullpen, the Flash checked to see if Mardon was still around—he wasn’t—then made sure everyone else had gotten outside safely, and finally returned to the bathroom before the news vans arrived. By the time he’d crawled out of the window in his civvies, Joe and Daniel were knee deep in interviews, and Barry was stuck outside the crowd, alone.

…

Chester’s storage room was half-empty. It had been pillaged. All that was left were half-finished projects and throwaway gadgets. His greatest and grandest (albeit rejected) ideas had been stolen.

“Somebody call the cops, the FBI, friggin’ Batman!!” Chess screamed.

A janitor poked his head in the door. “You good, man?”

Chess ghosted over to him and grabbed him by the shoulders. “Do I look like I’m good?!”

Before the janitor could yell for help, Barry and Gehenna entered the scene, pulling Chess back toward their lab.

“Sorry about that,” Gen said, forcing a smile. “Long day. He’s just…yeah.”

After they made their way back into the lab, Chess collapsed into the La-Z Boy at his work station. He leaned back in it and held his blanched face in his hands, muttering his many conspiracies as to how someone could have broken into STAR Labs and stolen his equipment.

“So it was one of yours…?” Barry surmised.

“Um—DUH.” Chess exclaimed, sitting up. “Mark Mardon used MY weather wand. How he got it, I don’t—oh my God! It was an inside job! It had to be Snart!”

“He worked for STAR Labs,” Gehenna agreed, putting two-and-two together.

“You think they teamed up? Snart’s in jail—”

“Holy crap, you’re the cop, Barry! Where’s Snart been jailed?” Chess pushed.

Barry’s jaw quivered for a moment as he realized, “Iron Heights. They were in the same…but how…?”

“Sam Scudder had mirror powers, right? My mirror gun was stolen,” Chess spoke a mile-a-minute, ignoring Barry. “What else? What else? The anti-grav boots! And…and, oh shit, the heat generator. That explains Mick Rory. The cold must have been Snart’s invention, but—”

“Slow down, buddy. So you’re saying the Rogues—the new Rogues—are using your tech?” Barry said.

Chess nodded.

“Then can’t you track it?” Barry continued.

Chess immediately stormed out of his seat and over to the computer monitors. “Crap, you’re right! My God, you’re a genius—I don’t know why I—never mind. I got this. It’s gonna take a little while, but I’ll find ‘em.”

As Chess typed away, Barry released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding in and looked at Gen, smiling. “That’s a relief, isn’t—”

The scientist looked down-trodden, locked in her own mind. Barry nudged her, causing her to jerk back in shock.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” she assured him, “I’m just on edge. I…”

“Wanna talk about it?” Barry asked.

“No, actually. Not now,” Gen said. She began to head to her office. “I’ll leave you guys to this. There’s nothing I can really do to help.”

Barry watched her walk away for a few moments before the source of her anxiety—at least to his knowledge—dawned on him. “Gen, wait! You know that’s not—”

But she had already shut the door after her. Barry would have chased after her, but his phone began to buzz in his pocket. It was a reminder. His father’s hearing was in an hour. Cursing under his breath, he offered Chess a quick goodbye, then sped out of STAR Labs.

…

Returning to the Derby Public Library was humiliating. Mark hadn’t walked through its claustrophobic halls since he was sixteen. He’d fought off bullies in the science fiction stacks. The resulting ruckus had gotten his access suspended indefinitely. Luckily, Clyde’s had remained untouched, so Mark was able to use his brother’s ID to log in to a computer.

“Brings you back, doesn’t it? Home sweet home,” Clyde whispered.

“Password?” Mark asked.

“Same as always,” Clyde replied.

Mark typed in ‘downtherabbithole.’ His brother thought he was clever. Mark thought he was pretentious…endearing, but pretentious.

“Hell of a haunt, wasn’t this? Derby’s a nice neighborhood,” Clyde said.

“If you like junkies and sinkholes…” Mark trailed off, his eyes glued to the computer screen. He’d searched for one name…one man…

“Oh my God,” Clyde muttered. “Henry Allen’s a serial killer? Jesus. That’s batshit. Just goes to show how screwed up the system is.”

“That’s why he wasn’t at the station. His preliminary hearing starts in less than an hour,” Mark said.

“Joe-friggin’-West will be there, for sure,” Clyde realized, before adding, “But don’t even think about it. You’ll screw this up, just like last time. Flash’ll get you.”

“They ruined our lives,” Mark began.

“Bro, you already pissed off Scudder by ditching; don’t draw more—”

Mark abruptly stood up, quieting his brother. For the first time, he noticed that an elderly woman a few seats over was doing her best to inconspicuously watch his every move. She flinched when he looked her way. A cop…? Why the hell was she looking at him like he’s crazy?

“Mark, you always screw the pooch,” Clyde blurted.

Hands shaking, Mark tried to speak, “I…” He dry swallowed, then finished, “I have to do this. Not for me—for you. I’m your big brother, and I just let them…”

Mark choked on his words, his mind wrapped in fog. He couldn’t speak, afraid of what he’d say. Of what he’d remember.

Mark Mardon left Derby Library and the nightmares behind him, but his brother ghosted at his heels.